Chapter 13 — Reunion
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 5
After that, Zhang Qingyue began his second "assignment" in the Canglan Sect—cooking.
That day was the first time he formally cooked rice and fried dishes. He busied himself alone in the kitchen all morning, washing rice and rinsing vegetables with great vigor, and before he knew it noon had come. Tian Buhui and the others walked into the dining hall and saw the dishes laid out on the table as usual. Zhang Qingyue sat at the foot of the table, both hands clasped together, trembling with fear; anyone could sense that nervousness.
Everyone sat down. Tian Buhui said nothing. It was Su Wan who glanced at Zhang Qingyue, a hint of a smile on her face, and said, "Xiaofan, how does it feel to cook for the first time?"
Zhang Qingyue opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say. Tian Buhui gave a snort. "Eat." The disciples answered and lifted their chopsticks, taking food and putting it into their mouths.
In the dining hall, there was dead silence.
Zhang Qingyue was so nervous his heart had leaped into his throat. Cold sweat seeped from his forehead, and he said in a low voice, "Master, senior brothers, I—I did not do well. You—you..."
"Wow, this is absolutely delicious!" Tian Lingsu suddenly cried out in delight, unable to resist taking another slice of bamboo shoot and putting it in her mouth. Zhang Qingyue was stunned. He saw that every one of his senior brothers was wreathed in smiles, nodding
without pause, their chopsticks flying like the wind as they praised him endlessly.
"Who would have thought our junior brother had this in him—formidable, formidable!"
"Mmph (indistinct), better than Old Five—no, better than Old Five and Old Six put together, ha ha!"
Even Tian Buhui took a few extra bites, nodded, and a little more warmth came into his eyes. Zhang Qingyue saw it, and a wave of contentment washed over him.
From then on, Zhang Qingyue stayed on in the kitchen. He had not yet shown any talent in cultivating the Daoist arts, but in cooking he proved quite gifted, his skill self-taught, and the
dishes he produced were fresh and savory, far surpassing anyone else's. And in his heart, so long as Tian Buhui gave a slight nod of approval, that was already the greatest joy.
Time hurried on. Another half year passed, and the once-in-sixty-years "Seven Peaks Martial Trial" of the Canglan Sect drew ever nearer. Not only Su Wan but even Tian Buhui began to urge the disciples under them on. Everyone devoted
themselves to cultivation; no one came to disturb Zhang Qingyue, and in any case no one held out much hope for him.
Zhang Qingyue himself did not mind. He bustled about the kitchen every day, and from those pots and pans he gleaned a measure of happiness. In his spare time he cultivated the Daoist arts on his own, and late each night he practiced the "Great Brahma Prajna." His days passed peacefully enough.
During this time, the gray monkey he had brought back from the secluded valley had lived with him for half a year, and man and monkey had grown quite close. Zhang Qingyue had even given it a name: Little Gray. This
name was like his own—plain and utterly unremarkable.
Ever since he had begun working in the kitchen, Little Gray had enjoyed the advantage of proximity, often following him to the kitchen, grabbing a slice of bamboo shoot here and a piece of fruit there, stealing food all day long, and in half a year it had actually
grown a size rounder. But on Dazhu Peak, the monkey Little Gray still had one enemy: Big Yellow, the big yellow dog Tian Buhui had raised from a pup.