Sword Immortal of Qingcheng

In a shabby roadside stall, Dog-Egg was fully absorbed in pulling noodles. The once shapeless dough, kneaded and struck repeatedly under the sunlight, began to glisten like crystal. With deft hands, Dog-Egg gave it a flick; with each pull and stretch, the dough seemed almost magical, transforming into ever finer, longer strands. The noodles looked as though they would snap at a touch, yet under Dog-Egg’s nimble hands, they danced with resilient grace. At last, with a final shake, the noodles fell precisely into the boiling pot.

“Dog-Egg, one bowl, extra spicy!” Old Liu straightened the filthy stool and sat down, greeting several regulars with a clasped hand. “Dog-Egg’s noodles have real bite—better than anything that master chef at Fragrant Pavilion across the street can conjure up!”

“Liu, you’re boasting again, aren’t you? Fragrant Pavilion’s no ordinary place—without a handful of silver, you can’t even step through their doors. You, a petty bailiff, an ant among men, could enter Fragrant Pavilion? You’d be thrown out the moment you got in!” one regular teased.

“Don’t be so sure!” Liu retorted. “Once, I accompanied my superior to a banquet at Fragrant Pavilion. Out of pity for us minor folk, the master ordered a table just for us bailiffs. I sampled their famed Prawn and Eel Explosion Noodles. Honestly, it doesn’t compare to Dog-Egg’s big bowl with an extra egg. Far more satisfying.”

“But the chef at Fragrant Pavilion was brought in from the capital! Such skill—does Dog-Egg match up? Face it, you’re just meant to gnaw steamed buns on street corne