Chapter Seven: The Language of Fire

The reason I know the so-called "Fire Master's Cant" has to do with my time in the army. I remember, on a certain day in the third year of learning the culinary arts from my old squad leader, he suddenly asked me an unexpected question.

"Bu'er, what do you think food is for? Is it just for eating?"

After he finished, the old squad leader laughed—a kind of smile I couldn't make sense of at all.

That question immediately baffled me.

I thought about it carefully, then answered him seriously, "I don't know!"

He continued to smile kindly.

Then, out of nowhere, he told me something so startling it nearly made my jaw drop.

He said that everything he knew about cooking, he had already taught me; what I lacked now was only practice and experience. As long as I persevered, I was bound to become a remarkable Shandong cuisine chef.

At this point, he patted my shoulder and told me solemnly, "Tian Bu'er! You've completed your apprenticeship. From now on, you're a chef of the 'Confucius Temple' school of Shandong cuisine. You must learn to stand on your own!"

His words left me both flattered and suddenly burdened with a heavy sense of responsibility.

I'd served in the army for three years and had almost spent three years learning to cook under him. But I had never considered "graduating," nor did I have any idea what this "Confucius Temple" was.

At the time, I felt like a newborn who hadn't even learned to walk, yet the old squad leader was already letting go, urging me to run by myself.

That feeling of helplessness left me at a loss for what to do.

So I pleaded with him, telling him I wasn't proficient at anything and wanted to keep learning from him...

Yet his answer left me even more uncertain.

He shook his head and said, "There's really nothing left to teach you. In this trade, it's all about three things: 'knife, fire, skill.' As for internal and external training, it's just the eight characters: 'red and white cutting board, water and fire altar.' No matter how things change, the fundamentals remain the same. All the obvious things, you already know. As for the hidden rules... those rules aren't of much use. Even if I taught you, you might not want to learn them."

Without thinking, I immediately begged him to teach me these so-called "hidden rules."

I didn't know what the obvious rules were or what the hidden ones were. I only knew there was something he hadn't told me, and that learning more could only be good.

In the end, under my entreaties, he did teach me some of the "hidden rules" among cooks.

To be honest, after learning them, I found out they really were, as he said, of little use.

Because all those rules boiled down to explaining one thing: "Food isn't just for eating. It can be used for rituals, for healing, for poisoning, for harming, for divination, for summoning spirits... In short, all sorts of odd skills besides 'eating.'"

I don't know about others, but as for me, I deeply regretted learning those things. Just as he said, those hidden rules weren't useful at all. Matters of gods and ghosts, I always thought, were more about subjective suggestion and special circumstances.

Besides, what he told me was less about cooking techniques and more like a history of the taboos and development of Chinese culinary arts!

But regret was useless. After all, I was the one who begged to be taught; I had to grit my teeth and learn, even if it went in one ear and out the other.

Among all those topics that failed to interest me in the slightest, the only thing that truly fascinated me was this set of coded language known only to the cooks of the "Five Viscera Temple": the Fire Master's Cant.

Speaking of this once "fleeting" Fire Master's Cant, it actually has quite a historical lineage.

The old squad leader told me that before the founding of the country, times were chaotic; everyone lived in uncertainty. As a result, many vulnerable professions began to imitate the ways of bandits—forming cliques, banding together to survive and look out for one another.

For example, beggars formed the Beggar Sect, merchants had their Chambers of Commerce, courtesans had the Lantern Society, tomb robbers had the Golden Touch Guild, and even widows once had self-protection organizations like the Black Lantern Society and Chastity Tower.

Among these vast and varied folk associations, some flourished and spread, some were short-lived and vanished into history, and some, having fulfilled their purpose, were replaced by more formal official or semi-official organizations.

During those years, the culinary world also had such a loosely organized guild of cooks called the "Five Viscera Temple."

My master told me specifically, "In slang, 'Five Viscera Temple' simply means 'eating.'"

Why call it the Five Viscera Temple? The squad leader explained that in ancient times, especially in the era of the Zhou kings, the status of cooks was very high, and eating itself was considered a solemn affair.

How solemn? According to the "Rites of Zhou," eating (banqueting) was part of "ritual," elevated to the same importance as sacrifice.

That era was said to be the golden age of cooks! Their status was on par with ministers and ritual officials governing the empire.

Therefore, cooks of that time emphasized "knife, fire, skill, and ritual"—one more "ritual" than modern culinary school graduates.

Times have changed, and although eating is no longer so revered, many words still recall that era, such as "worshipping at the Five Viscera Temple," "tooth festival," "sending off the Kitchen God," and so on—all slang related to eating, all with a faint connection to the worship of gods and spirits.

In short, as the old squad leader put it: cooks of that era followed rules. Even after thousands of years, they always considered themselves ritual officials of the Zhou king, believing that "food bridges the mundane and the spiritual"!

Thus, in the old society, cooks, wishing to elevate their status, all called themselves incense burners (or bell ringers) in the Five Viscera Temple—to remind themselves of their once "lofty standing," and to distinguish themselves from outsiders. When meeting, a phrase or two would enhance their sense of identity and offer mutual support.

The Five Viscera Temple gradually became synonymous with "cook."

If someone in the underworld heard this phrase, they'd know the speaker was a cook with a lineage.

And the so-called Fire Master's Cant was a secret code invented within the Five Viscera Temple, imitating the "dark jargon" of bandits and outlaws.

At this, I was rather puzzled. I could understand trades sticking together, but why would cooks need a secret code? It's not as though being a cook was a "special occupation" requiring secret language.

I even joked with the squad leader, "Is this cook's jargon for when we open a shady joint in the future?"

He laughed and said there was some truth to that.

His answer stunned me. Such a shameless question, and he shamelessly admitted it!

Later, he explained that the reason the Five Viscera Temple invented a set of coded language was because those times were too chaotic, and the culinary world was anything but peaceful.

China is so vast, and even just the cooking profession is divided into four major schools: Sichuan, Shandong, Cantonese, and Huaiyang. Add to that the shady establishments, the ghostly eateries, the rivalry between palace chefs and private cooks, not to mention the open and secret struggles between Chinese cuisine, Western cuisine, and Japanese cuisine—why, you could write a martial arts novel about it!

In short, during the late Qing and early Republican eras, the culinary world was a hodgepodge of all sorts, messy and chaotic!

Among them, the four major temples—Sichuan, Shandong, Cantonese, and Huaiyang—were especially fierce in their rivalry. During the early Republic, they even aligned with warlords and sabotaged each other, wasting their strength without ever advancing Chinese culinary arts.

Later, some wise figures emerged from the four schools. For the sake of the "Five Viscera Temple's" prosperity and to avoid infighting, these capable people divided up territories and deliberately created this coded language.

The emergence of the Fire Master's Cant strengthened internal connections within the Five Viscera Temple, allowed for the transmission of sensitive topics, and increased solidarity, serving as a kind of lubricant.

So, out of curiosity, I learned this "Fire Master's Cant" from my squad leader.

At the time, it just seemed interesting. And to be honest, my motives for learning it were less than pure.

Back then, while serving, I'd often see the reconnaissance and commando units holding "demonstration exercises."

Watching them, I was impressed by their cool gear and the secret hand signs and codes they used. I wanted to learn, but had no one to teach me.

So, in resignation, I learned the cook's secret code—the Fire Master's Cant—from my squad leader, just to comfort myself. I figured maybe one day I'd run into a fellow "Five Viscera Temple" member and have a chance to spar with words.

But what I never expected was that, after all these years since leaving the army—having worked in many restaurants and met many renowned chefs at various gatherings—I never once had a chance to use the Fire Master's Cant. Instead, today, in this unremarkable little "service station restaurant," I finally met someone from the Five Viscera Temple.

Recalling this, I said to Wang Hou and the others, a bit disappointed, "It's just that this 'Five Ridges Temple' chef may not be a good person! Instead of running a proper business, he sells fried noodles at five hundred a plate, fleecing customers!"

My words made Wang Hou suddenly see the light. He slapped his forehead and said to me, "I get it now! No wonder you were talking to that girl Xiao Jiu about 'two ancestral temples' and 'Confucius Temple' and whatnot. So that girl Xiao Jiu is also a Five Viscera Temple chef! You two are in cahoots!"

His words made me anxious, and I immediately shot back, "Nonsense! How are Xiao Jiu and I in cahoots? She’s just a lunatic from the so-called 'Two Ancestral Temples'! Probably only got out after the temple walls collapsed."

At that, Hongye, confused, asked me what the "Two Ancestral Temples" were, and why I kept calling myself of the "Confucius Temple" branch.

I chuckled and explained that it was the internal faction division of the "Five Viscera Temple." It refers to chefs from the four major schools—Sichuan, Shandong, Cantonese, and Huaiyang. The "Two Ancestral Temples" refers to the Huaiyang school; the "Confucius Temple" is our Shandong school.

I pointed to myself as an example: "Take me, for instance. My master Zhao Haipeng is a Shandong chef, and I learned from him; so I'm a Shandong chef too."

Because the land of Lu produced the Sage, cooks from Shandong respect Confucian values, and thus call themselves disciples of Confucius. Their cooking also follows the Sage's doctrine of moderation and harmony, hence... we call ourselves the 'Confucius Temple' school.

The Confucius Temple is also known as the Northern Black Tortoise Sect, one of the four main branches of the Five Viscera Temple. As for the rest of the boasting, I won't go on—it's too much self-flattery...

"Oh!" Hongye nodded in sudden realization. "So, by that logic, the 'Five Ridges Temple' you just mentioned refers to Cantonese chefs! Because the Five Ridges are a landmark in the Lingnan region, and Cantonese cuisine originated in Guangdong..."

I clapped my hands, praising Hongye, "Clever girl! You know how to infer from one thing to another..."

But before I could further explain the origins of the remaining temples, the middle-aged boss who had gone to find the 'abbot' returned.

This time, he was accompanied by seven or eight men all dressed in white chef's uniforms.

Surrounded by these chefs and the respectful boss, an extremely old man was pushed out in a wheelchair.

The old man had silver hair and beard; his exact age was hard to tell, but his expression was sharp and keen. He seemed in good health.

Once the old man appeared, the middle-aged boss pointed at me.

Immediately, the old man let out a hearty laugh.

While we exchanged glances, the old man turned his wheelchair, cupped his hands, and addressed me:

"Brother, I am an incense burner in the Five Ridges Temple! I wonder whether you are an eagle or a tiger—what brings you here today?"