One Taste

When Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai climbed the stairs to the second floor, more than a dozen pairs of eyes from the main hall below locked onto them, committing their faces to memory. Without exception, every single one of those patrons belonged to the martial world. Among them were fellow invitees to the Youth Heroes Assembly, senior jianghu figures who had come to Luoyang simply to enjoy the spectacle, and entrenched local power brokers. The reason they cast that look was simple: they all knew that venturing upstairs in Bugui Tower was no simple matter. Anyone in the know understood that Bugui Tower had three stories. The ground-floor hall was normally the liveliest spot. As long as you had silver, you could sit down and feast, though the prices were genuinely steep. The second floor was named Zhixian Pavilion. It housed several private rooms alongside a sprawling kitchen completely separate from the one downstairs. Most of the time, the second floor saw hardly any patrons at all. Dining up there came with a strict rule: you had to pass three trials—One Taste, One Glance, and One Word—before you were permitted to eat any of its food. If you simply chose not to go up, nothing came of it. But if you did venture up and failed any of the three trials, you were out of luck. Not only would Zhixian Pavilion refuse to serve you, but you could forget about ever setting foot on the ground floor again. You were placed squarely on Bugui Tower's blacklist. Dare to show your face again, and you would be thrown out right at the front gate. If you asked for a reason, it was straightforward: you had vastly overestimated yourself. And the owner of Bugui Tower detested nothing more than people who did not know their own limits. Naturally, you could seek out the owner to argue your case. He was right on the third floor, which he had christened the Sihui Dwelling. The proprietor lived and ate there himself, so if you wished to file a complaint, you could head up and speak with him directly. Over the years, quite a few people had walked up upright to lodge a complaint, only to be carried out horizontally while declaring themselves "exceedingly satisfied." Even when the most prominent figures in Luoyang visited, they were bound by the owner's rules without exception. In other words, no matter how rich you were, if you could not pass those three trials, you were not worthy of a seat on the second floor and had to stay downstairs like everyone else. As time passed, practically no one went up to invite such humiliation anymore. Those distinguished guests who could dine on the second floor were indisputably individuals of remarkable ability. Shen Youran, for instance, could visit Zhixian Pavilion to dine whenever he pleased. Yet most figures of his stature were busy and had no time to visit every day; even those with free time did not necessarily possess that kind of disposable coin. After all, meals on the second floor were far pricier than those on the first. Yet tonight, Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai—two unfamiliar faces in the jianghu who looked no older than seventeen or eighteen—had simply strolled right up. Without a doubt, everyone who witnessed this from the downstairs hall was already waiting to watch them make fools of themselves. *Those two brats must not know the rules, or they're just too ignorant to be afraid. Won't be long before they're kicked back down.* That was the unanimous thought shared by the vast majority—or rather, every single person who had taken note of them. In truth, their deduction was not wrong, but... fate was unpredictable. *** "Honored guests, please have a seat here for a moment. I will go notify the master," said the greeter who had guided Sun and Huang upstairs. After leaving them in an antechamber, he turned on his heel and walked off. Though the room had chairs and small side tables for teacups, no one brought them tea, nor was there any sign of fruit platters or pastries. "What the hell is this?" Watching the man's retreating back, Sun Yixie felt instantly annoyed. "What kind of place is this? I came to eat a meal and have to meet some 'master' first? Don't tell me we need to pass an exam before we're allowed to eat?" His offhand remark was actually about eighty to ninety percent on the mark. "I don't know either," Huang Donglai replied. "Still, I took a look around the first floor earlier. The food here is seriously top-notch. Maybe we stumbled into one of those elite joints that loves making up endless rules?" "Hmm..." Sun Yixie pondered. "Put that way, it's possible. But who runs an open business with rules designed to keep paying customers from spending money?" "Hard to say." Huang Donglai came from a renowned martial family, after all; even if he had not traveled the jianghu much, he had heard tales of eccentrics and peculiar customs. "I've heard of restaurants that set barriers for their customers. The capital has one called Zhuangyuan Tower. Their finest banquet can't be bought with silver—you have to exchange a poem or a rhyming couplet for it. Of course, the poem must be exceptional and the couplet brilliant. A doggerel-spouting illiterate like you wouldn't stand a chance." "Piss off!" Sun Yixie curled his lip. "I'll have you know I attended a proper private school, all right?" While they bantered, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the quiet. Before long, a slight, slender figure emerged from the corridor where the greeter had departed. The man was around forty, of modest height, sporting a beard, a pale face, and a flushed, bulbous nose. He wore scholar's robes and held a paper fan, moving with light, brisk strides. When he spoke, he carried a distinct Shaoxing accent: "Gentlemen, I am Xue Tui, courtesy name Qingshi, known by some as 'Little Dezu.' May I inquire with whom I have the pleasure..." Perhaps spurred by Huang Donglai's earlier jab, or perhaps amused by the scholar's pompous style of greeting, a sudden whim seized Sun Yixie. He opened his mouth and said, "Easy enough! Yours truly is Sun Yixie, courtesy name Yifeng, widely celebrated as the 'Sea King.'" Huang Donglai nearly burst out laughing. On second thought, finding the charade entertaining, he joined in the mockery: "And I am Huang Donglai, courtesy name Gongren, honored with the title 'Old Immortal of Xudong.'" Listening to the introductions offered by these two uncultured ruffians, Xue Tui froze on the spot. Suspicion churned in his mind. *Where did these two clowns come from? Did they come up here just to have a laugh at our expense? Do they not know what kind of establishment this is? Or did they come specifically to stir up trouble?* Even so, he was not about to lose his composure after merely two sentences. Xue Tui pondered for a few seconds before maintaining his slightly haughty tone. "Very well. Since Young Master Sun and Young Master Huang have come upstairs, it shows you have arrived prepared, so I need not belabor the rules." He paused, sweeping a glance across them. "Now, which of you will attempt the trial of 'One Taste'?" A word of clarification was necessary: the three trials of Zhixian Pavilion—One Taste, One Glance, and One Word—did not have to be completed by a single person. Since each private room could seat a table of eight, as long as someone within that party of eight passed all three trials, it made no difference whether one person cleared all three or three people cleared one each. However, one rule remained absolute: each trial could be attempted only once. If a challenge was failed, you could not swap in someone else to try again, and every person sitting at that table of eight would be blacklisted for life. "Uh..." Hearing this, both Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai began to piece things together. It turned out their casual guesswork had been entirely accurate. Yet things had come this far, and the vanity-obsessed Brother Sun was bound to fake it rather than admit defeat. After a brief hesitation, he gritted his teeth, stomped his foot, and stepped forward. "I will!" "Heh..." Xue Tui sneered inwardly, having already read the telltale hesitation on their faces. Refraining from calling them out, he replied calmly, "Very well. This way, gentlemen." With that, he clasped his hands behind his back, turned leisurely, and led them down the corridor. After two turns, the three arrived at a spacious tea parlor, where an elderly man stood waiting. A single glance told Sun and Huang that this elder was a cook—and an illustrious one at that. In Da Ming, clothing was governed by meticulous customs. Broadly speaking, colors were divided into red, green, cyan, gold, blue, dark black, tea brown, and white, while garments were categorized into skirts, helmets, robes, round-collared robes, damask coats, pleated robes, padded jackets, and headscarves. In reality, the combinations extended far beyond these basic sixty-four, which served merely as a general summary of common pairings. Most of these standard colors and styles carried symbolic meaning. They not only denoted social hierarchy and professional traits, but could also represent the Five Elements, cardinal directions, or character temperaments. Such conventions retained a presence on contemporary theatrical stages, though few people took an interest in them anymore. Back in those days, cooks were considered among the humbler trades and were ordinarily expected to wear cyan. However, if a chef attained fame and wealth, he was permitted to switch to red, for the Kitchen God belonged to the element of fire. Taking it a tier higher brought one to imperial chefs, who possessed their own dedicated official robes and wore a "fire apron" wrapped over their attire while working. Should an imperial chef ever leave his post—those driven out in disgrace did not count—the rare few who departed peacefully had to relinquish their official robes, but they were permitted to keep their fire aprons. In addition, they were allowed to take the waist plaques they had used in the palace. Those waist plaques were divided into yin and yang halves, carved with two carps: one swimming head-upward, the other sweeping tail-upward. One fish was raised like a relief, while the other was recessed like a pastry mold. The raised carving was the yang plaque, and the recessed one was the yin plaque. Within the palace, visitors and imperial guards each held one half; upon inspection, intermeshing the two halves smoothly allowed passage, a remarkably ingenious mechanism. When a chef departed the palace, he was permitted to carry the yang plaque away while the yin plaque was destroyed. Beyond the palace walls, that plaque served as the badge of his former status as an imperial chef. Naturally, securing that privilege required greasing palms; both the eunuchs and the imperial guard had to be well compensated, or else they would simply confiscate the plaque. Presently, the elder standing before Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai wore a waist plaque and had a fire apron tied around his waist. His background was self-evident. "This old man is Yuan Fangzhi. My greetings to the two young masters." After a brief introduction from Xue Tui, Yuan Fangzhi observed proper etiquette before asking, "May I ask... which category of ingredients Young Master Sun wishes to 'taste'?" Hearing the question, Sun Yixie finally grasped that "One Taste" meant sampling food. He asked, "What choices are there?" "Heh..." Yuan Fangzhi had already exchanged glances with Xue Tui and knew these two boys had most likely stumbled in by accident, so his tone carried a touch of pride. "Heaven or earth, delicacies of mountain or sea, beasts or fowl, flora, timber, fruit, or blossom... anything you desire." Sun Yixie thought to himself, *This old geezer is awfully cocky, rubbing it right in my face.* With his belly already rumbling, a spark of spite flared up. "Heh... so you're saying, whatever flies in the sky, runs on the ground, swims in the river, or hops in the grass... it's all fair game?" This phrasing came straight out of comic dialogue banter. Huang Donglai recognized the routine; if the other man agreed, Brother Sun's very next retort was bound to be "toilet paper." Huang Donglai knew that bickering would not help them get food any faster. Worse, if the old man really brought out toilet paper for Brother Sun to taste, Sun would be in serious trouble. He hurried to interject, "All right, all right... Brother Sun, do me a favor and stop courting death, will you?" His crude interjection made both Xue Tui and Yuan Fangzhi knit their brows, but Sun Yixie actually took the advice to heart. "Fine then." Taking another deep breath, Sun Yixie paused before addressing Yuan Fangzhi. "Then... I'll choose 'fish.'" "Oh?" At the mention of "fish," Yuan Fangzhi's expression shifted subtly, followed by a smirk. "Heh... good, very good. Please wait a moment, Young Master." With that, he turned and headed for the kitchen. In less time than it took to drink a cup of tea, Yuan Fangzhi returned carrying a large serving tray. Upon the tray rested five small saucers, each holding an item. At a glance, every dish appeared to be fish, but visual inspection alone offered no hint as to what each one was. Yuan Fangzhi swiftly arranged the saucers on the table beside Sun Yixie's seat, stepped to the side, and smiled at him. "Young Master Sun... please." In Yuan Fangzhi's mind, Sun Yixie had already walked into his own doom. Had the boy chosen pork or tofu, he might have had a chance to guess the ingredient's origin or at least its cooking method. Most people had heard of black pigs, white pigs, Jinhua hams, southern curds, northern brine, frying, and boiling. Fish? Given the aquatic knowledge and fishing techniques of that era, even seasoned fishermen often could not identify what they pulled from the water. Even among common species, the varieties were staggeringly vast. It was easily the most difficult choice imaginable. Yet Yuan Fangzhi never could have anticipated what followed. "Heh... that's it?" Sun Yixie had not even picked up his chopsticks; he simply glanced over the contents of the five saucers and broke into a scornful smirk. At this, the smile vanished from Yuan Fangzhi's face, for he sensed that the youth was not merely bluffing. *Tap, tap.* Sun Yixie lazily picked up his chopsticks, tapped them indecorously against the tabletop to align them, and went straight in with a bite. "Monkfish liver, simmered in liquor." Before the words had fully settled, his chopsticks darted out a second time. Before the taste of the first fish had even faded from his palate, he was eating from the second dish. "Pufferfish sashimi, with a few drops of soy sauce." Then came the third bite. "Dried barracuda, cured with chili, salt, cooking wine, scallions, ginger, and garlic." A fourth bite followed. "Spanish mackerel, steamed tender and tossed with fermented black beans." Finally, popping the fifth mouthful into his mouth, he chuckled again. "Heh... as for how you prepared this whitebait, it's barely passable. Considering you had to handle five kinds—no, wait, the dried barracuda was clearly prepared beforehand—considering you had to cook four kinds of fish in such a short window, it's genuinely demanding. So I won't hold the rough technique against you." Huang Donglai was not in the least surprised by Brother Sun's theatrical display, knowing him inside and out. Yet Xue Tui and Yuan Fangzhi were utterly dumbfounded. Xue Tui froze, thinking, *Did I misjudge them? Were their ridiculous introductions earlier just deliberate nonsense? Wait... didn't he claim to be the 'Sea King'?* Yuan Fangzhi was in even worse shape, his face contorting. Sun Yixie had not only correctly named every single one of the five fish and their preparations, but had even used terms like "sashimi," which Yuan himself had never heard before, acting as though he knew far more about the craft than the chef did. Yuan Fangzhi fumed internally: *Even when I cooked for the Emperor and the imperial consorts, I was never lectured like this! What is the meaning of this?* Yet his indignation was fundamentally misplaced. What could an emperor or an imperial consort possibly know about such things? They did not even know the price of eggs per jin, nor did they understand that meat needed parboiling, so naturally they could never challenge him. Sun Yixie, on the other hand, had spent two lifetimes dealing in fish markets. Trying to outmatch him on fish was like a champion human swimmer debating deep diving with an Atlantean. "Hmph... you certainly talk a big game." After stewing on it, Yuan Fangzhi remained unwilling to yield. "Granted, Young Master Sun has correctly identified all five fish dishes and passed the trial of 'One Taste.' But if you claim my preparation of whitebait was merely 'passable,' this old man would like to seek your enlightenment." Translated into plain terms: *You think I'm lacking? Then put up or shut up. Let's see you demonstrate.* It was, in truth, an unreasonable display of pettiness. Yet Sun Yixie, holding the winning hand, was more than happy to banter with him. "Sure thing. Come on, where's the kitchen?" Speaking, he had already risen to his feet, turning his head to call Huang Donglai. "Brother Huang, come along. Let me whip up an appetizer with my own hands to cushion our stomachs first."