Chapter Thirty-Nine: Matters at the Restaurant

The waiter was stunned that someone covered in blood could speak so articulately, and for a moment, he could hardly believe his ears.

"Oh? Right this way... please, sir, follow me..."

Xie Peiling moved to a new table, and the waiter stood beside him, ready to take his order.

"Braised shredded bean curd, Three-Set Duck, Mapo tofu, shredded pork with dried bean curd, fresh braised fish..."

As Xie Peiling listed each dish, the waiter scribbled them into his notebook. At first, he thought nothing of it—perhaps the man simply had a large appetite? Given his attire and the bloodstains, it was clear he was a wanderer of the martial arts world. The waiter didn't dare question him, wanting only to finish the order and be on his way, fearful of causing any trouble.

As for the possibility of the man dining and dashing, neither the shopkeeper nor the waiter was particularly worried. These wanderers who traveled far and wide rarely defaulted on such small debts. Even if they did, there was little the staff could do—reporting it to the authorities was often futile, and if word got out, they risked being hunted down and killed.

Xie Peiling, sensing the waiter’s hesitation, assumed he was worried about payment. He took out a few pieces of coarse silver, jingled them in his palm, and smiled. "Just go ahead and prepare it; I am not short on money."

The waiter nodded and bowed like a chicken pecking at grain, sensing that Xie Peiling was already impatient. Before long, the promised plate of fresh dates was brought over. Xie Peiling grabbed them and tossed them into his mouth, completely indifferent to his appearance.

Not everyone in the restaurant was busy; there were always those who loved to watch a spectacle. When the waiter had arrived empty-handed, they had sensed something was amiss. While Xie Peiling and the waiter spoke in low tones—the waiter’s voice occasionally audible—it was strange that Xie Peiling’s words were entirely inaudible to the others. Still, they caught a few snippets from the waiter’s side and drew their own conclusions.

There was a man in a bamboo hat, who might have been an assailant or a victim—it was unclear. Seeing that he was disrupting business, the shopkeeper had instructed the waiter to give him a plate of dates and send him to a corner. They felt this was a reasonable approach; it was better to avoid trouble. If this man were to cause a scene, the loss would far exceed that of a few customers.

Moreover, the man looked ragged, like someone who couldn't even afford a meal. Even if he broke something, he wouldn't be able to pay for it, and they assumed he wouldn't be ordering anything beyond a few cold dishes.

Xie Peiling was aware of the complex mixture of emotions directed at him, but he felt no discomfort. He simply continued to toss one fresh date after another into his mouth. Waiting is always a long process, and one must find something to do in the meantime. Like the idle patrons in the restaurant, Xie Peiling began to look around, searching for anything of interest.

At a table near the entrance on the right, he noticed a pair that had drawn the gaze of many. It was a young Daoist, looking to be about fifteen or sixteen, accompanied by an old Daoist. The young one seemed to lead, occasionally uttering cryptic phrases that led some to believe they were of the same ilk as the "Old Immortal" on the high platform in the south of the city. The old Daoist appeared slow-witted, having spent decades in fruitless pursuit of immortality, while the youth seemed to have achieved enlightenment and attained eternal youth—perhaps, some whispered, his mastery even surpassed that of the Old Immortal.

Yet, the pair seemed to be facing a minor dilemma. The young Daoist closed his eyes, leading onlookers to believe he was deeply immersed in profound meditation, when in reality, he was whispering barely audible words.

"Master, will people really believe we are immortals like this?"

"Does that even need to be asked? If the real 'Old Immortal' shows up, we can just reveal a hint of our true power to show we are his peers, then use some enigmatic jargon to tell fortunes for them—preferably for the wealthy families. We could make a fortune!" The old Daoist chuckled, popping a piece of meat into his mouth with a whimsical air.

The young Daoist looked exasperated, opening his eyes to sigh at his uninhibited master. "I say we should find something practical to do. You were beaten up just a while ago; why not just rest? If all else fails, you could just retire in the temple! I’ll handle the daily expenses from now on."

The old Daoist slammed the table. "What nonsense are you spouting? I am still young... and besides, 'ginger is spicier when it's old,' don't you know? And as for that beating, don't mention it again! That place had no sense of order; they were clapping and cheering while I was being hit. If I didn't have a tough life, you would have been burying me early!"

The young Daoist thought for a moment and said, "But you say that every time... really, you should retire. This is just not for you anymore..."

Just then, the waiter arrived with a large wooden tray holding only two miserable bowls and some pickled vegetables, each bowl containing nothing more than a small steamed bun.

"Sorry for the wait, gentlemen. Your two small steamed buns and pickled cabbage are ready. Please, enjoy your meal!" After placing them on the table, he pointed to the plate of meat scraps in front of the old Daoist and whispered, "These leftovers are cold. Would you like us to heat them up for you?"

The old Daoist shook his head.

The young Daoist looked enviously at the small plate on the large tray. His eyes lingered on the steaming meat dish, and as he heard the waiter’s slightly mocking tone and the sound of their own meager bowls hitting the table, his heart sank to rock bottom.

The old Daoist sensed his disciple's dejection. After a moment of silence, he sighed, picked up his chopsticks, and tapped his bowl. "...Eat. Food is the foundation of life; an empty stomach is no state to be in. Never mind what they are eating—we, at least, are going to be full."

"Yes... but who could possibly be full on this..."

The young Daoist’s final words were a mutter that the old man didn't catch; it was merely a reflex born of hunger.

Xie Peiling continued to eat his sweet dates, the meal not unlike what he used to eat on the mountains. Before long, his own dishes arrived. As the waiter set them down, he announced the order in a loud, clear voice.

The other patrons scrambled to find out who had ordered such a feast, but their eyes skipped right over the unassuming Xie Peiling. They were blinded by the stereotype of his appearance, and besides, he was alone—how could one person finish all that food? Moreover, if one were to pack the leftovers to reheat at home, the flavor would be lost. After a long day of toil, one surely wanted to treat oneself; leftover scraps were often hard to swallow, but there was little choice.

The Daoist master and apprentice, in particular, jolted at the announcement. They scanned the room like tigers looking for prey, their eyes hungrily fixed on the meat dishes on the table, wishing they could claim them for their own.