Dao of Cooking

Year 35, Day 87

Today, we planted the thousandth thorn. Progress has been slow, and we have a thousand more to plant, but things are finally looking good for us. After the transformation, we have grown accustomed to the spiritual energy of this world, though it still rejects us.

There has to be a way to tap into this reserve. It oddly resembles mana but functions differently in a few ways. Depending on the region, it takes on a certain characteristic, like fire or water. Unlike mana, this characteristic maintains its essence until it is processed by meridians in one’s body.

After much experimentation, I can safely say that we don’t have these meridians. It’s a trait shared among the locals of this world—an invisible web of pathways circling the body. It is through these pathways that they process spiritual energy.

What’s odd is that this spiritual energy takes a solid form in its later stages. For example, the last subject that Master Voilanth caught was at the Core Formation Stage. I found a solid core right around his stomach, a two-colored bead the size of my palm. By dissecting it, I unearthed what I believe to be the liquefied form of spiritual energy. This liquid is worse than the rot coating our bodies.

The silver lining is that they seem to share our weakness for foreign energies. Mana is just as poisonous to them.

…

I have been fortunate enough to use the local beasts and people of this world to cultivate blood-energy crystals, and through these crystals, I managed to provide Master Voilanth with a meager yet vitally important source of mana.

The problem is, the process of cultivating these blood-energy crystals takes time, and we can’t afford to stay in one place any longer. That Core Formation Stage expert nearly crushed us both. I’m sure more are coming.

We are still venturing away from their capital. The spiritual energy levels differ from region to region, and from my few attempts at speaking with the locals, I found that my initial assumptions were correct. There are places on this continent that lack spiritual energy. We just have to endure until we find one.

But more and more, we have to lock our bodies to keep them functioning. More and more, the sleep between sessions stretches longer. The last sleep nearly lasted four years. We have yet to hear from the others.

We must survive. Millions depend on us.

…

Lei sucked in a sharp breath as he closed the diary. The side of his neck throbbed from keeping the Yellow Maiden’s Eyes skill active for so long. His vision had blurred, and enduring the terrible headache it brought was never easy. Still, he forced himself to read the diary.

He’d found that he could read a full page if he didn’t use the skill for two days. Thanks to that, he’d been learning more and more about these people, but he still had dozens of questions in his mind.

Even though most of the diary’s pages were rotten, Elder Huang—clearly a fake name—had kept a good log of their travels. He kept referring to these “thorns” they supposedly planted across the continent, but even after reading dozens of pages, Lei still had no idea what they represented.

One thing he learned was that it was their true mission. They came here to plant those things.

They certainly didn’t have it easy here. Elder Huang made it very clear that they were being rejected by the entire world. The energy was poison to them, and people were hunting for their heads. They had to sacrifice their life essence—another term Elder Huang kept using—to continue this supposedly grand undertaking.

And indeed, it was grand. Lei had taken a peek at the last pages—though most were burned and unreadable—and knew they’d been here for more than sixty years. Sixty damned years as spies in a different world, and they survived until they encountered a reincarnated chef. In xianxia terms, Lei didn’t know if he should laugh or cry at that.

Though it only made his desire to leave Jiangzhen stronger.

The good thing was that Lei learned a lot about mana from this rotten bastard. According to him, mana was an ethereal source similar to spiritual energy. Though you couldn’t absorb it through meditation techniques, you could use things called mana crystals and mana cores to replenish your reserves. Of course, they had mana regeneration, which he thought of as a feature of their System.

These mana crystals grew naturally like a strange kind of mineral. They had mountains of it back where they came from. Thankfully, those crystals ran out of essence in this world. As Elder Huang put it, the only way to conserve mana was to keep it in their bodies.

These blood-energy crystals are a problem, though. Is this why they kidnapped the children? To use them as human batteries to convert their blood into mana? Sick bastards…

But it couldn’t be considered a “new” thing. Zhu Luli had mentioned before that Demonic Cultivators liked these sorts of sick practices as well. There was even a guy who butchered a whole village to use the souls and organs of the victims to concoct a Blood-Origin Pill to break through to the Core Formation Stage.

In that sense, they were similar in practice but had different objectives.

Lei sighed as he placed the tome under his bed. He kept it there for good measure. You never knew what those little devils would do when he wasn’t home. Though they had been quiet for these last few days, probably because Lei and Zhu Luli worked them for more than ten hours each day.

He sighed.

Mana crystals. So my dishes are basically like little mana crystals that could replenish their energies. Good thing they don’t have something like that.

They couldn’t use the System here. Lei didn’t know if they had the same System or not, but if it was the same one, then him being able to use his System was another strange thing.

Why? Was it because he was born in this world? Or was it because he was reincarnated, making him an odd combination of an otherworlder’s soul and a local’s body? Was Emperor Xia the same as him?

The other day, Zhu Luli brought him to the Library, and Lei had to keep his jaw from dropping after witnessing the grand atrocity that was Emperor Xia’s novels. The man shamelessly copied most of the literature from Earth, to the point that he even wrote classics like The Art of War and Jane Eyre.

And, of course, these were published right before he made a name for himself. Slowly but surely, the man climbed the world stage. Some said he was a thousand-year-old master when he took the throne and proclaimed himself the sole Emperor of the continent. Others said he was a rare prodigy who managed to bear the Heavenly Tribulation at the young age of a hundred.

Either way, the name Emperor Xia was covered with a thick veil of fog. Just as mysterious was his disappearance. Nobody knew if he was dead or not. He just vanished one day and left the throne wide open for all to take.

Zhu Luli’s father seemed to know a lot about this famed Emperor. Lei could only hope that the man left a diary or something for future generations of transmigrators. But by his long list of published books, he might have thought he’d be the only one to ever reincarnate to this world.

But then it occurred to Lei that he was by all means no different than this Emperor. Sure, he hadn’t written things like Crime and Punishment, but he did cook dishes from Earth, which he wondered if could be seen as a different sort of plagiarism. That was why Lei thought this Emperor Xia could have been a writer before he reincarnated.

I need to learn more about him. Something tells me he is the key to all this mess.

Lei nodded and stretched his legs out. Tomorrow was a big day, as Fatty Lou would start giving out the invites. They’d decided on a simple, but what Lei hoped would be an effective, plan. They’d give out spiritual cookies with the invites.

A little hook for the big fish.

He closed his eyes, and sleep came right away.

…….

The next day started as usual. Lei took his staff to the restaurant and had them clean the floors. It wasn’t as hellish as the first day, considering the business had yet to start, but it still taught the kids discipline and stability.

In Daoist terms, these were essential in one’s path to the Grand Dao.

Meanwhile, Lei worked in the restaurant’s little backyard. Granny Xu’s place already had a stone oven—a nasty thing that had clearly not seen much use—but Lei reckoned it would be enough for a few of his dishes. Thanks to the forests near Jiangzhen, wood was considerably cheap, and they’d piled up enough to last at least a week or two.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, dusted his hands, and headed back into the kitchen. For the spiritual cookies, he’d prepared a bunch of ingredients.

He had plenty of white flour and a bunch of barely spiritual berries Zhu Luli and Little Yao had picked on their way back. Their taste was similar to blueberries, though a lot sweeter. Thanks to that, he wouldn’t have to use sugar in the recipe. That stuff was not cheap.

For the butter, he’d skimmed the cream from raw milk the other day, sealed it in a jar, and left it to cool. After that, he kneaded the butter to remove any liquid, then churned it until he got the right consistency. It wasn’t the most productive method—too little butter for too much effort—and not sustainable in the long run, but for these cookies, Lei decided not to spare any effort.

The final step was adding spirituality to the cookies. Just like the steak he’d served Granny Xu and Master Li, he’d use the System’s skill, but only on the berries. This way, the cookies would be slightly above most normal Spirit Chefs’ level, but not so strong as to make cultivators suspicious.

It was a simple way to keep control. The steak he’d made had that airy feeling of spiritual energy and packed a punch, but when Lei ate it, he found it fell short of triggering a minor circulation. It was close, though, and that was the point—it made you feel like you were on the verge of an energy boost.

According to Zhu Luli, a dish made from Earth-tier ingredients (like those from Qi Condensation Stage beasts) would still be more ‘spiritual’ than Lei’s recent dishes. So, on that front, Lei didn’t need to worry too much about his recipes.

Let’s get started.

“It’s time for a Master class!” Lei said, a smile playing on his lips. Footsteps came bounding from the main hall in no time, and the kids formed a strict, though slightly excited, line behind him.

“Today, we’re branching out into a different part of the culinary world. We’ll learn how to make cookies!”

An audible gasp escaped from Little Jiao. Little Chuanli blinked up at Lei, wide-eyed. Little Ning seemed confused, while Little Yunru kept his face stoic.

You’re all different, huh?

Lei felt giddy inside as he explained, “Now, I know you’ve had plenty of Grandpa Li’s pastries. They’re delicious—you can almost taste the effort and mastery that went into them. Being a pastry chef is a viable path. In today’s lesson, I’ll show you one of the basic cookie recipes.”

He pulled the butter jar and the white flour from the counter, pointing to the wok sitting over the stove. “We’ll start by melting the butter. We’re not going to cook it, just give it a little heat so it melts.”

He slapped a good amount of butter into the wok and kindled the stove. Just when the wood fire began to build, he pulled out the wok and set it aside. He then used the [Essence Enhancement] skill on the berries, causing them to glow faintly. The kids were already familiar with these ‘sudden’ flashes, so they barely reacted.

Picking up one of the berries, he showed it to the kids. “These forest berries have enough sugar in them, so we don’t need to add any more. Now, I want each of you to try one.”

The kids obliged, tasting the berries as Lei sampled one himself. The strong sweetness almost stuck to the throat, as if enhanced by spiritual energy, though the airy feeling wasn’t there. That was one effect of ambient spiritual energy—it boosted everything without making it decisively spiritual.

“Sweet!” Little Chuanli said, nodding his head. “We have to be careful not to add too much.”

“But I like it,” Little Jiao said, scowling as she eyed the berries, clearly wanting more.

Lei chuckled. “Balance is key. Too much sweetness can overpower everything else. In the Dao of Cooking, harmony is just as important as in cultivation.”

I can’t believe I just said that.

The kids nodded deeply, though Little Jiao still looked a bit defiant.

I’ll take that win.

Moving on, Lei said, “Now, for the flour. This gives our cookies their structure. Too little, and they’ll fall apart. Too much, and they’ll be dense. So, we need to be precise.”

He demonstrated, carefully measuring the flour and mixing it into the melted butter. The dough slowly took shape, pliable but firm.

“This is the texture we’re aiming for—smooth, but not sticky. If it’s too dry, we can add a bit of milk or more butter. If it’s too wet, a pinch more flour. Cooking is all about feel.”

Little Yunru, who had been silent so far, finally spoke up. “Big Brother Lei, I’ve always wondered... Can this help in cultivation too? Not that I want to be like those two stone heads, but I’m just curious.”

Oh? He’s opening up a little.

Lei smiled, glad to see the boy’s curiosity. He spoke from a different angle, “Well, cooking and cultivation aren’t so different. Both require discipline, patience, and the right ingredients. By mastering cooking, you’re learning control— over heat, timing, flavor. That can be useful when dealing with Qi. As my mother used to say, the more balanced you are in the kitchen, the more balanced you’ll be in life.”

Little Yunru seemed to ponder this deeply while the others focused intently on the dough.

“Alright,” Lei said, “now we’ll fold in the berries. Gently. We want them evenly distributed.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for the kids to try. They were already learning how to handle dough, and this would be good practice.

Lei watched as each kid took turns folding the dough, their small hands moving with care. Even Little Ning took it seriously, though she, like Little Jiao, couldn’t resist sneaking an extra berry into her mouth.

Once the dough was ready, Lei instructed them to shape it into small, uniform balls and place them on a tray.

“Time to bake,” he said, leading them to the stone oven outside.

Soon, the fire crackled, and Lei slid the tray into the oven.

“Now we wait,” Lei said, dusting off his hands. “Patience is the final lesson. You can’t rush the process. Remember, the best results come with time.”

They sat around the backyard, waiting as the scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air. Lei glanced at the children. Even in their excitement, there was a quiet discipline forming in their actions.

After about twenty minutes, Lei finally pulled the cookies from the oven. Their golden edges were perfectly crisp, with the sweet aroma of the berries wafting through the air. The children’s eyes widened in anticipation.

Lei checked the cookies:

[Forest Berry Cookies: Low Quality, Mortal-Tier]: (A basic cookie that has the perfect amount of sweetness. It’s mildly spiritual.)

Lei nodded and turned to the kids. “Here it is: the result of your hard work,” he said, handing each a cookie. “But remember, it’s not just about the end result. The process is just as important. You’ve all learned something today, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

The kids bit into their cookies, faces lighting up as the sweetness of the berries balanced perfectly with the buttery richness.

Little Jiao grinned ear to ear. “This is even better than Grandpa Li’s pastries!”

Lei laughed. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll challenge me to a bake-off!”

The taste and balance were exactly as Lei had hoped. The airy feeling of the spiritual energy tickled his throat and stomach, almost triggering a minor circle, but the sensation faded just as the spiritual energy began to rise.

Perfect.

As they finished their cookies, Lei couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t just about cooking or running a restaurant. It was about teaching these children the values that would guide them in life.

“Alright, back to work,” Lei said, standing up. “We’ve got a restaurant to open. And remember: discipline and stability, just like in the kitchen.”

The kids groaned but obeyed, feeling the weight of their lessons. As they headed back inside, Lei lingered in the backyard for a moment, watching the oven’s embers die down. There was a long road ahead for both the restaurant and the kids, but for the first time in a while, he felt confident they were on the right path.

And that, to him, was worth more than any dish he could ever cook.