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The world is brighter when you fall in love with something. Fact.
Xiangling can’t pin-point when exactly it is that she started seeing colour, when it is she fell in love with something so hard that any world before discovering it seems dull. It might’ve been the first time she scalded her finger while touching her father’s hot wok when she was eight and still tried again, or when she almost got her brother sick with a bad plate of stir fry. “One plate of Jueyun Guoba please!” a customer yells, only to be masked by another voice, and another. It’s almost impossible to hear over the hissing of hot oil against the pan, the crackling of the chillies as they sizzle. Xiangling wipes a bead of perspiration from her eyes, keeping her hands away lest she wants to sting them.
“Coming right up!” Xiangling yips, reaching a hand out to the side for a colander with cabbage left out to dry. She dumps it into the pan and it comes alive, hissing and rustling and slashing like the waves of the ocean as she manoeuvres the wok. Some customers watch in awe at her skill, wondering how a girl so young can master such techniques, others chat animatedly at their comfort.
“Could you add a little more spice to the broth of my stew?” a customer requests and Xiangling takes the order immediately. Plucking out a couple bunches of ripe chilis, she scrutinises them in her hand with her expert eye, then adding them into a warm pot with water and tomato paste. If only one could look into the magic that goes into cooking, how reds burst against greens and yellows dance perfectly amongst oranges—Xiangling wonders how not everyone falls in love with cooking the same way she did. Perhaps not everybody in the world can be in love with one thing, as gorgeous it may be.
The sound of water bubbling catches Xiangling’s attention. Grabbing a cloth, she tugs it by its handle, setting it on a counter before she tips it into a bowl. She mashes them, adding the basic seasonings alongside a couple of secret ingredients of her own for extra flavour, mixing them properly into the perfect dish.
Upon hearing the whittle of her wok, Xiangling skips back to her station, stirring her soup. She takes a deep breath and she inhales, the aroma of exotic Liyuen spics laced with the earthiness of vegetables tickling her nose. She pours it out into a bowl, setting the stuffed bass perfectly in its center and decorating it with garnish. “Happy to serve,” she squeaks as she slides it to a happy customer.
“Hey Xiang!” a cheeky voice pops up around the corner. Xiangling shifts her gaze away from her pan briefly, hands still moving dexterously as she sauteés her chopped fowl, smiling at the silhouette that peers in through the door of her kitchen. The voice is so easily recognisable, she doesn’t even need to look. Hu Tao’s burgundy hair stands out against the pale shades of Liyue’s streets, the most noticeable thing about her from afar. “You free to hang out now?”
Hu Tao and Xiangling have been friends for a bit now, inseparable too. Of all there is in Xiangling’s little universe of things, Hu Tao’s one of the brightest—maybe the only person that gets the chef feeling warm and happy all the time. It’s why Xiangling doesn’t mind hanging out with her when she would much rather be at the restaurant. “My father’s out so I need to deal with the afternoon crowd. If you want to wait around, I can whip you up your favourite dish!”
Xiangling gestures towards an empty stool right by the window of her kitchen, flashing her signature smile. Hu Tao grins, helping herself to the seat. She leans forward with her elbows on the table, chin tucked between her palms, irises glittering as she watches Xiangling work. Hu Tao’s favourite dish is ‘Ghostly March’, an experimental dish she created with Xiangling one morning before the morning crowd came around. They weren’t doing much more than fooling around, adding random ingredients on top of each other.
To them, it didn’t seem much more than mixing together a concoction—though, when it tasted better than expected, Xiangling decided to write it down formally.
Xiangling acts based on her memory, first mixing together a dark crimson soup base. Instead of the flower she decorated with last time, Xiangling carves out a tiny heart out of a carrot, setting it aside for decoration later. She fries raw fowl until it’s the perfect shade of brown, crispy skin slick with vegetable oil. She arranges them in a way that they overlap, something like the petals of a fresh rose. Licking her lips, she takes a jar of leftover sauce she has, drawing faces on the meat. She stands back in satisfaction. “Do you want to cook with me, TaoTao?” Xiangling questions as she dishes out the plate. “We can experiment with new ingredients.”
Hu Tao grabs a pair of chopsticks from a wooden stand at a side, dipping the fowl in the soup before taking a bite out of it. Her heart warms at the sight of the carved heart, a cheesy smile curving on her lips. She chews joyfully as the flavours overwhelm her taste buds, such layers of flavour that she only tastes in Xiangling’s food. “I’d love to,” Hu Tao swallows. “You made another great dish today.”
As Xiangling speaks up to continue her sentence, her attention is grabbed by her father scuttling into the kitchen, busied in tying his apron around his waist. “Xiang, I’m back. Are all the orders taken care of?” he gruffs in a low-pitched voice. He peers at the customers, washed over with relief at the sight of their contended expressions. Of course, there’s no doubting Xiangling’s cooking skill. If only she wasn’t so unpredictable with her choice of ingredient, she’d be a much more reliable heir to Wanmin. “I can take over the kitchen now,” he continues, nodding once at Hu Tao who he recognises very well, especially after the many afternoons she drops by to pick Xiangling up.
Xiangling frowns, “Are you sure you don’t need help? I planned on using the kitchen with TaoTao after the lunch service is over,” she brings up, tone slightly higher-pitched and slightly whiny. Chef Mao presses a stern finger against his lips, reminding her to tone her voice down so as to not disturb the customers.
"It’s okay, uncle!” Hu Tao interjects from behind, talking with the corners of her mouth stained with sauce and crumbles littered around her plate. “I can take Xiangling elsewhere, you can take over the kitchen on your own then.”
“Mm,” Chef Mao nods approvingly, lowering his hand. “You should listen to your friend more,” he cracks a smile, pushing past Xiangling into the kitchen. From the side, he pulls out a cloth bag with packaged food, passing it to Xiangling. “Drop these off by the Qixing’s place before you go off on your journey. Be back by eight in time for closing, take care.” Xiangling shoots a look at Hu Tao and she shrugs as a gesture to show she doesn’t mind. Taking the bag from her father’s hands, Xiangling forces a tight-lipped smile, dragging her feet out of the kitchen.
“Why so gloomy, Xiang?” she pokes the other girl in the cheek playfully.
Xiangling throws her head back in exhaustion, neither frowning nor grinning. The sky has blurred into a canvas of oranges and pinks with tinges of grey, clouds dotting the sky prettily—Xiangling has always liked to think of them as candy. She could swear it was high noon a while ago. Yet of course, time flutters by quickly when you’re doing something you love. “I wanted to spend more time in the kitchen,” Xiangling tightens her grip around the bag in her hands. When she turns her head to check on Hu Tao, she realises that her friend’s no longer there.
“TaoTao?” Xiangling questions, her eyebrows creased in concern. She spins back towards the direction of the restaurant. Her eyes search for a bit, trying to identify Hu Tao amongst the crowd.
When she turns around again, she finds Hu Tao standing in front of her. She jumps, berating into a fit of giggles.
“What was that for?”
“You always want to spend all your time in the kitchen, cooking your life away,” Hu Tao reaches her fingers forward, wiggling them teasingly. “When will you make time for me, hm?” she raises a brow, tickling Xiangling at the waist. Xiangling’s knees buckle and in her feeble attempt to save the food, she lifts her arms, hoping it won’t fall. She helplessly doubles over in laughter.
“W-Wait! You know I’m ticklish, Tao!” Xiangling squeals in between giggles, trying to hit Hu Tao away. Hu Tao only ceases her tickling after prying a little more fun out of it.
“You should make a little more time for me too,” Hu Tao teases, though her words have a little more weight to them than she means for them to. Xiangling lets out a huff, the skin around her eyes crinkly as she smiles.
“Why? I thought you liked stopping by,” Xiangling questions.
“I’m just saying you should take care of yourself more,” Hu Tao pinches Xiangling’s nose. A cherry blossom flutters down from above, sitting on the tip of Xiangling’s shoes.
“What do you want me to do then?”
Hu Tao ponders. A beat passes and a mischievous smirk creeps up to her face. The Funeral Director grabs Xiangling, pulling her forward into a run. They scurry towards the Main Plaza, crowds of locals occupied in their daily happenings. Streetlamps have started to flicker yellow against the purple hues of the world, evening fading into night as fireflies creep out from their mysterious abodes. Where do fireflies come from anyway? Xiangling wonders as she’s pulled up onto a cement step by the sidewalk. “You,” Hu Tao breaks Xiangling out of her daze. “Are now my official Wangsheng Funeral Parlour Chief Advertiser. The one and only.”
“You mean the only person who’ll officially join you in your mischief?” Xiangling clarifies.
“Business has been slow, okay,” Hu Tao interrupts and in the next second, she’s already screaming at the top of her lungs. “If you have any dying relatives, make sure to send them my way! We have customisable coffins at Wangsheng Funeral Parlour!”
Xiangling grips on Hu Tao’s arm, stifling a laugh, “What are you saying?”
“It’s effective public advertising,” Hu Tao beams cheekily. To some extent it is, because currently they have the judgemental gazes of at least half the public pinned on them. Xiangling lets out a laugh, her gentle voice carried by the wind. Pa would probably be mad if he saw me fooling around like this.
“They have great catering too!” Xiangling yells, cupping the side of her mouth so her voice travels. Hu Tao lets out a laugh, having not expected Xiangling to follow her lead. Cherry blossoms start to fall around them now that the wind’s picking up speed, making it look like a curtain of flowers blanketing the two young girls. “Patronising Wangsheng Funeral Parlour will let the souls of your loved ones rest in pieces—I mean, peace." Hu Tao chortles, slapping Xiangling on the shoulder.
“Hey! Both of you! Get off there right now!” one of the Millelith guards yell out to them sternly. Xiangling’s eyes widen in surprise (though she shouldn’t have, considering her screaming managed to catch the attention of the entire Main Plaza). Hu Tao tugs at her wrist, pulling her away into the crowd before the Millelith can grab hold of them.
As two heiresses of successful businesses, they’re probably well-known and they’re going to have to face consequences eventually. Except now they’re having fun—being idiots as they scamper through Liyue’s blur of colours. It doesn’t matter right now.