Zhou Zishu was pissed.
Yes, he’d done his research. Yes, he’d followed Lao Wen’s instructions to the last, ridiculous letter. Yes, he’d double-checked his ingredients, making sure they were all diced and sliced and minced correctly and within an easy reach. And yet, he still couldn’t manage to prepare even this basic, simple dish.
He narrowed his eyes at the pan, gritting his jaw at the abomination that lazily bubbled away without a care. It was blackish-brown with specks of red and yellow which was mildly curious, considering he’d started with green and whatever color you called the chicken.
”Shifu?” Chengling asked hesitantly from the doorway. ”Is—is it supposed to smell like that?”
How the hell should I know what anything should smell like? Zhou Zishu didn’t snap, instead shooting an annoyed look at the kid.
Chengling ducked his head, chastised. ”I just meant—”
”I know what you meant,” Zhou Zishu grumbled, poking at the concoction with a spoon. It let out a disturbing hiss.
”I’m not really hungry?” Chengling said tentatively which was a bald-faced lie because even with his diminished hearing, Zhou Zishu could clearly hear his stomach grumble.
”Do we have anything left in the storage?” He asked, resigned.
Chengling jumped to the chance to be useful. ”Um. Nuts? Rice, some leafy green things, and…I think this is a bun?” He held up a slightly mangled pale brown thing that might or might not have been a bun when it was fresh. Which had been ages ago.
Zhou Zishu let out a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes. Lao Wen had left them with a ridiculous amount of food to last through his three-day-long trip to deal with whatever Ghost Valley business Zhou Zishu wasn’t supposed to know anything about. But while Zhou Zishu himself didn’t eat much, Chengling was a growing boy with an appetite to match and they’d run out of Lao Wen’s food on the second day.
Chengling gave him an encouraging smile and tried to bite into the bun. If the way his smile wavered was anything to go by, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.
Fine.
He’d clear up the suspicious goo from the pan and try to make plain congee.
How hard could it be?
(When Wen Kexing returned the following day, it was to an overjoyed Chengling, a sheepish A-Xu, and a kitchen that looked like the aftermath of one of Long Que’s explosions. He let out a long-suffering groan of fond exasperation.
There had been a plan. A good plan. A plan to make sure A-Xu and Chengling would be safe and sound and well-fed while he was away.
But then again, this was their life which meant that things never went according to plan.
So, he pecked a kiss on his ridiculous zhiji’s cheek and then shooed him and his ridiculous disciple out of the kitchen and set to work. He had a family to feed.)