Crown Dumplings, Blushing Knives, and Sweet Secrets

The kitchen was warm, lit by the golden glow of oil lamps. Outside, the moon hung quietly, casting its cool light over the tavern's tiled roof, as if nature itself paused to watch the creation of something special.

Inside, Zane was hard at work.

His hands, firm yet gentle, kneaded the dough rhythmically on the floured countertop. Each press of the palm, each fold and roll, brought the mixture closer to perfection.

Soft. Smooth. Not sticky. Just the right elasticity.

He exhaled slowly.

Even without conscious thought, his movements flowed precisely—refined through countless repetitions, sharpened by the system's guidance. He wasn't just faster now—he was calmer, more focused. Like a calligrapher writing with flour and steam.

When the dough was finally ready, he covered it with a damp cloth, letting it rest while he prepared the next phase.

Rolling the dough into near-transparent dumpling wrappers, Zane took extra care not to overwork them. So thin they looked like paper windows lit by sunlight, delicate enough that a breath might tear them.

Almost too fragile to hold what's coming next… he thought, then smiled.

The fillings were ready. He expertly folded the wrappers into triangular shapes, drawing the corners upward and pinching the tips, forming tiny towers with a frilled rim like mushroom caps. The finishing touch was the tiny hole at the top—an opening where he placed a miniature red shrimp ball, bright green bean paste, and a touch of ham mousse. A crown for the crown dumplings.

Each was placed gently in the bamboo steamer.

The kitchen filled with the sound of boiling water. Steam rose like mist curling around royalty.

The Crown Emerges

When the lid finally lifted…

A collective breath was held.

The Crown Dumplings sat proudly on their parchment, glistening with a soft sheen of oil.

Their appearance was arresting.

Like miniature ceremonial headdresses, the dumplings had delicate frills folding outward in symmetrical beauty. The skins were as thin as cicada wings, glowing faintly, revealing glimpses of the plump, tender filling within.

Each had a brilliant red crown atop—a glistening shrimp orb, nestled like a ruby in a royal setting.

"Whoa…" Rindō's voice broke the silence.

Her eyes sparkled as she leaned in, utterly captivated.

"Are these… dumplings?" she asked, incredulous. "They look like something from a painting!"

Zane chuckled softly. "They're called Crown Dumplings. Named for their resemblance to Qing dynasty ceremonial headwear."

Rindō blinked, then laughed.

"Crown, huh? No wonder they look so regal. But weren't those dishes reserved for royalty back then?"

"Exactly. In ancient times, anyone caught imitating royal cuisine could be punished. Executed, even," Zane said with a hint of drama, smirking.

"Well, good thing we're just hungry foodies," she replied, picking up her chopsticks with a grin.

She carefully lifted one dumpling and popped it into her mouth—steam still clinging to its folds.

A Bite Worth a Throne

The thin wrapper gave way to a soft chew, fragrant with wheat and steam.

Then it hit.

The filling burst open, releasing wave after wave of flavor—shrimp, pork, spices, and a subtle floral note dancing together in perfect harmony.

Her eyes widened.

"W-Wait… is that rose?"

The faint bitterness and sweetness of the rose infused into the bean paste, creating a rare contrast—like dew on morning petals, softening the richness of the meat.

The umami swirled on her tongue, chased by warmth from ginger and a whisper of Shaoxing wine. Nothing overpowered. Every note sang in balance.

Salty.

Savory.

Floral.

Fresh.

Even a touch sweet.

"AHH!"

The shout escaped her before she could help it.

"Why is this so good?!"

She grabbed another, then another, each bite blending better than the last. The dumpling skins melted away seamlessly, becoming part of the experience rather than a barrier.

No greasiness. No clash of flavors. Just pure, refined harmony.

It was as if the ingredients respected each other, yielding and blending instead of competing. Each spice knew its role. Each texture had its place.

The beauty of the dumpling wasn't just in its shape—it was in its orchestration.

Slowly, Rindō's eyes drifted shut, a soft smile on her lips.

Zane never misses.

Since that first time she visited the tavern, every dish had struck her heart like a culinary sonata. And yet, somehow, each new one still surprised her.

These dumplings weren't just delicious—they were emotional. Elegant. Evocative.

She opened her eyes again and paused, noticing something odd.

"…Wait. Are these two types of wrappers?"

She picked up another dumpling.

Sure enough, one was a pale wheat color, and the other had a delicate rose-pink hue.

"You used rose juice for one wrapper?" she asked.

Zane nodded with a grin. "The rose paste inside is delicate. I wanted the wrapper to echo that. But both skins had to be just as thin, even though the rose dough is harder to work with."

Rindō shook her head in disbelief.

"Two different wrappers, both see-through thin, both steamed perfectly… this is insane."

Across the Tavern – Cutting Roses from Beef

Not far away, the sound of knife against board echoed like a rhythmic heartbeat.

At the prep counter, Erina stood poised, her golden hair tied back, her gaze fierce.

In her hand: a sharp chef's knife, its reflection flashing.

"Hah!"

With a sharp exhale, she began slicing.

Her knife danced along the beef's grain, moving at a 90-degree angle. Each motion carved delicate slices that curled slightly at the edge—like the petals of a blooming rose.

Thin. Precise. Even.

The slices dropped in a neat stack, each piece uniform, tender, glowing with marbled richness.

Around her, murmurs rose.

"Those beef slices… they look like flowers!"

"Did she really just make meat look elegant?"

Even hardened guests stopped eating to watch.

Meanwhile, Alice stood with arms crossed, trying to suppress a pout.

"Tch. It's just beef…"

But the spark of admiration in her eyes betrayed her.

"Zane once cut tofu into hair-thin threads," she muttered under her breath. "Slicing beef isn't that hard…"

Still, when Zane walked past and said, "Nice work, Erina," the pride on Erina's face bloomed brighter than her rose-petal beef.

"I've been practicing!" she said quickly, blushing. Then she turned away, flustered.

Zane smiled.

Still a tsundere, through and through.

Sweet Notes of the Heart

Across the kitchen, Sonoka was calmly preparing dessert.

Chocolate and cream melted in a double boiler. Fruit was sliced, soaked, then arranged like stained glass over a bed of cooling soufflé.

Each motion was precise, confident—an artist's brush on a sugar canvas.

The soufflé puffed up perfectly—light, soft, fragrant.

She dipped a spoon in and tasted.

Cloud-like.

Velvety.

A warmth spread across her cheeks.

From behind, Alice approached.

"Can I ask something?"

Sonoka nodded, still admiring her work.

"…Why here?" Alice asked, softly. "You're talented. You could be in a patisserie, or a top kitchen. Why this little tavern?"

Sonoka blinked, then smiled gently.

"It started on a whim. I thought—I could learn a lot from Zane. Maybe help turn this place into a two-star restaurant."

She lowered her gaze.

"But then I stayed. Because this place is full of heart. Zane doesn't just teach. He listens. And I didn't want to leave that behind."

"…You and Erina both."

Alice's voice was quiet.

"I thought I didn't understand it. But… maybe I do."

Her own heart was full of confusion.

Just a half-month internship, she thought. But what if I don't want to leave either?

She didn't say it aloud.

She didn't need to.

The kitchen fell into soft, content silence.

Outside, the moon continued its slow arc across the sky.

Inside the tavern, amid dumplings like royalty, soufflé like clouds, and knives that carved roses from beef—

A new family was quietly forming.

And somewhere in the air, above the simmering pots and clattering dishes, the promise of something greater lingered…