Chapter 2: Initial
Mission
"Host has received the Initial Mission."
"Tip: As a kitchen apprentice, you must independently cook a dish
that satisfies both yourself and a guest."
"Reward: Recipe – 'Magic Mapo Tofu' (Blue)."
Huh?
Xia Yu was still basking in the joy of being a time traveler when the
Kitchen God System dropped a task on him.
A first mission? Make a dish?
That didn't sound too hard.
Xia Yu grinned, but the system coldly reminded him, "Mission
completion requires customer satisfaction."
"Customer? Where am I supposed to get a customer?" he muttered,
speechless.
His small Chinese restaurant barely opened once a month—not because it was
in a remote area, but because the old man had the temperament of a thundercloud
and a face to match. People might stop by out of curiosity once, but no one
ever came twice.
Xia Yu had even tried attracting customers himself once, but the old man had
given him a single, brutally honest verdict: "Pointless."
He hadn't even sugar-coated it. Xia Yu was sure those were the old man's
exact words, no embellishment.
Sighing about how unlucky he was to end up reborn under such a stubborn
geezer, Xia Yu didn't linger upstairs. He quickly bandaged the scratch on his
palm, changed out of his school uniform into a faded set of work clothes that
still carried a faint scent of sweat, and trotted back downstairs.
He perched on a small stool and began prepping the ingredients.
Each night, the kitchen was stocked with a mountain of food: fresh fish,
cuts of meat, baskets of vegetables, and crates of fruit. Xia Yu had long
noticed that the supplies always arrived while he was away at school—yet he had
never once caught sight of the person delivering them.
And oddly enough, the restaurant might have no customers, but food
disappeared at a staggering rate. At first, Xia Yu had tried to
investigate—watching, asking, poking around—but eventually, he gave up. He
started referring to it in his head as "The Second Mystery of Xia's
Chinese Restaurant."
The first mystery, of course, was that ancient water
jar—and the glowing stone within.
"Smack."
A thick slab of fresh, marbled beef hit the cutting board. Xia Yu sharpened
his knife like clockwork, then got to work with practiced hands.
Slicing beef takes technique. Fortunately, Xia Yu had that. As the saying
goes, "Cattle and sheep are cut across the grain, pigs along it." He
placed his knife perpendicular to the beef's grain, made one clean stroke, and
a neat circular slice fell away.
He repeated the process until the entire cut of beef was reduced to orderly,
thin rounds. Then came the next step: portioning. Some slices were set aside
for frying; others would be diced or shredded depending on the dish. He packed
the prepared beef and stored it in the fridge to keep it fresh.
Next came the seafood.
Fish needed to be scaled, gutted, and cleaned. Shellfish, however, were
trickier. Xia Yu sorted them into several large buckets, then fetched a
container of salt and sprinkled a bit into each. He followed with a thin layer
of vegetable oil across the surface of the water.
This trick—a layer of oil—helped isolate the water from the air. Deprived of
oxygen, the shellfish would open their shells and expel any remaining sand.
That way, when cooked, there'd be no unpleasant grit. Customers loved it.
After hours of work, midnight finally arrived.
The antique wall clock began to chime, echoing through the still kitchen
with calm, rhythmic strikes.
"Whew..."
Xia Yu removed his apron, balled it up, and tossed it into the bathroom. He
filled a basin with fresh water and began wiping down tables and chairs.
From the kitchen, the familiar clang of a wok against the stove
rang out.
Xia Yu glanced over and smiled.
The old man had begun cooking. This was the highlight of his day.
At last, no more dry bread from the shopping district—he'd finally get a
hot, freshly made midnight meal.
Xia Yu's heart warmed. He quickened his pace, cleaning even more earnestly
as the delicious aromas began to waft into the dining area.
Clang.
Moments later, two steaming bowls of noodles were placed on the counter. The
old man calmly removed his chef's hat.
"Eat," he said, expression unreadable.
Xia Yu needed no further invitation.
The shop was too narrow for tables and chairs—anyone who'd seen the drama Midnight
Diner would understand the setup instantly. Xia Yu brought one bowl of
noodles over and sat down.
The broth was clear, light, and garnished only with a few thinly-sliced
scallions and tender beef. No spices or oil that might upset the stomach—just a
simple, soul-warming bowl of ramen.
He clapped his hands together. "Thanks for the meal!"
Then, head lowered, he dug in.
Each bite was heavenly. The noodles danced on his tongue, and the warm broth
soothed his worn-out body. Xia Yu couldn't help but let out a quiet, contented
sigh.
"Now this is real food..."
More than once, he had wanted to fall to his knees and worship the old man's
cooking skills.
This was his best meal of the day—by far.
Breakfast and lunch were usually scarfed down at school. Dinner was
typically convenience store food eaten on the walk home. If it weren't for
these nourishing late-night meals, Xia Yu would've gone on strike long ago.
Even in his previous life, he'd never tasted anything that could match the
old man's cooking.
He especially remembered the seafood dumplings from six months ago. Just
thinking about them made his mouth water. Saliva pooled under his tongue. He
quickly finished his bowl of noodles and reached for the second—
—but froze.
Slurp.
A loud, shameless slurping sound echoed beside him.
His second bowl of noodles… was already being eaten.
Xia Yu stared blankly at the counter, then turned to look at the person who
had suddenly appeared beside him.
A man, already seated, casually scarfing down the noodles.
"...Who are you?"
Xia Yu fought back tears.
"Delicious! Truly delicious!"
The man spoke between mouthfuls, his Chinese heavily accented. "Boss
Xia, your cooking is truly unmatched! I'm blessed tonight!"
Xia Yu's expression darkened.
This guy was Japanese. And apparently, he thought eating someone else's food
without permission was perfectly acceptable.
What happened to not troubling others, huh?
Xia Yu was ready to explode—until something else caught his attention.
It was summer, yet this guy was wearing a long black coat and a
high-collared shirt, with a black hat perched on his head.
What the hell? Sherlock Holmes?
Anyone else would be dripping with sweat in this narrow, stuffy restaurant.
But this man? Not a bead of sweat on him.
Then, as if noticing the glare, the man finally looked up and met Xia Yu's
gaze—with a calm, elegant smile.
He was middle-aged, handsome, and disturbingly composed.
Veins twitched on Xia Yu's forehead.
Holding back his fury, he forced a smile and said, "You've got
scallions stuck on your lips."
"Oh?"
The man, still as poised as ever, grabbed a napkin from the counter, dabbed
his lips gently, tossed the used napkin in the trash, and resumed his seat.
Then, he turned to Xia Yu and smiled even more warmly.