8. Spicy noodles and a useful flying sword

Many cultivators were diligently practising in the morning, so Wen Zhihao’s path to the kitchens was relatively unimpeded. He hopped over the wall and knocked on the kitchen door to alert the workers.

“Ah! You’re back,” auntie chef Liu Jing appeared behind him.

“Greetings, Aunt Liu,” Wen Zhihao said, bowing politely. He took out the empty food box from his storage space and returned it to her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Liu Jing shook her head. “Young master cultivator, you should return to your training.”

“I already finished. Don’t be polite, I can do a lot of things,” Wen Zhihao said.

“Hey, a strong boy can help me,” one of the older male workers called out.

Liu Ling made a face. “Old Tang, you really shouldn’t—”

“Okay, okay, don’t be polite,” Wen Zhihao greeted Mr Tang. “What can I help you with?”

“We need to transport the ingredients for the day from the sect’s fields,” Old Tang said.

“I can definitely do that.” Manual labour was really too straight forward. Wen Zhihao followed a group of men and women to the vegetable fields of the Golden Sun Sect. These vegetables were grown on spiritual water and thus were free of impurities and suitable for cultivators.

The farmers had prepared baskets of harvested vegetables, and all they needed to do was carry them back. However, there was a lot, and there was a section they needed to walk before they could reach the cart to load it.

Thinking a moment, Wen Zhihao looked at his sword.

Swords...that can fly.

He thought carefully, going through the original owner’s memories. Injecting just enough qi into the sword made it float. Heh, success! Like that, Wen Zhihao hung the baskets of vegetables on the sword, such that they were held up by their handles.

The other workers were speechless. This...this cultivator used his sword like a mere pole!

Wen Zhihao easily transported the sword and hanging baskets to the cart, and then went back again to continue.

With his help, it went quickly and easily, and then the cart was pulled by a horse to the kitchens.

Liu Jing oversaw the arrangement of vegetables into the kitchen. Her expression was a little exasperated when she looked at Wen Zhihao.

“Young master cultivator, is there something you want?” she finally asked.

Wen Zhihao decided to nod. “Do you happen to have spicy noodles?”

“I can make them quickly,” Liu Jing said.

And so someone pulled up a seat for Wen Zhihao, and he sat down and watched Liu Jing cook. In this ancient setting, they didn’t have convenient gas or electric stoves. Wen Zhihao briefly took over the task of feeding the under-stove flames with wood.

The noodles were made fresh and cooked quickly in boiling water. Liu Jing quickly stir-fried some vegetables and meat and mixed into various spices. She finally presented him with a bowl of spicy noodles.

Wen Zhihao’s eyes brightened as he smelled the rich, spicy scent. “Thank you, aunt Liu.”

“Eat, eat, no thanks needed,” Liu Jing said.

Wen Zhihao slurped up some noodles. The flavours were just as good as his favourite instant noodles, but the noodles themselves were even better.

“Ah, such a healthy appetite,” Old Tang said. “You are a curious cultivator, young man.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with the other cultivators in the banquet hall?” another food worker asked, frowning.

Wen Zhihao shook his head. “Your atmosphere is much preferable. Auntie, do you have more chilli?”

Liu Jing’s lips twitched. She already made the noodles spicy. “Fine, fine, here.”

Wen Zhihao happily spooned more chilli oil over his noodles and tucked in. His happily-enjoying-food expression also whetted the appetite of those around him, and so they all had noodles (with varying levels of spiciness) that morning.