Chapter 1
On my first day in town, disciples of the Suspended Sword Sect happened to be coming down the mountain for supplies.
Before I could call out more than a few times, the old woman selling flatbreads beside me began fanning herself and watching with amused patience.
“Save yourself the trouble, girl. Cultivators learn to abstain from grain as soon as they join a sect. They stopped eating mortal food ages ago.”
I smiled without answering and lifted the wooden lid. Stock rolled at a boil over the stove, filling the air with its fragrance. A small push of spiritual power sent the aroma drifting for miles.
The old woman closed her eyes and inhaled. “Now that is a fine broth.”
I nodded, noticing a gray-robed cultivator watching from nearby. After several moments of hesitation, he approached.
“What do you sell here?”
I brought out the fillings I had prepared. “Wontons. Would you like a bowl?”
His gaze moved over the row of red and green minced fillings. Pointing to one, he asked, “What is this?”
“You have a good eye, Daoist. That’s my signature pork and shepherd’s purse, with tender bamboo shoots for a fresh crunch.”
After a moment’s thought, he took a silver leaf from his pocket. “I’ll have that.”
The flatbread woman stared.
I lifted a mound of pink filling with a bamboo strip, placed it in a wrapper, and pinched the edges until a plump, ingot-shaped wonton appeared. One by one they went into the pot.
In a porcelain bowl, I put half a spoonful of lard, dried seaweed, tiny shrimp, and a layer of bright scallions. Two circles of black vinegar came last, followed by scalding stock. Steam billowed up, rich with savory fragrance.
The gray-robed cultivator snatched the bowl as soon as the wontons were done. Oddly, he did not sit down to eat. He sniffed the bowl several times, took a wooden box from his robe, and carefully poured the entire serving inside.
By the time I looked up after making change, only an empty bowl remained. The cultivator was gone.
The old woman swallowed and looked at me with naked envy.
It was my first day, so I had not made much filling. The long street stayed busy, and by afternoon I had sold out and put out the fire.
The old woman was still marveling at that silver leaf and calculating how many cartloads of flatbread it could buy. Her voice had turned distinctly sour.
I ignored her, tucked away my money pouch, and pushed my cart home.
Dragonseek Town lay between mountains and water. Its people were honest and industrious, and every household took pride in doing good.
I had not been open long, but business was brisk each day. Even the old woman’s flatbreads sold better beside my stall.
I liked to set up at dawn, just as the butcher opened. I bought two good pork leg bones, washed them, then simmered them with scallion whites and ginger. The rest of the scallion and ginger went into a basin with Sichuan peppercorns to make seasoned water for the fillings.
Once the stock boiled, I skimmed it, added my secret blend of spices, brought it back to a boil, and left it to simmer.
While I kneaded dough and rolled wrappers, the old woman leaned over to tell me about the earthquakes the night before.
The town’s most famous fortune-teller claimed the Black Dragon was turning in its sleep.
“You don’t know why this place is called Dragonseek Town? More than a century ago, a Golden Immortal fought a black dragon for ten days and nights.”
In the end, the immortal severed half the dragon’s head and spent every scrap of cultivation sealing it beneath this mountain. For a hundred years, extraordinary people had come from all over the world seeking the dragon. That was how the town got its name.
“Did they find it?”
She shook her head. After the immortal fell, her sect came from thousands of miles away. Other than her bonded sword, they found nothing. They eventually settled here and founded today’s Suspended Sword Sect.
The old woman looked around and lowered her voice. “If you ask me, it’s all lies. If they truly found nothing, why move the entire sect here?”
As a child, she claimed, she had gone up the mountain to cut grass with her mother and seen the dragon’s terrifying blood-red eye.
Before she could continue, I pinched off several fresh pieces of dough and asked how much she had paid.
She blinked. “How did you know? I went out before dawn for this.” She unfolded a cloth bundle to reveal a new yellow talisman. “It cost five whole coppers, but the master said it would keep my son and me safe, help him pass the examinations, and make my business prosper.”
“That master manages an impressive number of affairs.”
Missing my meaning entirely, she folded the cloth with satisfaction and urged me to buy one too. Cultivators who paid in silver leaves were rare.
“It’s been almost half a month. He must be used to immortal delicacies. However good your wontons are, can they compare with a sect’s jade platters?”
I dusted flour from my hands and happened to look up.
A gray figure was running toward us, followed by a tremendous crowd.
I smiled from the heart. “You never know.”
The leading cultivator spotted my stall and lit up.
“Brothers! This is where I bought the wontons!”
Dozens of disciples surged forward and surrounded the cart.
The gray-robed cultivator stood by the pot, closed his eyes, and drew a mighty breath. “That’s it! That’s the smell!”
“So, Tang Six, this is what you were eating under your desk?”
“It smells better than the dining hall.”
“You call that slop food? Even a dog would weep. Fasting pills are better.”
“Fourth Brother’s fasting pills taste like wax balls. I’m about to vomit from them.”
“Talk behind Fourth Brother’s back and I’ll report you.”
“You can’t. Fourth Brother was poisoned by the dining hall and still hasn’t woken up.”
“…”
“Enough!” Tang Six slapped a silver leaf onto the table. “Shopkeeper, one bowl of pork and shepherd’s purse wontons for every one of us!”
Their eager chatter made me laugh. Unfortunately, the stock needed a little longer. While it bubbled, they craned their necks and watched me prepare the fillings.