The Culinary Way Begins at the Drunken Immortal Tower

When I was seven, my parents sent me to work as a dishwasher at Zuixianlou.

The proprietress, Liu Sanniang, was cool and distant. They said she had once been part of the jianghu, and both sides of the law treated her with respect.

Chef Wang had his right hand broken by someone, yet still taught me to chop vegetables with his left. He told me that the culinary arts had four realms: Technique, Spirit, Heart, and Enlightenment. Reach the fourth, and you could make a dish that would bring someone to tears with a single bite.

Back then, I didn't understand.

All I knew was that three of the city's biggest restaurants had joined forces to ruin us. All I knew was that the manager said making good food affordable for ordinary people mattered more than anything.

Little by little, I came to understand.

A bowl of scallion-oil noodles could save a restaurant. A spoonful of fried bean sauce could make the whole city line up. A pot of Laba porridge could draw in a mysterious old man of unfathomable depth.

And Chef Wang, who taught me not to rush, taught me more than cooking.

Where does this path of culinary arts ultimately lead?

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.