Tao
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024. THE REAL DEAL
🕑 Added 2025-09-18 14:28:27 +0000 UTCThe world went quiet as Young Master Fang approached.
How quiet?
Well, there’s the peaceful quiet of a chef conducting solitary prep.
There’s the focused quiet of a Kitchen during a cooking formation.
And there’s the absolute quiet of prey animals when an apex predator approaches.
These are high-maintenance kinds of quiet, requiring discipline, focus and all that.
Meanwhile, on Riverback Street Market, the metal vibrations had reached a pitch that made eardrums call it quits. This quiet was not just low-maintenance, but no-maintenance. The way it was forced upon you made it really easy to keep up.
You just had to survive it.
Ming Shi watched with deaf, growing dread as a tall, well-built man walked toward him. There was no question who he was, although they’d never met. The pressure of this man’s aura and the deference shown by vendors as he passed announced his identity as clearly as the shout that had preceded him.
Young Master Fang wore robes of light gray silk. The silver arc patterns embroidered on them were almost invisible; the shade of the threads was so close to the base fabric that it was only through the shifting of light that the patterns could be discerned.
He wore no accessories besides a cloudy-white jade waist pendant. It was carved in the shape of an anvil and was so dense with qi that the air around it distorted. It was most assuredly there as a warning label and not a decoration.
He was smiling. It was awful. It was perfect and polite. Ming Shi had a sudden vision of a boning knife flexing as it darted between cartilage and tendon.
“Good morning,” said Fang Caishen.
With a sharp pop, the pressure in Ming Shi’s ears vanished and the sounds of the world rushed in once again. It was a painful, disorienting sensation.
“Wei Sanlang,” said Fang Caishen, “what an unexpected delight. When was the last time you stopped by? Ah, yes. That afternoon with the burrowing radish.”
Wei Sanlang's face, already red from the chili oil, turned still more vermilion. His companions were sweating so much that their robes had darkened with damp patches.
“Young Master Fang!” Wei Sanlang's voice wobbled. “I was just—uh—we were—”
“Sampling the latest street food?” Fang Caishen’s gaze fell on the crushed flatbread at Ming Shi’s feet before rising to the cups of chili oil still balanced on Ming Shi’s tray. “My, how adventurous. Though not half as adventurous as your cultivation techniques. I wasn’t aware that crying while sweating was a method of qi circulation.”
He plucked one of the cups off Ming Shi’s tray. The oil flashed once—then quivered.
“You were about to sample this vintage, yes?” Fang Caishen raised the cup. “Shall we drink together, Young Master Wei? To your health?”
Wei Sanlang was having difficulty breathing, which was rather detrimental to his speech. “I can’t—that is—I have urgent business—”
“Oh?” Fang Caishen knocked back the shot of chili oil. It might as well have been spring water. He did not blink, and his smile never wavered. “More urgent than sharing a drink with me?”
He reached for the second cup. “Come now, don’t be shy. Unless ...” His smile grew wider. “Is my protection of this street so poor that you don’t feel safe drinking here?”
Ming Shi felt an actual twinge of sympathy as Wei Sanlang’s eyes watered with spice and terror.
Which was worse: drinking liquid hell or implying that the Fang’s territory was anything less than completely secure?
Young Master Fang solved Wei Sanlang’s dilemma for him. He downed both remaining shots himself.
“Ah, refreshing.” He brushed his lips with a silk handkerchief. “Also, I notice you’re carrying new kitchenware. That golden cleaver ...”
Wei Sanlang clutched the spirit-cleaver protectively as fresh tears of terror joined the previous tears of terrorization. “I—i—it’s my father’s! He doesn’t know I borrowed it! Please—”
“Please help you look after it?” Fang Caishen’s smile grew warmer. “An excellent suggestion. I’ve been meaning to speak to your father about certain business developments. His purchasing patterns have been quite interesting lately. Some dock houses have made very intriguing comments about his buyers’ approaches. I must thank you for giving me a reason to visit.”
“P—p—please,” stuttered Wei Sanlang, eyes now streaming so heavily that he bordered on dehydration. “Puh—please don’t take the cleaver. Muh—my father will ship me off to a cuh—cuh—culinary school in one of the High Mincemeat Provinces! What if—what if—Young Master Fang, what if you just slapped me instead?”
“Do I look,” said Fang Caishen, “like a cliché to you? Spend less time admiring your own reflection, Young Master. You have begun to confuse yourself with others.”
Fang Caishen spread his fingers, and the cleaver flew from Wei Sanlang’s grasp into his palm.
“Now.” Fang Caishen shook out his sleeves and clasped his hands behind his back. Suddenly, the street was full of his enforcers, emerging from shadows, materializing from the crowd, conjured by their master’s will. “I believe you three have urgent business.”
Wei Sanlang and his companions fled in an undignified, sweaty, teary, blotchy-faced sprint.
Then Young Master Fang turned his razor smile on Ming Shi, and so began Terror: The Sequel.
“So.” Fang Caishen’s voice was very soft now, like silk—a silk noose, that is. “You must be very proud of yourself.”
He paced slowly before Ming Shi’s stall, looking him up and down.
“Such heroism,” said Fang Caishen. “So brave. So unbothered by things like consequences and property damage. How admirable of you, with your non-existent cultivation, to challenge three borderline Foundation Establishment hotheads in my domain.”
He clapped his hands.
“Oh. Oh, yes. On top of that, you were planning to compensate all the vendors whose stalls would have been destroyed in their inevitable temper tantrum, yes?”
Ming Shi decided the safe thing to do was treat that question as rhetorical.
“Or no?” Fang Caishen laughed. “Well, who am I to doubt you? Obviously your overflowing sense of justice comes with overflowing pockets.”
I didn’t think that far ahead, thought Ming Shi miserably. There wasn’t time. How can I explain?
“I do so hate stupid people,” Young Master Fang continued conversationally. “But do you know what I hate even more? Stupid people who think they’re clever. Morons who make messes for others to clean up while congratulating themselves on their noble intentions. The Fang family charges protection fees. Therefore, we protect. But it’s downright offensive when I have to protect idiots from themselves.”
“Young Master Fang,” said Xiaoye, “Fellow Daoist Ming Shi was only—”
“Only trying to help?” Fang Caishen laughed. “How precious. Tell me, Miss. Luo, were you in need of a hero? My enforcers report you’ve spent weeks observing this market, building goodwill and laying the groundwork to claim the next available stall. It’s no mean feat to go from a lone foreigner to a stallholder in four months. ‘Clear-headed and adaptable,’ they said. Should I fire them for false reports?”
“Not at all,” said Xiaoye. “Would Young Master Fang care to see how I planned to handle the situation?”
She extended her arm to Fang Caishen. “Young Master Wei was about to grab my wrist. I must trouble Young Master Fang to demonstrate in his stead.”
Fang Caishen shrugged, then reached out and clasped her wrist as Young Master Wei would have done.
Instantly, steam began to rise from their points of contact, carrying the overwhelming scent of scalding tea. Even standing a few feet away, Ming Shi could feel a surge of spiritual heat singe his dantian. Young Master Fang released her quickly, his fingers reddened despite his high cultivation.
“Oh no!” Xiaoye melted into tearful dismay. “Young Master Wei, I would be honored to serve as your personal tea maiden! But alas, my cruel stepsister, jealous of my beauty, cursed me with corrupted, burnt tea-qi! Only a true hero who can endure a night of my scalding embrace can break this curse!” She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab delicately at her eyes. “Now, seeing your interest, surely Heaven has sent me my destined lover?”
The market erupted in hastily stifled laughter. Even the Fang enforcers couldn’t quite suppress their grins.
“Good!” Fang Caishen examined his reddened fingers, his smile turning genuine. “A Fellow Daoist who solves her own problems.” His gaze cut back to Ming Shi. “Unlike some who create new ones. So, tell me: was it fun to play hero?”
No, look, I …
What was he supposed to say?
Sorry, I panicked because I thought the Jade Leaf Princess would slip up? I was counting on making them kick my ass so that they’d forget about hers?
“I was just trying …”
How does one explain that they had reasons for acting the fool, without exposing those reasons?
Yeah, but the act shaded into reality, a part of him pointed out. Good job, smartass. It’s not like they would have stopped at just you. They would have taken it out on the rest of the street too.
“Young Master Fang,” said Xiaoye, “this Luo Ye does not think she saw anyone playing the hero. This Luo Ye saw a man acting on impulse with good intentions.
“As a lone woman, I have, unfortunately, considerable experience with unwanted attention. Enough to put all my saved spirit stones towards the best defensive artifact I could afford. Ming Shi did not know this. He simply saw an impending injustice and put himself in its path to bear it.
“This Luo Ye, being ignorant, has a humble query for Young Master Fang. If I had not had my own defenses and Ming Shi had not intervened, would your men have stopped Young Master Wei from assaulting me? As for goading them into property damage, they broke Sister Mi’s honey pots even without provocation. Of course, it is no one’s fault that this happened; a young master as busy as you cannot be expected to protect every little vendor from every little aggression. But with this in mind, perhaps there is no need to further reprimand a man who acted to ease your burden?”
Fang Caishen had stopped smiling.
He’d started laughing instead.
It was, honestly, really unsettling.
“Oh,” said Fang Caishen. “How interesting. How shall I answer your question?”
“Young Master Fang!” Old Man Zhen hurried forward. “Please, be lenient. They’re new vendors, still learning our ways. Young Master Wei hasn’t come around in over half a year. Miss. Luo doesn’t know that you make good on any damage such ruffians cause—and that the last young master who touched a vendor on your watch had his cultivation crippled. As for Ming Shi, he’s my distant relative from Three Carrot Province, ignorant of city life, purehearted, and well-meaning. Please forgive his rustic behavior.”
Old Man Zhen bowed deeply to Fang Caishen. Then, to Ming Shi’s shock, he turned and began bowing in all four directions repeatedly.
“Fellow Daoists, please forgive my relative,” said Old Man Zhen, addressing the other vendors as he bowed. “As his elder, I will educate him myself. I will instruct him to deliver a satisfactory apology and accept your punishments if you desire.”
The other vendors looked as uncomfortable as Ming Shi.
“Uh, Old Zhen … ” said Niu Meiren, “this … this is really not necessary.”
“Hey,” said Mrs. Lin. “Stop that. Old man, we’ve got nothing against Ming Shi. Who hasn’t been young and high-minded, eh?” She waved at Young Master Fang, who raised an eyebrow in response.
“Young Master Fang, I too had my moments back in the day. But look at me now. A pillar of society.” Mrs. Lin patted her chest. “Let the kid off this time, what do you say? I’m here. I’ll be a good influence.”
Fang Caishen’s lips twitched. He glanced at Ming Shi, who had hurried over to grasp Old Man Zhen by the elbow. He tried to draw up the old man, to stop him from further bowing.
“Young Master Fang,” blurted Ming Shi, “I—uh—look, this Ming Shi is very sorry—”
“Be quiet,” said Fang Caishen. “The grown-ups are talking.” He smiled, and Ming Shi found himself unable to speak—an awful feeling had overcome him, the feeling of metal scraping along your teeth when you bite down on your spoon by accident. His broken meridians spasmed, leaving him winded.
Old Man Zhen shook him off, shot him a glare that echoed Fang Caishen’s message completely, and resumed bowing.
“If I might submit my opinion,” called Tofu Ku, stroking his beard in a scholarly manner, “we could take a more academic approach to this situation. As you all know, I recently submitted an article to the Imperial Exam Bureau titled ‘No Menu is an Island Entire of Itself; Every Menu is a Piece of the Market’s Feng Shui.’
“In it, this humble scholar discusses the interconnectedness of a market’s culinary offerings and can now be considered somewhat of an expert on the matter. Young Master Fang, this Tofu Ku puts forth that both Miss. Luo and Ming Shi are good additions to our market. The sages say: variety is the spice of life. New high-quality options always bring more foot traffic. Their menus fit in well with ours and will bring us more business.”
“Please be magnanimous, Young Master Fang,” said Ping Guoshen, looking anxiously at Old Man Zhen, who was still bowing methodically, rotating through four directions. “Neither of them has been here long enough to know how your protection works. Ming Shi’s actions are actually … pretty commendable, if you consider the fact that he assumed he’d be standing against Wei Sanlang alone, without backing.”
Other vendors joined in.
“The young man meant well. He didn’t know …”
“Miss. Luo’s tea has attracted many new customers …”
“It would be worse to have a coward among us, right? And his food is good …”
“Tofu Ku speaks truth. They’re both quality additions …”
A snort rang out from across the street. Ming Shi looked over and saw that it was Chang, the congee seller. He’d been so busy throughout his service that he’d hardly noticed when Chang arrived. It was only when his neck prickled oddly that he’d glanced up to see the man staring him down intensely, as some of the customers in line for congee switched to his flatbread instead.
“Hm? Was that noise you, Chang?” asked Fang Caishen. “Is there a qi obstruction in your sinuses? Or are you, too, hoping to defend the qualities of the clown across from you?”
“Qualities?!” Chang roared. He slammed both fists down on his counter with a crackle of qi, the sound smashing through the air like a war drum’s opening volley. The crowd was shocked into silence.
“What qualities? Have you all lost your palates?!”
Comments
Tao
It's because of his high cultivation, as evidenced by him sipping Eighty-Eight Hells like Perrier! The higher your cultivation, the more powerful your qi-sense, so you can perceive other chefs' cultivation levels. Generally speaking you can sense how powerful another cultivator is unless they are purposely repressing their level.
Dumplingsafe
Did I miss how Fang detected Ming Shi’s lack of cultivation so briskly? Or is that kind of thing obvious to everyone?
