Chapter Six: The Temple of the Five Viscera

The food at the highway service station... was made by ghosts?! As soon as I uttered those words, a commotion erupted all around us. Maple snatched the bill from my hand, her eyes wide as she examined it for any hidden tricks. Wang Hou was instantly furious as well. He didn't quite grasp what I meant by "ghost-cooked food," but he pointed at the bill and roared, "Four fried pancakes and one fried noodle—how dare you charge five hundred and forty? Is this a black-market robbery?"

Indeed, as Wang Hou said, the prices on the menu were outrageous. Amidst our shouts, the waitress didn't dare make a sound; she forced a nervous smile and immediately scurried off to find the boss. While we waited for the boss to arrive, Wang Hou, emboldened by his fiery temper, kept cursing and protesting. Maple took the opportunity to tug at my sleeve and whispered, "Why did you say their food was made by ghosts? Can you really tell from the bill?"

I pointed at the bill and said, "Just a few fried pancakes and they're charging over five hundred? Who could do such a thing? It's clearly a scam. Besides..."

"But you can't insult people like that, right? It's uncivilized," Maple chided.

I smiled gently at her and replied, "You don't understand..." In truth, my mention of "ghosts" was a test to see if the chef running this place was "initiated" or not.

I explained simply, "I want to see whether the person in charge here is from the 'Temple of the Five Viscera' or from a 'Private School.' If he's from the Temple, he'll understand what I mean. When that happens, just watch me—we won't have to pay the extortionate price, and might even get a free meal!"

Maple naturally didn't understand what the Temple of the Five Viscera was, but there was no time for a detailed explanation. Just then, the restaurant boss, accompanied by two chefs in tall hats acting as bodyguards, strode over to us with an intimidating air.

Ah Si, seeing their imposing presence, shrank back, climbed onto my shoulder, and whispered, pointing at their bulging sleeves, "Let's run! They've got knives in their sleeves!"

I firmly shook my head. I had already noticed, but with things at this point, how could we flee? Besides, our van couldn't be driven now—how would we escape?

I simply said, "Stay calm." Then I pulled Ah Si off my shoulder and seated him at the table.

He really was like a monkey—always climbing onto people's shoulders.

At that moment, the boss and his fierce-looking chefs stood before us. Suddenly, the boss broke into a smile. Perhaps he was intimidated by Wang Hou's remarkable height and presence, but his attitude changed instantly; his face was all smiles as he spoke politely to Wang Hou: "Sir! Why such anger? Harmony brings prosperity. We're all travelers here, give me a little face..."

While he spoke, I observed him carefully. He was slightly overweight, middle-aged, spoke in a kind of southern-accented Mandarin, and his words were half formal, half colloquial—a clear sign of southern origins.

Faced with the boss's amiability, Wang Hou was a little caught off guard, but he still tossed the bill in front of the boss and pointed at it, demanding, "Is this a black shop? Five fried pancakes for over five hundred? Are they gilded?"

Wang Hou's words seemed to surprise the boss, who took the bill and shook his head, saying, "Impossible! Our prices are clearly marked; there's no way they'd be so outrageous. Let me see..."

Perhaps the boss's reasonable attitude softened Wang Hou's expression a bit, while I watched the unfolding drama coldly.

After scrutinizing the bill, the boss suddenly looked enlightened, returned the bill to Wang Hou respectfully, and slapped his forehead: "Brother! I see now! You ordered a plate of Lingnan-style fried noodles! The four fried pancakes didn't cost much; it's mainly that fried noodle, that's why the total is over five hundred..."

Hearing this, Wang Hou protested, pointing at the price list on the wall: "Didn't you write, one plate of fried noodles for nineteen?"

"Oh!" The boss waved his hand, still very courteous, and explained, "The noodles are nothing! The key is the dipping sauce!"

"Dipping sauce?" Wang Hou frowned, surprised. "Isn't that free?"

When I heard the word "dipping sauce," I was taken aback, then suddenly remembered: when Wang Hou ordered fried noodles, the waitress had indeed given him a small dish of soy sauce as a condiment. Wang Hou had eaten it with relish, praising its flavor, though he said it was a bit scant and asked for seven or eight more dishes...

Thinking of those seven or eight extra dishes, I suddenly understood the crux of this "expensive meal." At that moment, the boss revealed the real secret of the overpriced fried noodles.

He chuckled: "Brother! That dipping sauce is very precious! Our prices are clearly marked, right there on the wall!"

We followed his gesture and looked back, and sure enough, at the bottom of the price board, it read: "Dipping sauce free (first dish), dipping sauce 50 (after the first dish)..."

Wang Hou stared at the price board, speechless.

The boss's explanation left Wang Hou dumbfounded. Everyone knows things at highway service stations are pricey, but this was simply excessive—how could the condiment for fried noodles cost five hundred?

But I now fully understood the cunning method of this black-hearted boss. I realized this "unique" pricing was actually a scam—no one would expect condiments to be charged separately from the main dish, and even if they did, who would notice that a tiny dish of soy sauce could cost fifty?

It was clearly a setup, and it left Wang Hou with no grounds for argument.

Anyone faced with such a situation would be left speechless. The procedures were proper, the prices clearly listed, and customers at a service station are always in a hurry; anyone who protested would be intimidated into compliance by the boss's helpers.

But... I didn't see it that way.

While Wang Hou was at a loss, I gently nudged him and deliberately asked, "Wang Hou, why did you have so much dipping sauce with your noodles? Aren't you afraid it's too salty?"

Wang Hou, sweating profusely, replied, "The sauce tasted really good; I just couldn't get enough, and before I knew it..."

Listening to him, I was intrigued—what kind of condiment could make someone eat so much? There had to be something unusual!

With this suspicion, I gestured for Wang Hou to stop talking. Then, under the boss's self-satisfied gaze, I dipped my pinky into the leftover soy sauce on Wang Hou's dish and tasted it...

An unprecedented savory flavor exploded on my palate.

"Delicious!" I exclaimed sincerely, suddenly understanding why Wang Hou had wanted so many dishes.

This special umami gave a feeling of insatiable desire.

What amazed me most was that this unique sensation came from nothing more than a plate of Cantonese soy sauce!

Upon hearing my praise, the boss grinned like a flower, and even dared to boast.

He said to me, "Brother, you have a discerning palate! That dipping sauce is the legendary 'Lingnan's Number One Umami'! It's made with abalone, sea cucumber, and other luxury ingredients. We sell it for fifty here—very cheap!"

My word! When I heard "Lingnan's Number One Umami," joy blossomed in my heart.

This fellow really knows his stuff! Although this dish was definitely not the genuine "Number One Umami," anyone familiar with that term must be a chef from the Temple of the Five Viscera.

So, I boldly said to him, "Brother, even if it's Number One Umami, it's not worth fifty. And... you're from the Temple of the Five Viscera, aren't you?"

My words made the boss's eyes open wide. The veins on his forehead twitched noticeably, but he quickly regained composure. Then, to my surprise, he shook his head and tried to play dumb.

"Sir..." The boss smiled awkwardly. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't know?" I sneered. "You're not some private school instructor... Pretending to be ignorant, huh, a bell ringer!"

My words not only embarrassed the boss, but also left Wang Hou and Maple exchanging bewildered glances.

They looked at me like I was an alien, as if I were speaking an incomprehensible language.

But I ignored the inexplicable awkwardness and stepped closer to the boss, continuing,

"You ring the bell at the Five Ridge Temple, right? Go get your abbot—I want to offer some incense."

My words struck the boss like a hammer; he hastily stepped back, barely steadying himself with the help of his tall-hatted chefs.

The boss had lost all his previous composure. He glanced nervously at his companions, then pointed at me and stammered, "Fire... Fire speech! Sir, please wait here!"

With that, he hurriedly beckoned his helpers and rushed off. Meanwhile, I casually asked Ah Si to buy two bags of sunflower seeds, cracking them as I waited for their "abbot" to arrive.

After the boss left, Maple immediately asked, "Old Tian, what were you talking about back there? How did you manage to subdue the cheating boss in just a few sentences? What's an abbot? What's the Temple of the Five Viscera? And what is fire speech?"

I spat out the sunflower seed hulls and gestured at the modest service station, explaining, "The boss here isn't ordinary—he's a chef with a proper lineage. Any chef with a lineage is said, in our trade, to be from the Temple of the Five Viscera."

Maple was still confused. "So what's a private school background?"

I told her, "'Private school' means those trained in modern chef schools. Since most of those are privately run, they're called private schools."

I added that chefs with a lineage are rare now. They know lots of traditions, their cooking is authentic, and they're nurtured through generations of master chefs. Such chefs have an aura of refinement.

It's lucky to find such a chef in a small service station like this.

Hearing my words, Ah Si asked with interest, "How did you tell that the boss has a lineage?"

I smiled and explained that it was a matter of overall judgment: for example, Wang Hou's fried noodles had a very distinctive Lingnan style; the plate of Cantonese soy sauce, rare in the north; and the boss mentioned the legendary "Lingnan's Number One Umami."

But most importantly, the boss knew what fire speech was.

While we waited impatiently for the "abbot," I decided to explain to everyone, "Fire speech is actually the secret language of chefs!"

"Secret language? Isn't that just for bandits?" Everyone was astonished.

No one seemed to have imagined that those silent chefs in the kitchen had their own secret language called fire speech.