Chapter 71: Kowtow

“When Senior Brother is cooking, he doesn’t like others to interrupt, so we usually don’t ask. We just eat whatever he makes.”

A culinary mystery box?

Not a bad idea, actually—adds a touch of surprise.

“I’m not picky. I eat everything.”

Wuyong glanced at her, drew in a breath, opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.

Qin Qing said, “If you have something to say, just say it. You staying quiet like this is making me uncomfortable.”

“I remember when the studio ordered takeout at noon, Qin Fanghao had to ask you seven or eight times before you’d decide what to eat.”

Qin Qing didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.

“But some places really do taste awful.”

Expressionless, Wuyong said, “You just said you’re not picky.”

“That’s not being picky. Being picky is refusing to eat this or that. I eat everything—except bad food.”

Wuyong finally sighed.

Qin Qing asked, “Did I say something wrong? Why are you sighing?”

Wuyong replied, “It’s nothing. I’m just reminding myself—you’re the boss.”

Why did that sound like an insult?

The two of them walked through the incense-filled front hall, weaving past the steady flow of tourists. Wuyong led her into a narrow alley, formally entering the living quarters of Baiyun Temple.

At the alley entrance, a red warning tape was stretched across, along with a large sign that read: No Entry for Tourists.

But Qin Qing wasn’t a tourist. She ignored the sign and stepped around it.

She was a little excited.

She had been visiting Baiyun Temple since she was a child. Every time, she’d stand in front of the No Entry sign for a long time, wanting to go past it.

There wasn’t even a real reason—not curiosity. Just rebellion.

The sign said stop, so of course she wanted to go.

If that sign didn’t exist, she probably wouldn’t have had any desire to see what was on the other side.

Now she had done it!

She even felt like jumping for joy.

Qin Qing lightly tapped Mumu with the tip of her foot.

Mumu responded dramatically with two hops in place, then gave her a resentful look.

Qin Qing was satisfied.

Wuyong asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a regular episode of dog nonsense.”

When visiting someone else’s home, of course you first greet the host and offer a small gift.

Wuyong said, “Let’s go see Senior Brother first. The others are probably busy right now. I’ll introduce you to them at the banquet later.”

“Okay.”

“Senior Brother should be in the Scripture Library right now.”

So they headed to Baiyun Temple’s inner library.

The building wasn’t large but had several floors.

The first floor had many tables, chairs, and meditation cushions. Several young Daoist priests were either meditating or doing schoolwork.

Upon seeing Wuyong, they all stood and greeted her respectfully with a call of “Junior Daoist Sisters.”

Wuyong stood tall and nodded back to each one, calm and dignified.

She introduced Qin Qing: “This is a distinguished guest of the temple, surnamed Qin. She’s also my boss.”

The young Daoists all greeted Qin Qing politely.

Wow… she had visited Baiyun Temple many times, but this was the warmest reception yet.

A true homecoming for the former neighbor returning in glory.

Old Celestial Master Wuxiang was on the top floor of the library.

When they entered, the old master was leisurely sipping tea.

“Shhh…”

Upon seeing them, he motioned for quiet and pointed to the table beside him.

There, a big orange tabby lay sprawled out asleep.

It was none other than the viral internet-famous Cat Daoist, Feifei. She hadn’t seen him in ages—and he was even rounder now. Even in sleep, he licked his lips, clearly dreaming of something delicious.

After the introductions and greetings, Old Celestial Master personally offered Qin Qing a seat and brewed her a cup of tea.

“This is tea we grow ourselves on the mountain. Give it a try.”

Wuyong explained, “The mountain’s tea trees date back to the Qing dynasty, though many were destroyed in hard times. Only three ancient bushes remain now.”

So precious—better try it quickly.

Qin Qing didn’t know tea, but the moment she tasted it, she found it mellow and rich, with a fast-returning sweetness and a deep woody aroma, layered and complex.

“Hahaha, not bad! You’ve got a good palate,” said Daoist Wuxiang.

Daoist Wuxiang had kind eyes and a kindly face. Though his hair and beard were white, his skin still looked firm—just more smile lines.

He smiled whenever he spoke, and the way he looked at people was the same as how he looked at the fat cat on the table.

Talking to him was relaxing—he radiated a sense of safety.

“Thanks to your care, Wuyong’s grown more stable after all this training.”

Qin Qing was candid: “Daoist Master, with Wuyong’s current temperament, if you expect her to become stable, you might as well go find a log.”

“Hahahahaha! Talking to young people is such fun.” The old master glanced at Wuyong. “She still has some growing to do.”

It felt like when a parent talks about their child: My kid’s not as good as yours.

What could Qin Qing do? Sing praises of Wuyong, of course.

She considered the visit a success.

Proof? The old master said she should come often for meals.

What a good man.

He even invited her to stay the night at the temple.

Three times a good man!

Whether or not she stayed wasn’t important—but staying came with meals. At least three.

After chatting for a while, Wuyong suggested taking Qin Qing for a walk: “Senior Brother, why don’t you rest a bit? We’ll see you off.”

“No need. I’ll stay a while longer.”

Wuyong urged, “Don’t read too long—it’ll strain your eyes.”

“Not reading. Just sitting. Today’s not a good day for reading,” the old master said mysteriously.

Qin Qing thought the temple even calculated auspicious times for reading, until she followed Wuyong’s gaze toward the round-bellied cat on the table.

She looked too—and saw that under the cat was a book.

Wuyong stepped forward to reach for it—

Only to be blocked by the old master’s wide sleeve.

“Don’t poke him. If you wake him without food, he’ll cling to your legs and meow all day. So annoying.”

The old master sighed. “Look how fat he is. He shouldn’t eat anymore. The other day I saw him almost slip off the temple wall.”

Wuyong showed no mercy.

“You could chase him out. If he’s not near you, he won’t bother you.”

“How could I? Tourists love to feed him outside—he’d eat even more.”

Wuyong continued, “Then I’ll have our junior disciples make some signs and hang them where the cats usually roam. The signs will say the cats are on a diet—no feeding.”

“Cats don’t need to diet.” The old master waved them away. “Enough. I know what to do.”

Qin Qing found it all very enlightening—this was not the kind of celestial master she’d imagined.

For someone who claims to have it under control, you sure don’t seem like it.

The banquet for Qin Qing was held in a private room at the temple’s dining hall.

A plain room, a plain table—

But on it were dishes you couldn’t find anywhere else.

Wuyong and her five senior brothers accompanied her.

But only Qin Qing and Daoist Wutun seemed fully focused on eating. The others treated the food casually, as if they were used to it.

Damn them for being used to it.

Not that she was jealous or anything.

The old Daoists seemed more interested in Qin Qing than in the food.

But Qin Qing was only interested in Daoist Wutun.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in conversation—especially not about his food.

Just as Wuyong said, he preferred to keep to himself.

To him, cooking for others was probably just a way to use up what he made while having fun.

She had to admit—this chubby Daoist was seriously cool.

She liked him.

Too bad he clearly wasn’t looking for new friends.

He exuded a constant air of forced participation.

Qin Qing noticed—and didn’t force a conversation. Nor did she lavish verbal praise on the dishes.

She quietly savored the rare delicacies.

In front of her was a dish of bamboo shoots. Nothing impressive at first glance—just tender shoots boiled and arranged plainly on a plate, with a light glaze.

But seeing how Daoist Wutun’s chopsticks hovered around it non-stop, she gave it a try.

She didn’t know where he found such tender bamboo in this season. The taste was fresh and sweet, with no trace of tough fibers.

To her surprise, inside the seemingly ordinary shoots was a hidden treasure. Each finger-thick shoot was stuffed with a delicate filling—mainly soft tofu, perhaps some mashed potatoes, finely chopped water chestnuts, and shiitake.

Probably other things too, but Qin Qing couldn’t identify them all.

Fragrant, soft, silky, and tender—every ingredient was flavorful, yet retained its unique taste.

This is truly a dish that requires skill.

Daoist Wutun was being rather selfish, eating heartily on his own without so much as introducing it to the others.

Fortunately, another Daoist priest noticed Qin Qing picking at the dish and smiled as he explained, “This Golden Bamboo Shoot Stuffed Tofu is Wu Tun’s specialty. It’s said to be a real hassle to prepare—he only makes it during the New Year. This time, Senior Brother had to specifically ask him to cook it.”

Qin Qing said, “Really? Then everyone should eat more of it.”

Wu Tun cast a sideways glance at the Daoist who spoke, clearly thinking, You talk too much.

That Daoist rubbed his nose awkwardly and lowered his head to count his grains of rice.

Qin Qing had only just finished savoring a single bamboo shoot when she noticed Daoist Wutun increasing the frequency with which he was reaching for the dish.

In the blink of an eye, half the plate was gone.

She couldn’t allow that!

Qin Qing felt the power of her inner foodie awaken. She lifted her chopsticks and joined the fray, engaging in a fierce back-and-forth with Wu Tun, neither side yielding.

“Wu Tun,” the Old Celestial Master suddenly gave a soft cough and held out his plate, “pass me some of the shredded potato and dried tofu slices in front of you—I can’t reach them.”

Wu Tun looked deeply at Qin Qing, eyes filled with both grievance and frustration.

The Old Celestial Master urged him, “Quickly now.”

Unwillingly, Daoist Wutun served a portion of the dishes to his senior brother.

Qin Qing had the distinct feeling that this chubby Daoist held a grudge against her—and she had proof.

But really, had she done anything that outrageous?

She was a guest. What’s wrong with having a few extra bites?

A chef should appreciate someone who enjoys their cooking, no?

Chubby Daoist, must you be so contrary?

Qin Qing felt a little crushed. Just her luck.

She hadn’t even finished the meal and already managed to offend a naturally gifted chef.

She almost wanted to drop dead on the spot.

The Old Celestial Master had no regard for appearances. He split open a bun, stuffed it with the shredded potato and tofu, and ate it like a sandwich.

His appetite was astonishing for someone his age—he ate three large buns in a row.

“Crude tea and plain meals up here on the mountain. Sorry for the meager offerings.”

“You must be joking, Daoist. If this counts as plain fare, then I guess I’ve been gnawing on livestock feed every day.”

Daoist Wutun let out a soft snort.

Though the Daoists were clearly curious about Qin Qing, they didn’t ask many questions during the meal, making it a relatively peaceful dining experience—aside from the chubby Daoist’s occasional tsundere grumbles.

After the dishes were cleared, tea was served. That’s when the real chatting began.

Based on the Daoists’ interests, she shared stories of a few incidents she’d handled. In return, they offered tales from their own experiences.

Qin Qing was quite intrigued by the Daoist techniques they employed when dealing with things. She couldn’t help asking questions, and the Daoists, seeing her genuine interest, spoke eagerly and in detail.

Qin Qing came across like an eager elementary school student, which greatly boosted the Daoists’ enthusiasm for sharing.

“Wow…”

“Really?”

“That’s incredible!”

“Please, explain that part in detail.”

Secretly, she was thrilled. She was learning so much. Now she’d have loads of new material for her future charlatan acts. Clearly, fellow practitioners should keep in touch and share resources—no wonder every industry loves throwing conferences. It’s not just for show; you really do learn things.

As the conversation grew lively, the Daoists wanted to discuss scripture with her.

That was where Qin Qing hit a wall. The few texts she had memorized to bluff outsiders were shallow at best. In front of these real Daoists, her understanding didn’t even count as half-baked. Three sentences in, and she’d be exposed.

She was just trying to figure out an excuse to get out of it when a young Daoist priest came running.

“Greetings, Masters. There’s an incident.”

The Old Celestial Master said, “Don’t rush. Speak slowly.”

“Two believers arrived at the foot of the mountain with a child. They’ve been kowtowing step by step up the mountain. A junior brother went down to ask and relayed the message back: the child is very ill and has only a few days left to live. With no other hope, they’ve come to the mountain to pray, hoping that their sincerity might bring about a miracle.”