The young man sat stiffly at the worn wooden table, his fingers drumming against the surface as if questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. His deep brown eyes, flecked with gold, flicked between Gazei, Lonfan, and the far-too-limited menu as if still trying to decide whether he was being scammed.
Gazei, ever patient—or at least as patient as he could be when dealing with someone who looked like they belonged in a palace rather than a tavern—leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So, you ordering, or you just gonna glare at me all day?"
Lonfan added. "We here at Iron Fang don't force you to eat anything if you don't want to buy. If you cause trouble than I force a can of whooping that ass."
The beautiful young man was bewildered by lady crass language and the man voice. The elegance of her posture, the effortless beauty, the dangerously regal air she carried—it all clashed horribly with the way she spoke.
After a moment of gathering himself, he glanced around once more, his eyes scanning every detail of the pristine, almost unnaturally spotless restaurant. The tables were polished, the kitchen gleamed, and despite its seemingly small size, the tavern's interior carried a sense of refinement and precision that put even the establishments of the Immortal 12 to shame.
He scoffed, arms crossing. "Is that the kind of attitude a business owner should have?"
Gazei didn't care. Lonfan also didn't care. But the couple didn't stop the pretty boy from running his mouth.
Yang Xiaolong huffed, tossing his hair over his shoulder. "You're trying to scam the good people! I, Yang Xiaolong, have seen the tricks of your trade!"
Gazei exhaled, leveling the noble with a flat look. "Nah, cuz. No scam, no nothin'. Don't start shit." His baritone voice rolled through the room, smooth but carrying just enough weight to make it clear he wasn't in the mood. No damn sis—pretty boy is running smoke with him.
Yang Xiaolong's brow twitched, as if offended by the sheer audacity of Gazei's casual dismissal. "Excuse me!?" Is this person courting death?
Lonfan sipped her drink, completely unbothered. "Yeah, what he said. Don't start shit."
Gazei felt like the universe was out to get him. The deadline isn't for another nine months but waiting fucking sucks balls man. No wonder my lemonade stands never worked. Runnin' a business with rules hanging by your balls is hard.
Meanwhile, the beautiful young man became even testier. He stared angrily—though it looked more like an upset puppy trying to be intimidating. The threat wasn't working.
"Hmph! Are you trying to goad me?" Xiaolong demanded, voice rising with righteous indignation. "Make me fall to your words from your deep, unnervingly smooth voice that sends chills down my spine!? You probably thought I would just surrender, that I would—"
Gazei blinked.
Lonfan grinned like the cat that ate the bird.
"—will make ordering a dish, right? Then you take my money, forever shaming me. Do I look like an idiot to you?" Yang supposed, his tone laced with suspicion as if he had unraveled some grand conspiracy.
It was not.
Gazei was already bored of this conversation. When was the sissy going to get to the point?
"Are you feeling guilty? I see that face, and it screams 'Sin!'" Yang declared dramatically, flipping his hair as if revealing some divine truth. "I have unraveled your sinister plans with my genius—"
The beautiful young man continued to stand there, hurling insults. All directed at Gazei.
Gazei, however, wondered why the dude was only attacking him. Was the pretty boy a tsundere? 'Cause that would suck.
The dark-skinned man polished a glass in the meantime, half paying attention while the noble ranted. What was he saying again?
Lonfan poured herself some rice wine, clearly enjoying the sight of her husband rizzed up a fuming young master while doing absolutely jack shit. Man, this was fun.
"You hear me? You're an idiot," Yang Xiaolong pointed his painted nail straight at Gazei.
Silence.
The small restaurant became extremely quiet. The only sound was the faint clink of Gazei polishing the glass, the motion slow and methodical.
He gave zero fucks.
Yang Xiaolong pouted at that reaction, annoyed. He turned his gaze back toward the menu, then shook his head and finally decided to leave.
For a salad to be sold for 100 silver coins was a crime. To the Xiaolong family, it was a raindrop in a bucket, but the principle remained the same. A single silver coin was more than enough for an ordinary family in the empire to survive an entire month. Spending a hundred on some dish he had never heard of was absurd.
And the **bread—**which didn't even sound remotely appetizing—was also the same price.
And the Molten Hellfire Beast Ribs? Five big gold coins.
Only a madman would set a price like that.
Yang Xiaolong turned on his heel and stormed toward the entrance, furious and moody, grumbling under his breath about crooked merchants and overpriced food.
Then, suddenly, his nose twitched.
A smell.
A heavenly, mouthwatering smell.
Something rich. Herbal. Earthy yet warm. Savory, but with a hint of roasted nuttiness. It was subtle at first, like an invisible hand reaching out and curling under his nose, luring him in with just a whisper of its presence.
'What is this smell?'
A burst of aroma drifted from the kitchen, the scent clinging to the air and wrapping itself around Yang Xiaolong like a seductive whisper.
His feet stopped.
His stomach growled.
Gazei smirked, still polishing the glass and thought. "Gotcha bitch."
Yang Xiaolong's nose twitched again. His steps faltered, his hands clenched at his sides as an almost irresistible aroma wrapped around him like a warm embrace.
The scent wasn't just good—it was ridiculous.
A layered fragrance of roasted herbs, warm olive oil, and a smoky crispness from freshly baked bread. Then came something deeper, umami-rich and subtly briny, balanced with an earthy nuttiness. The blend of ingredients was intoxicating, pulling him back before he even realized what he was doing.
"Are you trying to tempt me?" Yang Xiaolong scoffed, standing stiffly, his head held high as though he weren't being completely swayed by scent alone. "Hmph! No matter how delicious your cooking is, I won't be tricked!"
Of course, were it not for his twitching nostrils giving him away, Gazei might have actually believed him.
Lonfan chuckled, sipping her rice wine with an amused expression. "He's already lost," she muttered under her breath.
Gazei smirked, but said nothing, letting the moment play out.
Yang Xiaolong tried to keep walking, his steps slow, reluctant, almost forced. His stomach, however, had other plans.
A loud grumble echoed through the small restaurant.
Silence followed.
Gazei raised an eyebrow.
Lonfan grinned.
Yang Xiaolong froze, his face twitching in embarrassment. He cleared his throat, straightening his robes, trying to recover his dignity.
"Since you're so… sincerely offering me a taste of your food," he said, voice dripping with false disinterest, "then… I shall reluctantly have one bite."
Yang Xiaolong's nose twitched.
The scent had changed. It wasn't just lingering anymore—it wrapped around him, curling into his senses like an unseen force demanding his attention. It was rich, earthy, with the sharp tang of something herbaceous, mingling with a toasted warmth that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
He stopped walking.
His stomach betrayed him with a deep, guttural growl.
Gazei, who had been casually wiping down the counter, didn't even look up.
Lonfan, on the other hand, sipped her rice wine and grinned. "Smells good, huh?"
Yang Xiaolong flinched, quickly composing himself as if his body hadn't just exposed him. He straightened his robes, lifting his chin. "Hmph! Do you think I'm so easily swayed? No matter how fragrant your dish is, I will not be tempted!"
His words would have carried more weight if his feet weren't already moving back toward the table.
The scent thickened, weaving itself into the air like an invisible hand tugging him closer. The layered aroma of wild basil and roasted pine nuts mixed with the umami of something deep and mysterious. It wasn't just food—it was an experience, and it was dragging him in whether he liked it or not.
Gazei continued polishing his glass, voice completely neutral. "Nobody's forcing you, bro."
Yang Xiaolong scoffed. "Of course not! A refined noble such as myself would never be so desperate as to—"
His stomach growled again.
Lonfan chuckled under her breath. "So loud."
The words hit Yang Xiaolong like an invisible arrow to the chest. The young man flushed, glaring at the empty plate in front of him. "This… This is simply an assessment. A test, if you will. To confirm whether this so-called tavern is worthy of my time."
Gazei shrugged. "Cool. Sit down."
Yang Xiaolong did.
Lonfan rested her chin in her palm, watching him with amusement. "Damn. He folded fast."
Gazei cracked his neck, "Told you. They always do."
Yang Xiaolong ignored him. He straightened his posture and gestured vaguely at the menu. "Fine. I shall partake in a single dish. But know this—if it does not meet my standards, I shall personally report you for fraud."
Gazei didn't even blink. "Alright. What do you want?"
Yang Xiaolong's fingers curled against his sleeves, his eyes darting back toward the menu. He had skimmed it earlier, but the words meant nothing to him. Caesar Salad? Pesto Flatbread? Molten Hellfire Pig's Shortback Ribs?
What was any of this?
He had expected steamed buns, roasted duck, a proper rice dish—not whatever this was.
Gazei exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You came back for the smell, right?"
Yang huffed. "Hmph! A coincidence at best."
Lonfan chuckled. "Sure it was. You want the thing that's making your nose twitch right now?"
Yang Xiaolong stiffened. He absolutely hated that they were reading him so easily. But he was already seated. His stomach was already losing its battle against hunger.
"...Fine," he muttered, begrudgingly. "I'll have that."
Gazei clapped his hands together. "Alright, one Pesto Flatbread with Inked Tofu, coming up."
Yang blinked. "Wait. What did I just order?"
Gazei was already walking toward the kitchen. "You'll find out." Despite the limitations, the system-imbued workspace responded the moment he approached, lighting the firepit and sending a faint hum of Qi through the basic stone oven. He grabbed a ball of Earthgrain Flour Dough, its slightly nutty aroma carrying hints of Qi-infused wheat grown in rich soil.
He flattened the dough with quick, practiced movements, shaping it into a thin base before sliding it onto the hot stone slab inside the oven. Next came the Wild Basil Pesto, a vibrant green paste made from finely ground herbs, Spirit Pine Nuts, and infused olive oil. He spread it across the flatbread with the back of a spoon, the sharp, herbal scent filling the air almost instantly.
Then came the Inked Tofu—a specialty ingredient derived from Deepwater Kelp Essence, its dark, almost black marble texture giving it an exotic look. He sliced it thin, layering it onto the pesto, its salty umami blending perfectly with the richness of the sauce.
To top it off, he grabbed a handful of Spirit Mozzarella, its soft, creamy texture melting just from the residual heat of his hands. Sprinkling it over the flatbread, he slid the dish back into the oven, letting the ingredients fuse together under the high heat.
The moment it was done, the flatbread emerged perfectly crisp, the cheese slightly golden at the edges, the pesto's oils glistening beneath. The aroma alone carried a herbaceous depth, while the inked tofu added an earthy, umami-rich undertone.
Yang Xiaolong sat stiffly at the table, arms crossed, watching the kitchen like a hawk. His face still carried an air of superiority, but the way his fingers lightly tapped against his sleeve betrayed his impatience.
He had no idea what Pesto Flatbread with Inked Tofu was, and that annoyed him.
What kind of restaurant served food with such ridiculous names? It was like they were trying to confuse him on purpose.
Yang Xiaolong didn't miss how effortlessly the man moved—rolling, stretching, pressing—his fingers shaping the dough with fluid precision.
He exhaled, annoyed that he was even noticing.
Lonfan, still lounging with her drink, smirked at him. "So, how long you gonna sit there pretending you don't care?"
Yang scoffed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "Hmph! I am merely observing. A good meal must be made with skill and precision. I am simply ensuring I am not served something inedible."
Lonfan snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Pretty Boy."
Yang Xiaolong almost choked on air. His eye twitched violently as he turned to glare at her. "What did you just call me?"
"Pretty Boy," she repeated casually, taking another sip of wine. "I mean, look at you. Long, shiny hair, flawless skin, dressed like you walked out of some rich noble house. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were auditioning to be a concubine."
Yang Xiaolong sputtered. "You—You—"
Gazei grabbed a wooden board, sliced the flatbread cleanly, and plopped it down in front of Yang Xiaolong without ceremony.
"Eat."
Yang Xiaolong had never seen anything like this before. The food shined, perfectly made, as if his personal chef at home had spent hours crafting it.
Yang Xiaolong was of noble birth. As the second son of a great general, he had access to the finest dishes the empire could offer. Grand banquets, lavish feasts prepared by Imperial-tier chefs, meals infused with ingredients that took years to cultivate. He had eaten the rarest meats, the most delicate seafood, dishes prepared with Qi-infused techniques that enhanced both taste and cultivation.
And yet…
The flatbread in front of him smelled better than anything he had ever had in his life.
The herbs were vivid, the oils shimmering in the firelight. The cheese stretched perfectly between the slices, and the inked tofu, dark and mysterious, contrasted beautifully against the crisp golden crust. It was simple, yet somehow felt more refined than any dish from his family's estate.
And that bothered him immensely.
He swallowed his pride, lifted a piece, and took a bite.
His mind blanked for a moment.
The crunch of the flatbread, the instant burst of pesto's herbaceous depth, the way the spirit pine nuts left a lingering, nutty aftertaste—it all hit at once. Then came the inked tofu, smooth and rich, blending into the creamy pull of the Spirit Mozzarella. It was an explosion of flavors, layered yet balanced, each ingredient playing its part perfectly.
His fingers tightened around the crust.
This… this shouldn't be this good.
He took another bite. Then another.
Gazei leaned against the counter, watching with an amused smirk. "Not bad, huh?"
Yang ignored him, focusing entirely on the food. His brain screamed at him to critique something, anything, but there was nothing to complain about.
The couple watch Yang eat their food. Gazei was suprised the vegi thing was eaten with such gusto. If it doesn't have any chicken, beef, or any type of protien he won't bother rating it high.
Yang Xiaolong licked the last remnants of pesto from his lips, catching himself at the last second.
He froze.
A flicker of realization crossed his face—he had devoured the entire flatbread without even thinking about it.
His fingers twitched slightly as he looked down at the empty wooden plate in front of him, as if trying to piece together how this happened.
Then, as if unwilling to accept his own actions, his eyes snapped up to Gazei. "What tier is this wonderful food?" His voice carried both demand and disbelief. "Even my family's personal chef wouldn't be able to make this!"
Gazei wiped his hands on a cloth, unfazed. "Mortal-Tier."
Yang Xiaolong stared. "Mortal—?" He nearly choked on air. "You mean to tell me this is the lowest-tier dish in your repertoire?"
Lonfan grinned. "Yup."
Yang opened his mouth, then closed it. His entire worldview cracked slightly.
This was just Mortal-Tier?
This—this dish that had completely destroyed his expectations, made him forget himself, made him lick his own damn lips in satisfaction—
This was the starting point?
Yang Xiaolong slowly, very reluctantly, placed his hands together on the table, fingers interlocked. He took a deep breath, composing himself.
A flicker of realization crossed his face—he had devoured the entire flatbread without even thinking about it.
His fingers twitched slightly as he looked down at the empty wooden plate in front of him, as if trying to piece together how this happened.
Then, as if unwilling to accept his own actions, his eyes snapped up to Gazei. "HOw?" His voice carried both demand and disbelief. "Even my family's personal chef wouldn't be able to make this!"
"By cookin' duh!"
Yang Xiaolong was not amused.
Lonfan was.
Yang opened his mouth, then closed it.
"...You may serve me another dish," he finally said.
Gazei laughed. "Oh, so now we're taking orders, huh?"
Yang glared. "You misunderstand. This is merely a further evaluation. Nothing more."
Lonfan smirked, propping her chin up with her hand. "Uh-huh. Sure."
Gazei stretched his arms. "Well, too bad. One serving per customer."
Yang blinked. "What?"
Gazei tapped the wooden board. "House rules. One dish per person per visit. You can get the other two items. You want another plate? Come back tomorrow."
Yang Xiaolong looked genuinely offended. "That's absurd!
Yang Xiaolong clenched his fists, his pride warring with his desire for another bite.
This was ridiculous.
The food was that good, and now they were telling him he couldn't have more?
He wasn't even hungry anymore, but the denial made him want it even more.