Chapter 53: Zheng the Oddball

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In the kitchen of the Monster Tavern.

Miss Mingshan paced anxiously beside the stove, glancing nervously into the fire chamber, as if she wished she could crawl inside herself.

The flames within were on the verge of extinguishing.

That young man had gone in for a long time—could he have failed?

Mingshan sighed. It seemed she had overestimated him, as well as her own judgment. All these years, aside from the manager, no one else had ever gone in to relight the fire. The flames in the stove should have lasted until the manager returned, yet somehow, something had gone wrong.

The fire was about to go out.

Although there was still some time before the next monster banquet, Mingshan knew exactly what the extinguishing flames meant. Never mind the punishment she’d receive—the tavern would surely descend into panic, and chaos would follow.

At this thought, Mingshan stamped her foot with worry, her gaze yearningly fixed on the shrinking flames.

But the fire was now barely more than a flicker.

It truly seemed hopeless.

She had been too naïve; even if that little monster boy had mastered the bonfire skill, it didn’t mean he could overcome his own reflection and succeed in lighting the fire.

It was said that one’s greatest enemy is oneself, and very few could ever defeat themselves.

“Is the fire about to die?”

At that moment, a figure sauntered into the kitchen.

Swaying his hips with more allure than any woman, he was the Monster Tavern’s waiter—Zheng Qiguai.

“Out, out! This is no time to make trouble,” Mingshan said, clearly displeased, shooing him away.

“Look at you, what a mess you are—your makeup’s run all over,” Zheng Qiguai replied undeterred, plucking a pocket square from his suit.

“You never change! When the manager gets back, you’re doomed,” Mingshan shot back.

“Heh, but what if he never comes back?” Zheng Qiguai wiped his fingers delicately.

“Don’t talk nonsense! You’d best behave yourself until he returns. Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll kick you straight out myself. And another thing—”

“Hm?”

“Get your hands off her.”

Mingshan raised her spatula threateningly.

“My, how protective,” Zheng Qiguai said, finally withdrawing his hand from Little Qing’s face, though he lingered over the unconscious girl lying on the floor. “Tsk tsk, look at that fresh little face. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to take a bite?”

“Have you been up to your unsavory tricks outside again lately?”

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Mingshan crossed her arms and glared at him.

“That’s right, the little monsters out there are so delicious,” Zheng Qiguai replied, striking a pose even more feminine than Mingshan’s, licking his fingers with relish.

“Ugh, you’re so shameless. I’m warning you, mind yourself and don’t make the same mistakes…”

“Oh dear, you scare me! But it seems I’m not the one in trouble right now.”

“None of your business! Out, out!”

“You’re still hoping that little monster can solve the problem? How about this—I’ll tend the fire, and in exchange, this little girl is mine?”

Zheng Qiguai licked his lips greedily.

“Don’t even think about it.”

At this, Mingshan instantly blocked the stove, ready to defend.

“What a shame…” Zheng Qiguai shook his head regretfully, but the roguish smile on his face suddenly vanished, replaced by seriousness.

Because—

A small tongue of flame shot out from the stove, nearly singeing Mingshan.

“Well now, it’s lit. But how long can it last?” Zheng Qiguai sneered, stooping to peer into the fire chamber.

Mingshan kept a wary eye on him.

But just as Zheng Qiguai bent down, a sudden burst of fire shot out—a dragon of flame erupted from the stove.

In an instant, the entire kitchen was ablaze with light, flames roaring toward the ceiling, sparks flying everywhere.

The little monsters at work in the kitchen panicked, scattering in chaos.

“Haha! I knew you could do it!” Mingshan alone was jubilant, dancing with delight, her face beaming—though her joy quickly shifted to alarm.

If this went on, the whole kitchen would go up in flames.

She hastily waved her hands, and countless jasmine flowers appeared in the room.

Like moths to a flame, the blossoms hurled themselves into the fire and flying sparks.

As each flower touched the flames, there was a sizzle, a wisp of smoke, as fire met ice.

The scent of jasmine grew thick—almost acrid—but the wild flames were at last nearly subdued.

Charred, smoking jasmine petals lay scattered on the ground.

Just then, a shaft of light shot from the stove.

A man with a dog on his back appeared in the kitchen.

“You brat! I told you to light the fire, not burn down the whole place!” Mingshan raised her spatula and smacked Li Changluo on the head.

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Li Changluo took the blow, but instead of protesting, he spun around and seized Ah Huang by the throat.

“You little rascal, are you messing with me?”

“Don’t you know what’s written on the sacred cauldron?”

“Don’t even pretend you don’t!”

“I nearly died because of you!”

Li Changluo squeezed Ah Huang so hard the dog’s tongue lolled out.

“He’s just a dog, doesn’t know any better. Playing around won’t do any harm,” Mingshan hurried over to pull them apart.

“You don’t understand—damn it, the cauldron said ‘push.’ This mutt never told me I could just press the switch to light the fire! I got battered for nothing…”

“My heart, my lungs, my liver, my kidneys—they all got stabbed through, it hurt so much…”

“I suffered every kind of torment, my fragile heart can’t take it. Someone needs to comfort my wandering soul…”

“Enough, I’m done—talking about it just makes me want to cry. Let me be.”

Li Changluo looked as aggrieved as a child.

“I know, I know, but let go of me now…”

“Get! Off! Me! Now!” Mingshan glared at him with wide almond eyes.

By this time, Li Changluo was clinging to Mingshan like a koala, nearly toppling her slender frame.

...

Someone patted Li Changluo on the shoulder.

He turned to see a man with an explosive Afro, skin as dark as night, lips black as coal, standing behind him.

He looked like Heiwa, but not as fat—could they be of the same race?

Li Changluo pondered how to greet him.

How are you?

And if the man replied, “I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

What on earth would he say?

He was flustered. Maybe he could pretend not to hear and ignore him?

But what if the man got angry and said, “You don’t bird me, I don’t bird you”?

Would he embarrass himself in front of Mingshan?

Ah, if only he’d learned more English from Heiwa.