At the Youyi Peak kitchen, the old cook, apron tied and sleeve guards on, bustled about. With Nuan Shu helping, he had been spared quite a bit of work. Steam billowed from the bamboo steamers, and the seasonings alone filled two large tables. The plates, dishes, bowls, and other utensils were all celadon fired from the Longquan kilns, pleasing to the eye. The pink-skirted girl had just brought up three kinds of cooking wine from the cellar. After pouring a bowl, the old cook gently swirled it, took a sniff, and nodded. Lu Langhuan, Liu Ai, and the others either came from households below the mountain where bells chimed and feasts flowed, or had cultivated immortal arts on the mountain since childhood. For them to do such things truly was a gesture of heartfelt sentiment. They themselves knew it well enough. Watching the old gentleman's effortless, flowing culinary skill, they could not help thinking that having such an elder in the family was a genuine blessing.
Not only was Old Mr. Zhu patient and mild-tempered, his speech was elegant without being difficult to follow. He would take the initiative to chat with them about hometown matters below the mountain, about many interesting customs, historical anecdotes, strange tales, and odd happenings. Things even they themselves did not know, yet with only a few words from the old gentleman, a faint homesickness had somehow been stirred in them.
Generally speaking, larger immortal residences and Daoist grounds on the mountain would have several dedicated cooks and cookwomen, who at the very least needed to be skilled in medicinal cuisine. This elderly man was said to be Luopo Mountain's old steward. Though simply dressed in a blue robe, long gown, and cloth shoes, he kept himself neat and spotless. His expression was genial, his