On the first day after I transmigrated, my father died, and I took over a shabby food stall that owed thirty taels.
My first customer was a drunken old man. After eating, he wiped his mouth, said he had no money, and paid with a scrap of paper.
I used that pile of paper to prop up a table leg for half a month. Then the whole county learned it was an original work by Li Shisan, the literary master, whose authentic pieces hadn't been seen in ten years.
After that, the Painting Sage came, then the Cursive Script Master, and then half the famous scholars of Great Yan lined up at my stall to run up tabs, leave calligraphy, and stand up for me.
Someone asked who taught me my craft.
I said: In my previous life, I spent three months poring over old books and ruined thirty-seven bamboo knives trying things out.
You can copy a recipe, but you can't copy the knack.
From the deepest alley in Qinghe County, the flames spread all the way to the state banquet in Yanjing.
No CP · career-focused · gourmet farming · modern knowledge overwhelms the past
