When Mianmian returned from the storeroom with her arms full of foreign spices, she hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen. A thought had been gnawing at her all day.
"Master…" she began carefully, setting the jars down. "Are we… are we not going to include Yanhua in this? Shouldn't she also learn these dishes?"
Old Master He glanced up from the pot where the lamb simmered, steam rising fragrant and rich. His eyes, though kind, were firm.
"No," he said simply. "These dishes are for you. Only you."
Mianmian froze. "But why…?"
"Because they are not just recipes, Mianmian." His voice carried the weight of stone. "They are my legacy. The right to them cannot be split, or they will lose their meaning. Yanhua has her own path, her own teachings. I have plans for her that are different from yours. She will shine in her way, just as you will in yours. Do not concern yourself with what I do or do not pass on to her."
