Deep in the inside of a magic wok, Hong contemplated the leprechaun. The leprechaun, for his part, contemplated Hong. Both must have liked what they saw, for after a moment they reached out and grabbed the other’s arm. Their handshake was hearty and enthusiastic.

“Never thought I’d see another noodle lover, when I sealed myself away all those centuries ago,” the leprechaun didn’t quite say, as the Author subtly modified his dialogue (alas, the latter proved incapable of transcribing the dialogue of the former).

Hong bowed. “You must have been buried for quite a time, oh great master - once, we were few. Now there are many of us; though still, alas, too few to end the onslaught on the humble but glorious noodle shop.”

The leprechaun laughed. “Ay, no surprise - was the same when I hid myself away, oh, must be nine hundred years ago now. The cultivators still destroy noodle shops?”

“Yes, yes they do. If they didn’t, would they even be cultivators?”

“True enough,” the leprechaun snorted. He climbed out of the chair, and began striding towards a nearby door, which opened onto a kitchen. He motioned for Hong to follow. “And the transmigrators? Are their ridiculous Systems still the basis of societal organisation?”

“No, not for some five centuries now, ever since the emperor - long may he reign - unseated the Yawn Dynasty Sleeping Sect, and restored the Dao.”

The leprechaun froze as he was putting water on to boil. “Really? That is fascinating.”

He dumped a packet of noodles into the pot. “And you? Who are you?”

Hong bowed once more. “Just a humble noodle shop repairman. Hong Yu, disciple of the Noodle Shop Repair Sect, at your service.”

The leprechaun nodded, acknowledging the bow of his junior. “And I am Xufu O’Paddyhaddy, leprechaun, former noodle shop proprietor, and present day recluse. Once crafter of the Finest Beer and Bucatini in the Great Xuan, although I’m long since retired. It’s an honour, young man, to meet you.”

Hong took this in good stride. It was not, generally speaking, normal to meet millennia old spirits whose chief interest in life was cooking, but Hong had lived a while and there was one lesson he had fully internalised: be patient enough, and you’ll see everything.

Xufu O’Paddyhaddy began cooking, as he quizzed Hong about the changes that had occurred in the world since the start of his seclusion. The specific wording of their conversation I will not here relate; suffice it to say that its substance tended to noodles, the plight of the noble noodle shop, and the opinions of the respective parties as to whether anything could or should be done.

Xufu O’Paddyhaddy had come to the Great Xuan in search of work some three millennia ago; had fallen in love with the humble noodle, food of the gods; had set up a restaurant; and, when the depredations of cultivators had become especially bad, and the rule of the transmigrators especially brutal, had recused himself from the world, giving control of his restaurant to his head chef and taking up residence in the enchanted wok.

He disagreed strenuously with Hong on the efficacy of the Noodle Shop Repair Sect’s mission, arguing that the problem was not with the cultivators’ behaviour with their souls. In vain did Hong remonstrate that it was a matter of education, and that the proper cultivation of the spirit would obviate many of the present unfortunate habits of today’s cultivators; his new companion would hear none of it, stiffly asserting that his own experience tended to the contrary, and that Hong’s mission was pointless.

The reader should not assume a mean spirit behind these remarks. They were both of them adults, and more than capable of carrying a point without taking personal insult; Hong replied to the charge not with anger but by citing several instances of successful cultivator interactions with noodle shops, and from there the two moved into an analysis of the evidence for cultivator’s culinary capacity, citing statistics, case studies, and case laws.

The leprechaun was a reasonable fellow, well versed in the ancient art of disputing the Dao - though he was, Hong was distressed to see, an adherent of the Dao of the Isles’ Three Meads - and he adjusted his argument gracefully as the two covered the philosophical terrain. Premises rose like mountains out of the hilly landscape, postulates dotted the valleys like rivers, and instances and inferences were the trees from which Hong carved his mighty palisade.

By the end of the dispute, as they were sitting over two bowls of noodles, Hong had even wrangled a concession from the old leprechaun.

“Okay, so maybe, just maybe, just perhaps, just a titch of possibility, it might be possible for cultivators to be less generally destructive - and more appreciative of noodle shops - than they were in my time.”

“Of restaurants more generally: I’ve heard heartening news from my compatriots in the Sake Joint Repair Sect, the Sushi Parlour Repair Sect, and the Curry & Stew Shop Repair Sect. Evidently at least some cultivators have started to learn that the restaurant is the soul of humanity and the heart of the world, a place to lay down your worries and rest.”

Xufu O’Paddyhaddy humphed. “Perhaps. But there is one problem with your entire philosophy that I cannot but help take exception to, and that is: why don’t you know how to cook?”

Hong blushed. It was a sore spot, his inability to cook, as it was for all of his sect. “What natural inclination gave me, education has not been able to undo - which is hardly surprising, for I have had no education in the most sacred of arts (cooking noodles).”

“And that’s precisely my problem. You tell me that cultivators can be educated to respect the noodle shop, yet understand neither education, nor the noodle shop. What is the essence of the noodle shop, if not the noodle? What is education in the matter of the noodle shop, if not that which brings you closer to its essence?”

Hong stroked his wisp of a beard, worry clear in his eyes. “I can see the thrust of your argument, and concede its merit.”

“Of course, building on my earlier point about the limits of education in a generic sense, to try and teach you the essence of the noodle shop directly would be both ineffective and potentially impossible by virtue of the nature of what it means to grasp an idea; the best I can do is give you the tools to make the discovery yourself.”
“I, you?” Hong queried. “You make it sound like you plan to offer instruction.”

The leprechaun picked up the bowls and took them to the sink. Hong waited patiently while he washed them, then made tea. When at last the two were seated once more with their drink, Xufu resumed his discussion.

“It has been nine hundred years since last I strode the surface of the earth. In that time, you say, much has changed; the old order which tormented the land is gone, and a new one now reigns which, though still in its infancy, endeavours to respect the humble noodle shop and treat it with the honour it deserves. If this is true, then perhaps it is time for me to leave my wok and visit the land of men.”

Hong nodded his approval.

“I thus owe you a debt of gratitude for having brought me this knowledge; I would like to discharge this debt by offering you some instruction, however negligible it may seem, in the art of cooking the noodle. I may not turn you into a great chef; but I can give you the techniques needed to let you, on your own account, become one.”

Hong blinked. It had long been the dream of the Noodle Shop Repair Sect to have culinary secret arts included under its repertoire of texts, but their dream had been in vain: the few sects dedicated to the culinary arts were even more secretive about their techniques than the alchemical sects, and they had been able to do no more than find the occasional cookbook - useful, perhaps, for learning a little about cooking (though they had failed even this), but not for learning the Dao of the Noodle itself.

The other restaurant repair sects, he knew, did not have this problem: when Hong had spoken to his old friend Morris Cohen of the Delicatessen Rectification Sect, the latter had offered him several recipes for the cooking of dumplings, as had his colleagues in the Pierogi Protectors, Beachside Barbecue Buddies, Fromagerie Friends, Tiki Time- well, you get the idea.

Consequently, when the leprechaun offered to teach him to teach those techniques - so long sought for, so long desired, so long an object of longing and despair - Hong was so seized by emotion he nearly developed a heart demon. He coughed violently, eyes going wide, and gave himself a moment during which he allowed his heart to express itself, before establishing it once more. Then he put his hands together and bowed.

“The gift you offer this humble one is grossly disproportionate in merit to its cause; this humble one gratefully accepts your offer, and promises to repay you tenfold.”