Chapter 9 - Meat Stick

Lei carried the metal bars pinched under his arm, all six of them, face straining with effort while the afternoon sun tried to drill through his skull with spears of light. It was hectic, to say the least, and he had half the mind to ask a certain fatty to carry his weight for him.

But Fatty Lou had his hands and shoulders full of firewood as he whistled happily in front of him. The man even carried two sacks hanging from the tips of his fingers, sweating profusely, but he didn't seem to mind the effort. On the contrary, there was a beaming smile creasing the lines on his face.

They trudged up the slope, through the trees, trying to keep their eyes down while dozens of white-robed Outer Sect disciples gazed intently at them, some cracking the knuckles of their hands. It would take not two, but just one of these cold-hearted bastards to be done with them, but fortunately, they seemed to have some sense to them, keeping them away from beating the two road-worn, weight-carrying honest men.

When the Kitchens came in light up the road, Lei blew out a long breath. Though the structure seemed as if it was a strong wind away from crumbling into pieces, it somehow sparked a sense of familiarity within him, a sense of security.

It was hard to understand, to adapt to a new world. Hard when you've nowhere else to go, no one but yourself to depend on. Hard when it feels like you're treading through the dark, hoping the steps you take will allow you to see the light once again.

In that regard, Lei thought that he was doing a good job. It took him weeks to get used to that shaky, unreliable makeshift stall, but he had done it. And here, he would once again try to do the same, no matter the circumstances.

You have to carry on. Yes. That's what you do. You carry on and try not to think much about it.

When he took a step inside through the wooden fence circling the eastern part of the Kitchens, he hurled the bars out down the ground, breath rasping in his throat. He wiped his face with the back of his hand as he regarded the rusted grills strewn across the yard. There were two of them looking bright and shiny as if they were newly bought.

This was a place that solely existed for Elder Brother Bai. It wasn't much, but here he grilled all sorts of spiritual beasts, away from the inner part of the Kitchens.

As Fatty Lou lay down the firewood, Lei made his way toward the Kitchens, to check on his team. They must've sliced hundreds of pounds of meat this morning, but the real thing that would give the meat its taste was the seasoning.

Inside, Elder Brother Bai and his two experienced cooks were busy with their stations. Lei edged round them, silent and careful, and checked his chicken soup before he found himself against a bustle of noises punching through his ears. The porridge-making, sweat-pouring men were busy messing up the precious meat chops, but Lei's cooks were different. To the right side, they stood watching over ten big bowls, all filled with seasoned meat.

"I think they're about ready," Lei said as checked the bowls one by one. The fillets were soaked in goat milk, with a mix of seasoning painting the milk's clear color into a brownish red. It'd been three hours now that they left the meat to marinate, and they looked tender as a newborn's fontanelle.

"Drain the milk, and let the meats rest a bit," Lei said after he was done checking the bowls. "And what about the bread? Are they ready? We need at least two, three hundred of them."

A skinny man with long, brown hair raised a hand. "We're keeping them at the back. Three hundred of them, all baked according to your instructions."

"Good," Lei said. "Cut some redseed, lettuce, and scallions for me. Put them into containers, and make sure there's enough of them."

"Can you at least tell us what are you going to do with… these?" Wang Fei said with a doubtful gaze, pointing a finger to the bowls. "Milk, garlic, cinnamon, black pepper. Seems to me you've added every single thing you can think of all in one bowl. I don't think that'll make for good meat."

"What do you know about good meat, eh?" Lei swept him a fierce look.

Outside, he could pass over Wang Fei's sharp remarks with a shrug, but here, inside the Kitchens, things were different. If he were to be a chef cooking his own meals, then he would not allow this ignorant bunch to say something over him.

"Let the meats rest," he said one more time, keeping eye contact until Wang Fei nodded unwillingly.

After that was done, he went back to check on Fatty Lou, trying not to think much about the looks of uncertainty coming from all around him. But what really made him angry were the defeated expressions covering the faces of these cooks. Defeated, and desperate, and hopeless, Lei found.

There has to be a story behind all these.

Even if that were to be true, it was clear Elder Brother Bai had preferred not to talk about it, instead, in his words, he would let Lei personally experience the reality which made these men the way they were.

I may be wrong, but I will try to make something out of this.

…..

After making sure the chicken soup was ready and perfectly cooked, Lei then waved a hand to his team of cooks before meeting up with Fatty Lou at the grill yard. The man had a blissful daze as he stared out into the glistening sun, arms stretched to both sides.

"Are they ready?" Lei said, gazing at the metal compartments all lined side by side in the yard.

"Ready?" Fatty Lou gave him a slight smile. "Oh, they're ready, don't worry. I had to cut all the parts myself, and I'm proud of the work. But I still have no idea what are you going to do with them."

"See these parts?" Lei said as he kneeled beside them, pointing a finger to the left-most one. It resembled a three-drawer cabinet coming high up near his stomach, but the side facing them was left open. He pulled a metal bar from the back, stabbing it to the ground before the platform. "We'll put the firewood inside these slots, and stick the meat slices through this bar, on top of each other."

Fatty Lou rubbed his chin thoughtfully, seemingly unsure. "But why? We can just cook the meat over those grills, no?"

Lei shook his head. "Best you wait, and see it for yourself."

The door creaked open behind them, and the team came carrying bowls of meat one after another. They put down the bowls, careful not to mix the different meat types before taking a step back, allowing Lei to once again check the meats.

"I'll show you how it's done," Lei said as he pulled a bowl filled with chicken to his side. First, he passed a wooden plate through the metal bar, lowering it down for it to serve as a base. After it was done, he took the first chicken fillet, stuck it from the bar, and repeated the process. "Carefully stick the fillets, and lay them to each side to create this circular shape. We'll do this until the bar is filled to the brim."

Deciding the team got his meaning, he stepped back, wiped his hands on Fatty Lou's apron, then pointed with his head to the metal bars. "Let's start. We've not much time, so you better be quick."

The team set to work, albeit a touch unwillingly. Still, Lei thought they wouldn't mess up with something so simple as this. He glowered down at them from the back for good measurement, like his teachers had done in the past.

"Careful!" he said when Wang Fei dropped a pork fillet to the ground, grumbling to himself.

The man glared at him from his knees. "You're toying with us!"

"Me?" Lei raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm trying to save you, Wang Fei, save the Kitchens. So help me out a little, will you?"

Wang Fei got back to work, mumbling something under his breath.

What Lei found it hard to understand was while the other cooks didn't seem to like him either, it was only Wang Fei who acted as if he had a grudge against him.

I'm sure he didn't like it when Elder Brother Bai made him work for me, but it can't be just that, right?

Lei took a deep breath. It wasn't the right time to focus on such things. Instead, he kept pointing out the mistakes, making sure everything was up to his standard, and poked Wang Fei a couple of times even though the bastard had nothing wrong.

When all six of the metal bars were ready with slices of meat, Lei then ordered the team to pile the reserved fats on top of them. With wood's beautiful heat, their juice would melt, dripping down the meats, and hopefully, remind those senseless Outer Sect disciples what a good meal really looked like.

…….

It was a good day. The sun was ready, and high up in the sky, past afternoon heat easy on Lei's face. There was a slight breeze accompanying the line of bar-carrying men, with Lei strolling from behind them. To add a touch of mystery, he had his team cover the platforms with a piece of cloth, so right now they probably looked as if they were smuggling some statues from the sect.

A cultivator's strength has its good sides, that's for sure.

Considering those bars had pounds of meat piled on top of them, these men must've inhuman strength coursing through their bodies, for they were scarcely out of breath, and Lai was thankful for it.

I wouldn't mind carrying it myself, but I'm the chef, now, don't I?

Lei allowed himself a little smile as the line of cooks trudged through the mountain path, into a wide square which was crowded with white-robed Outer Sect disciples. A simple pavilion stood watching the square over one side, seemingly deserted and empty of life. What these Outer Sect disciples showed an interest in, on the other hand, was a single, monolithic stone towering high into the skies from the middle of the square.

There were hundreds, if not thousands of people gathered round the stone, pressing tight into each other. Whenever one of them touched the stone it would glow with a white light, characters engraved upon it flashing before fizzling out.

Lei heard from the others this was one of the Mission Steles in the sect. Acting as a magical device, this thing could pour out all sorts of missions to disciples, allowing them to earn those precious spirit stones and imperial gold.

And what about us? We get nothing.

Lei found his cooks sneaking angry, and envious glances from the crowd as they edged around them, making their way toward the pavilion. It was the Dining Pavilion, the most hated place in the sect, and Lei had no words to say about the matter. In fact, he didn't plan to use the cursed place, at all.

"Stop," he said to his boys. "We'll arrange the platforms here, in the square."

Wang Fei turned at him doubtfully. "We usually—"

Lei raised a hand at him. "I know it, Little Fei, but we don't want that pavilion to smell of smoke, and ash, now, do we? Best we set our little stands out in the open, to allow the smoke to pour freely into the air."

Wang Fei clenched his fingers tightly around the cloth, but Lei kept his smile looking at him. The other cultivators, now it was never a clever idea to mess with them, but Wang Fei… Little Fei was something entirely else.

"Come on!" Lei clapped his hands when his team stared at him. "We don't have all day. Set the platforms, set the fire. I want to smell that juice as it drips down the meat, to feel the heat splash across my face. We're cooks with passion, after all, eh? We're cooks with passion, so we need to paint a good picture for the bastards."

Platforms, set. They pulled the curtains one by one, revealing the glorious bars of meat shining like red, precious jewels. The firewood shoved inside the slots crackled as the wind blew across them, making the fire jump and wave cheerily. Through the tiny holes poked inside the metal containers, the smoke curled into brilliant circles as it blew out into the air.

Fatty Lou took a couple of cooks as they got back to get the bread and other containers from the Kitchens while Lei was busy strapping a clean apron over his chest. After he managed to wear the damn thing, he took a tong in his hand and stepped before a chicken-wrapped metal bar. He turned the bar ever so slowly with the tong while keeping an eye on the white-robed Outer Sect disciples.

They were, understandably, still engrossed by the flashing piece of stone, with only one or two of them having glanced at Lei's little stands that stood by the pavilion. But there was no rush, as it would take some time for the meat to cook.

"Be sure to check all the sides," he reminded the other cooks. "We want to keep all sides equally cooked, and crispy before we cut them."

After that, Lei closed his eyes, giving himself fully to the gorgeous sizzles of the chicken fillets. The firewood would crunch, and pop, then dripping fat hiss at the touch of the wooden base down below. Whenever the wind blew into the flames, they would produce a sound that was music to Lei's ears.

It reminded him of his restaurant days, this sound, days in which he tried, desperately, to make something out of that little shop. Under the desperation, though, there were days spent in bliss as he cooked one dish after another, just happy to be all by himself in the kitchen. Nothing could break his spirit in those days, nothing could make him depressed.

It was simple. Nothing more, and nothing less. Just as Elder Brother Bai said, it was the passion for cooking burning inside his veins that made him push his luck more than once. He'd been lazy, and irresponsible, but never did he make a half-assed effort while cooking his dishes.

For Lei, this was a way to express himself, an outlet that allowed him to be free of unnecessary thoughts. It was just like a… Yes, a therapy session.

Being honest. That's a hard thing. But I think as the days pass I'm beginning to feel less and less sorry about the ones I'd left behind. Does this make me a bad man? I'm not sure, but you can't just keep living your life choking under all the what-ifs and whatnots, right?

Sounded like some steps to his back. When he opened his eyes, he found Fatty Lou and the other cooks were here with boxes of bread, and the other containers.

"Fetch me a table or two from the pavilion," Lei said to Wang Fei as the man put down the containers on the ground. "And arrange those boxes here, near the platforms. I want all of them cut, and ready for the portions. Lettuce, onions, redseeds, fill them up."

His team began working on the boxes while Fatty Lou came near him, fanning himself with one hand as sweat glistened on his face. "Smells good, I can tell you that much."

"Heh." Lei chuckled. "Wait 'till you taste it."

"I'd never seen you make such a thing," Fatty Lou said, leaning closer to the bar. "What's it called, anyways?"

"Oh, this?" Lei nodded. "From where I came the people called it doner kebab."

"Doo— what?" Fatty Lou sputtered at the syllable. "That's a weird name."

Lei thought for a second. "Let's call it round-up meat sick, how's that sound?"

"Terrible." Fatty Lou's face twisted with a frown. "I'll call this… The Meat Stick, yeah. Very simple, and sound, and has a tasty ring to it."

"The Meat Stick, huh?" Lei smiled. "You're right. These are simple times, after all."

……