Short story writer Hu Yuesheng offers a modern update on the wuxia novel
Bai Mei was cooking in the kitchen. There was something not quite ordinary about her technique. She chopped scallions while she heated the sesame oil, waiting for the moment it sizzled to give the wok a vigorous shake. At the same time, she threw a handful of chopped scallions in the air. Each green ringlet met a drop of oil in the air, where it fried for two seconds before falling into the porcelain bowl Bai Mei had ready in her hands, brimming with noodles and seasoning.
The hot oil created a watery mist on the cold noodles. By the time she covered it with a poached egg and brought it to Mr. Qi, they were no longer hot enough to burn the mouth.
Mr Qi glanced at the poached egg, frowned, and scolded, “I did not order an egg with my meal, Bai Mei.”