(My sincere apologies for how long this has taken. Let's just say that on top of the difficulties involved in researching and writing this particular vignette, being laid off and having my boyfriend get fired within two months of each other has not been fun. But I promise however long it takes, I will finish these vignettes. At least I got to see KFP2 first, which has both informed this vignette and future ones. You can thank RemTar though for his assistance in getting me through this particular arc.)


Morning dawned crisp and cool, as it always did come autumn, more than justifying the thick yak fur cloaks and robes being worn by Tigress and Ping, and even Po was bundled up more than it would seem a fellow of his bulk should be. Of course Tai Lung wasn't, he loved the cold and always had—it was invigorating, exciting, and made him feel incredibly alive—and even if he didn't, he would never admit to any discomfort, infirmity, or suffering. No, his pride and masculine imperative demanded he bear it with great intestinal fortitude, without protest.

So that wasn't why he was unobtrusively trembling whenever he thought no one was looking. That was for a very different reason entirely.

"Well, my boy, it is time." The goose unclasped his wing feathers from over his belly and fluttered them at the panda. "If we don't get a move on, we'll never make it across the Thread of Hope. And it is a long way to Gongmen City even without the bad weather on the way."

"D'you really have to go?" the snow leopard suddenly blurted out, extending both paws toward the Dragon Warrior and his father in turn. "I mean, the Council isn't going anywhere, and they'll be here in the Valley next Winter Festival…"

Po grinned at him amiably. "Aww, big guy, it's really sweet t' know ya care. But ya know how long it's been since Dad got a real vacation? Or me? All that travelin' t' Beijing, an' all around th' empire, that just doesn't cut it. Gettin' t' kick back, relax, take in the sights, have others wait on us for a change, and cook for th' Council—yeah, it's gonna be awesome." He slapped Tai Lung on the shoulder and chuckled. "We'll be back before ya know it."

"That…that's not what I'm worried about." He flicked his eyes nervously toward the other person standing at the foot of the Jade Palace steps with them. "You're bluffing. You're bluffing! Right? You're not…really going to leave me alone here with…"

The panda winked and turned away, giving a half-wave over his shoulder as he placed his other paw around Ping, drawing the now richly-garbed noodlemaker against his furry bulk. "Bye now, see ya!" Wouldn't wanna be ya! the snow leopard could almost hear being mentally added on. And then the Dragon Warrior and his adopted father were moving across the moon bridge, disappearing into the village streets in the direction of the southern mountains and the rope bridge that would start them on the path to their destination.

Very slowly, struggling every bit of the way, Tai Lung turned back to look at his companions, including the only other one present who like him wasn't garbed for the cold—because, like the snow leopard, his thick Amur fur protected him. "Well, now that that's settled, we'd better get started." Tai Lung winced openly.

Smiling sweetly, Tigress came up on his other side and kissed him softly on the cheek, then patted it. "Good luck, husband." This time, he cringed. Evil woman, how could she!

"I thought you were supposed to stand by me, through thick and thin, through every adversity," he protested weakly, accusingly.

His wife crossed her arms and smirked at him knowingly. "And miss the chance to see this? Never. Besides…I do have the cubs to look after. And I know you'll do just fine. Eventually." She paused, then grinned wider. "Assuming you survive."

As she turned away with a very satisfied chuckle and a rather swaggering gait to begin scaling the palace steps, Tai Lung bristled, gritted his teeth, and started counting silently to himself. Finally, when his wife had climbed out of earshot and he felt in control enough to speak, he buried his face in his paw and moaned. "How did I ever let myself get talked into this?"

Beside him, Dalang placed a comradely paw on his shoulder as Po had and replied, his voice warm and sympathetic. "Do you want the short list or the long?"

It had all started after Po's trip to the capital with Tai Lung, after Chen and his court had been so enthusiastic about the panda's cooking, puffing up his pride in his culinary skills all the more and making him begin taking seriously Ping's suggestion that between Dragon Warrior missions (or even during them, to both the snow leopard and Shifu's horror), he should be peddling their restaurant's wares around China. Between the many missions he, the Five, and Tai Lung had carried out, and the year of Crane, Mei Ling, and Jia's travels around the empire, it certainly seemed a good time for Po to indulge in such a thing, if he absolutely had to.

When this suggestion had turned into a two-week vacation to Gongmen City, however, and Po insisted that his adopted father had to come along to properly fashion their shop's homemade but gourmet-quality dishes for the Kung Fu Council (and simply get some well earned time off for the first time in at least ten years), things had rapidly degenerated. Because if both the panda and his father left the Valley, that left Dalang alone in charge of the shop. And while Ping trusted the Amur with such responsibility now, one person couldn't handle the huge amount of patronage the shop received even in one day, let alone two weeks. Dalang would need an assistant.

And somehow, this had led to Tai Lung being nominated for cooking training.

He still didn't know who had been behind that delightful suggestion—Po, thanks to memories of his 'experimental' meals during the panda's convalescence after Yunxian, Ping himself as a bit of revenge for the spilled meal during his and Tigress's 'honeymoon' spying, or Dalang for being the recipient of said meal as a new fashion statement.

What he did know was, his wife had made the indisputable point that she was even worse in the kitchen than he was (at least he had learned the basics for when he was on his own on long kung fu campaigns!)…which meant if they ever expected to raise their family in peace and privacy, and not spend all their time in the barracks kitchen or down at Ping's, someone in the household had to learn to cook properly, and he was the only viable candidate…albeit only in comparison.

It hadn't surprised him in the least to find all the others completely in support of the plan. Viper thought it was sweet and romantic, and reminded him this was yet another way Tai Lung could continue to romance the striped feline—since romance didn't end the minute one tied the knot or shared a bed, and cooking for Tigress was a very good example of putting her needs before his own, being there for her, a sacrifice on his part that showed by action and deed that he loved her, honored her, and respected her. These reminders of the serpent's romance advice in the bathhouse were ones the snow leopard could not deny, no matter how much he wanted to.

Mantis and Monkey, of course, just thought the whole notion hilarious, and as long as the master of the Jade Palace didn't burn down the restaurant or strangle everyone's new favorite chef in the Valley, they were more than willing to subject him to Dalang's crash course. Crane simply observed, with gentle reassurance, that most of the great chefs in China were men and he did not find it demeaning or emasculating at all. Of course Mei Ling and Jia seemed to take the opposite view, acting for some obscure reason as if Tai Lung very badly needed to be taken down a few pegs in his pride.

And Shifu, the one person he'd been certain would take his side, had noted that after the Winter Festival he had learned that there was no shame in a good home-cooked meal. Even the fact Dalang had said Tai Lung had to pay for half the ingredients out of his own pocket (which essentially meant the palace coffers) had only made the red panda's eye twitch a few moments before he agreed that Ping's restaurant deserved such recompense. "And the gods know you need the lessons," he'd muttered. "At least this way, I won't have to go all the way down to the village to sample Po or Ping's cuisine. And neither will Tigress or your cubs."

Tai Lung had made it known in no uncertain terms that this was entrapment, pure and simple, as well as that they were bloody traitors, every one of them. But most of them had merely laughed at him, with Shifu and Tigress adding that they considered it more an intervention to spare everyone on the mountain any further suffering coming from his kitchen. So, whether he liked it or not, he was cornered.

In more ways than one, it seemed. For even as he'd been racing madly through his infuriated and frustrated thoughts of what had brought him to this place and time, Tai Lung had been following Dalang through the village streets which, this early in the morning, were already becoming crowded by throngs of shoppers and workers. And as the tiger strode along, he still refused to let the matter drop completely. "Look, big guy, I promised your wife I'd teach you how to cook. So if you don't learn, that'll make us both look bad."

Very slowly, the snow leopard turned and looked at him, eyes narrowed and expression flat. "And just why do you need to be looking good to her? She's married."

Dalang shuddered. "Are you kidding me? You've gotta know by now that the last person whose bad side you wanna get on, other than you, is Master Tigress." Tai Lung had to admit the tiger had him there. But then he had to add, "Anyway, I'm also saying that because of my pride as a chef. Are you that insecure about guys talking about your wife?"

Wouldn't you be, if you were married to a goddess like that? One you had to fight tooth and nail, almost literally, before she'd even look at you without skinning you, let alone consider becoming your wife?

But he didn't want to admit such things to Dalang, assuming the tiger didn't already know, so instead he snapped, "Yes, when the fellow in question happens to be one who flirted outrageously with a married woman at a certain honeymoon dinner."

"Are you still on about that?" Dalang growled, aghast. "It's been over a year, buddy…and I already told you, repeatedly, that I was sorry and I was just trying to make it up to her for screwing up her order so many times. Plus I didn't even recognize her at first—you'd be surprised how much difference putting her in a dress makes!—and once I did, well, I thought I'd help keep Po and his main squeeze from noticing anything was up. Who'd suspect she was Master Tigress when she was letting a random noodle-chef hit on her and not tear his lungs out?"

It all sounded reasonable on the surface, but Tai Lung didn't want to be reasonable, not where his wife's honor (and, he had to admit, his own territorialism) was concerned. And all the waffling and flimsy excuses even when added together wasn't exactly convincing.

So he growled, low and threatening, under his breath, and gave Dalang the glare he'd perfected years ago whenever someone dared cross his path and deny him his rightful gains and spoils. The glare he'd honed to a razor's edge in the depths of Chorh-Gom and used with great effectiveness on the Anvil of Heaven and even Vachir, though the latter of course had denied it with every blowhard's word and deed.

Dalang wasn't proof against it either. Only a few moments of being confronted by those cold yet paradoxically burning golden eyes, and the Amur winced, turned away, and threw his paws in the air. "Okay, okay, fine. I thought she was hot, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I'm still in my twenties. But I know she's off-limits, it won't happen again, and I'm sorry, all right?" Clenching his fists briefly, the tiger said, "New topic. Or, I guess, old topic. How come you never learned to cook?"

The sincerity in the chef's voice was what convinced Tai Lung to back down, that and his honesty. He could tell Dalang meant his promise, and to admit to the snow leopard's face that he found his wife desirable, even if he was never going to act on it, well… The cat has quite a pair, no question about that. But even as he smoothed out his fur, retracted his claws, and let the suspicion and fury leave his eyes, the spotted cat had to shoot Dalang a sardonic look.

"You actually have to ask? I'm a warrior, not a domestic. Even if my life had gone the way I planned it, the thought of having a family never even crossed my mind. The Dragon Warrior was to be above that sort of thing…he'd be out there defending the empire, protecting other people's families, not his own."

And, to his chagrin, he'd always believed such a thing to be the woman's province, thanks to Shifu's views. Not to mention the only example he'd ever had of a cook growing up had been a woman…and even if he'd dared risk his father's wrath by asking to learn the trade from her, one with her temperament, attitude, and…language was the last person he'd ever want as his teacher…

Dalang, meanwhile, was the one now giving him a cold, reproachful look, as if he'd read the snow leopard's mind. He supposed his feelings must have been quite visible on his face. "And you're a man, and men don't do women's work. Read you loud and clear, big guy. You sound just like my father."

Tai Lung paused, letting a gaggle of geese and several sheep mill past him at waist-level while he stared in some surprise at his companion; not that he had had many conversations with Dalang—the palace and the kwoon were his life, with very few trips into town, and with Po doing all the cooking on the Jade Mountain there were few reasons to go to Ping's shop—but he never recalled the Amur talking about his family much, or even at all. It had never interested him before, the hired help wasn't exactly high in his frame of reference—no, be honest, they were beneath your notice—but now that the subject had come up…

"Er…I'm sorry. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories. This is just an old habit of mine that I really need to learn to break, it seems." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Was he…harsh?"

The tiger paused too, resting his paws on the railing of the moon bridge they'd stopped on so he could gaze upstream, toward the mist-shrouded mountains ringing the Valley. When he spoke his voice was as distant as those peaks, though not exactly angry or resentful…just a bit sad. "No. Not in the way you mean. It's just…there were certain expectations when you were a Jiao." That sounds very familiar.

"Every male in my family was a warrior, in one way or another. Okay, my brother Huang's an apothecary, and the twins are merchants and tailors, but everyone else…even Xiang's a military scholar. It's what happens when you're the son of a great general. So when I told Shen I wanted to be a chef, well…"

Tai Lung chuckled mirthlessly. "Rocks fell and everyone died?"

"Something like that." Dalang snorted, then sighed. "He didn't understand why I didn't want to fight when it's in my blood, or why I didn't want to help the empire. He and most of my brothers thought the same way you do, that cooking was just a necessary thing and something women were in charge of anyway. But…he wanted me to be happy, too. So in the end, he let me go to culinary school. Paid for it and everything."

The snow leopard blinked. "Really? That's quite a turnaround."

Looking back to his befuddled face, the Amur smiled. "Well, that's what happens when you're wrapped around a woman's finger and believe she's your Heaven. Dad always used to say he'd never be the man he is today, or even a loyal son of the Empire, if not for Ming Hua. If he'd ever lost her…"

Shaking aside a pall of gloom, Dalang began leading the way off the bridge again, toward Ping's noodle shop. "Anyway, she's the reason I even got into cooking to begin with, took me in the kitchen and taught me everything she knew when I was a cub. I remember her saying later, when Dad was having one of his disagreements with her about me, that it was all well and good for there to be so many warriors in the family, defending it and the empire so that everyone's hearth and home could be safe; somebody had to be actually taking care of that hearth and home, and not just the womenfolk."

Tai Lung was watching Dalang closely as he spoke, and he could hear the catch in his voice, the admiration tinged with awe, even worship, and he smiled to himself as he decided Jiao Shen wasn't the only one in the family wrapped around Ming Hua's finger. And he didn't blame them; just from what he had heard, the snow leopard was finding her to be a strong-willed, no-nonsense, and wise woman. He didn't know if this came from her upbringing, from being surrounded by so many well-meaning but pugnacious men, or if all female tigers were like that.

What he did know was, she was absolutely right. He had learned it from Tigress, from Viper, from Po, and even from Jia's tales of Wu Xuan and Xu Mei: family was everything. Family was why you fought, why you put yourself in danger, why you died if you had to—to keep them safe, to protect those you loved and ensure they had a future.

If he had had more of a family himself, if his early years hadn't been devoted to being spoiled rotten as a kung fu prodigy and if he'd had more than just a doting father and a balmy turtle to care about, he would have learned this lesson then, instead of twenty years later and almost too late.

So, if the family was supposed to be protected, if loved ones justified learning the ways of kung fu, then what was so wrong with being part of that family, working alongside those you loved as you took care of them? Kung fu was supposed to be for defense first, after all…if you weren't supposed to be aggressive, going out to find the enemy and eliminating him before he could cause any harm (Tai Lung had always been a proponent of preemptive strikes, as well as the best defense being a good offense), what did that leave? Spending all his time training obsessively to be ready when he did have to defend his home and love? That was what got him in such trouble in the first place.

He would always do that, of course, it was ingrained into him now, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to be prepared or staying in good health. (Maintaining his physique was still a mark of pride for him, and he couldn't depend on a tortoise shell to do it in his stead any more.) But he needed more, there needed to be something to remind him of his purpose and his place. A way for him to acknowledge, to himself as much as anyone, that he wasn't just a weapon used to preserve the peace…he could also reap the fruits of his labors, enjoy that peace.

That didn't mean, though, that he had to like this particular brand of it, however necessary it was.

Dalang glanced at him, noticed the introspective look on his face, and chuckled. "Sorry about that, didn't mean to go maudlin on you. Anyway, Mom was the one who wanted me to go to culinary school, gave me the idea and everything, and she helped convince Dad to pay for it. I owe it all to her, and every day I thank the gods she took me under her wing like that." He smiled fondly.

"You miss her a great deal, don't you?" Tai Lung couldn't keep the wistfulness out of his voice; despite the emotional upheaval that came with discovering a family he didn't think he'd ever find, and the insanity that had been their attendance of his wedding, he found he missed Jian terribly.

The Amur gave him a pointed look, then smiled. "Of course I do."

"What brought you here then? Couldn't have two great chefs competing under the same roof? Or did Ming Hua 'send you forth to do battle with wok and spoon'?"

Dalang actually laughed, when he'd been afraid the tiger would be offended. "Good one! Well yeah, she did, sort of. I mean, what's the point of learning to make great food if you never share it with anybody outside your family? I had to use what I learned, same as any warrior does, same as you do."

"And the best place to do that was the Valley of Peace?" Tai Lung couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice.

The chef nodded. "Sure. I heard all about what happened here at the last Dong Zhi, just after you all defeated Heian Chao. The food Po made—with a lot of help!—for the Kung Fu Council, and what everyone later had down at Ping's…that told me I could learn things here I never learned at school. And that the people here really understood that perfection is in the heart and the home, not in a recipe book or a musty old set of rules. This was the place to be."

He stopped to push open the door of a building next to them, letting the smell of wood smoke, spices, and grains waft out of the interior, and Tai Lung realized belatedly that they'd reached the back door of the noodle shop. "Speaking of, here's the place we need to be. So, let's get in there and get started, hmm? 'Cause you've got an awfully long way to go, and not a lot of time to do it in."

Tai Lung fought the urge to bury his face in his palm again. He couldn't fight back the low groan.


He soon discovered that he'd been right to hold such low expectations. For no sooner had they stepped into the quiet stillness of the early morning kitchen then Dalang had turned to a peg beside the doorway, then turned back bearing an apron in both paws. Tying it deftly around the snow leopard's waist, the Amur nodded firmly and stepped back, crossing both arms over his chest.

"Okay then. Now, I know this isn't going to go over very well with you, but it'll be better for us both in the long run if we get all the ground rules laid out from the get-go. So: as long as we're in my kitchen—and it's mine 'til Po and his dad get back—you will refer to me as 'Chef'. Not 'cook', just 'Chef'. Or if you want, 'Chef Dalang'. Either way, you're using it. You're Master in the Jade Palace, I'm Chef here."

Tai Lung started to laugh—the tiger must truly be thin-skinned, or else just very oversensitive about being called a cook. "Surely you're joking!"

Dalang clenched his jaw and narrowed his green eyes, which suddenly looked rather cold. "Note serious face."

The snow leopard was very proud of himself for fighting the urge to step back a pace—but he did swallow, his laughter dying in his throat. "All...right. Cooking is serious business indeed, I see..."

"It is. But you've also gotta respect my authority here. I know what I'm doing, and for now I'm your teacher. How are you going to learn anything from me if you don't acknowledge that?"

Tai Lung sighed. He had the feeling he was going to regret this...but the Amur was right. For the nonce, Dalang was the general and he was just one of his soldiers. And—that was the way it should be, when someone was your superior and instructor. He had to respect that, and him. "Fine...Chef. So, now what?"

"Now, I show you where everything is." He opened a door in the corner and gestured inside. "Pantry—"

"Yes, I remember it quite well. Or did you forget I hid here last year?"

"I don't exactly think you and Master Tigress were going through the inventory, though." Dalang smirked, but before Tai Lung could consider the innuendo in that statement for more than a moment, the tiger was rattling off a list of every ingredient kept stored in the drawers and on the shelves, and the snow leopard was frowning.

He had always been very good at rote memorization—it was part of how he'd mastered the thousand scrolls so quickly since once he'd learned their contents he hadn't had to keep referring back to them, instead merely practicing from memory again and again—but...none of the shelves were labeled, and only a few of the containers were. Either Ping was that scatterbrained...or he hadn't bothered because he and Po "knew where everything was". This...just got a damned sight more difficult.

But he wasn't giving up.

The rest of the tour went much more smoothly—he already knew where the ovens were as well as the sink and pump (though there was another outside in the back alley, which was good as he didn't relish repeated treks to the river and back every day), the prepping counter was self-explanatory, and while there were a great deal more pots, pans, and utensils than he'd had any idea existed, he was fairly sure he would learn to tell the difference in short order.

At least, he reflected with relief, there was plenty of room for both him and Dalang to maneuver about the kitchen: in the wake of Po's receiving the mantle of the Dragon Warrior and then proving his worthiness for it, anyone and everyone had wanted to visit the restaurant where the panda had grown up. Between that, Ping's extraordinary cuisine, and a few choice donations from Shifu and the Five, business had been booming for some time, allowing the goose to pay for remodeling and expansion. Ironically, or perhaps fittingly, it had all been carried out by Shen Zhuang.

Trying not to be conscious of the fact the bull had died here—as one who had offered the snow leopard a secondary vocation in life beyond kung fu, Zhuang would have been the first to encourage him in learning this new craft—Tai Lung listened carefully as Dalang gave his first instructions. "Let's see what you can do. Wash your paws, then make me something simple."

He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Dad, I never would have known that."

"That's Chef. And you'd be surprised how many people wouldn't think to do that. Just humor me."

Heaving a high sigh, the spotted feline did as he was told under the pump, and only when his thick fur was dry did he return to the cutting board. He considered a moment, then decided on the simplest thing he could think of—fried rice with vegetables. Soon enough he had a pan of the small white grains sizzling over the heat, and with a cocky grin of triumph turned to the cutting board to begin chopping up broccoli, green beans, and peppers.

The reason for his cockiness wasn't his having conquered the rice, hardly a worthy opponent, but because of what he did next: snatching a knife from the drawer and wielding it with a flourish, he proceeded to chop the vegetables in a rapid-fire, vigorous, determined blur of motion. In less than a minute, the board was covered with diced vegetables, ready for frying.

He turned to look at Dalang and was gratified to see the tiger staring in mingled admiration and disbelief, paws spread before him. "D'you really think I couldn't tell one end of a knife from another? I was trained in weapons, you know." He held up a paw to forestall protest, even as he idly noticed he'd nicked one finger, blood welling up slowly. "Including in what makes them different from kitchen knives, thank you. And did you forget speed is essential in kung fu?" Maybe this won't be so difficult after all.

Dalang chuckled and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, but the look he gave Tai Lung now wasn't just amazed anymore...it was apologetic, even regretful. "No, no I didn't...and that really is impressive, big guy. But...I'm afraid you're going to have to do it again."

"...what?"

The Amur came over to the cutting board and scooped up two pawfuls of chopped vegetables. "Look at this. These...they're like the size of chives..." He let the fine pieces sift down like dust. "But these are huge chunks."

"So?"

He looked at Tai Lung as if he were an idiot. "They're all different sizes. So they won't cook evenly. Speed is wonderful, Tai, especially in a fast-paced restaurant like this one, but accuracy is just as important. You're going to have to do it again, slowly and patiently, until you get it right. Then you can speed up." He paused, then smiled lopsidedly. "Just the way you learn kung fu. At least that's how my brothers did it."

Damn it, he's right. But even though Dalang was the one in charge, he didn't want to admit this. Gripping the handle of the knife till his knuckles turned white, he snarled, "So I wasted that food for nothing, is that what you're telling me?"

"Hey, hey." The tiger held up his paws soothingly. "No worries, happens to all of us when we start out. You think students at culinary school never make mistakes? Why do you think I wanted you to bring your own ingredients? It's not the end of the world. You just slow down, take your time, as long as it takes."

Tai Lung still glared at him. Waiting twenty years to escape Chorh-Gom—there'd been no choice there; the countless years of backbreaking, grueling work studying and mastering the scrolls, that had come from dedication to reach a goal he'd craved all his life. This? "Easy for you to say! Patience is not one of my virtues."

"You mean you've got some of those?" Immediately the snow leopard brandished the gleaming knife threateningly. "Kidding, just kidding!"

Silently Tai Lung counted to himself, then forced his words out through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll do it again." He reached for the baskets of fresh vegetables again—but a paw on his wrist stopped him. He was startled by its strength.

"Not yet," Dalang said, smoothly but firmly. "First you have to wash your paws again."

"What?" He stared, dumbfounded. "But I just—"

The Amur took his paw and turned it palm up, revealing the knife wound he'd inadvertently received, crimson now trickling down the side in thick streams, staining his fur. "You're really going to contaminate the food like that? You know how many diseases are carried in blood?"

"I'm as healthy as a horse," Tai Lung retorted.

"Just because you've built up immunities doesn't mean everyone in the Valley has—especially not little old ladies or cubs." Dalang's tone turned hard again, the voice of a determined teacher rather than a stubborn wanker who liked getting off on telling others what to do, though personally Tai Lung didn't see much difference. "Wash it off, get that wound treated and bandaged, and then you'll try again."

Of course, the snow leopard still tried to resist. "Much more of this, and I'll scour my blasted paws bloody!"

"Oh, quit exaggerating," Dalang growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "And anyway, I bet you suffered a hell of a lot worse than raw pawpads mastering the thousand scrolls."

"Yes," he snapped peevishly, "but I actually wanted to master them. I wasn't manipulated into it."

Dalang's jaw jutted challengingly. "You want to be eating Tigress's cooking for the next twenty years?"

He opened his mouth…and then closed it, wincing. With slumped shoulders and a sullen tone he turned back toward the sink. "Where's the soap?"

Only when his paw was washed completely clean, an herbal ointment had been applied to the nick, and a linen bandage securely wound around his finger did Dalang allow him anywhere near the cooking again. By that point, however, the snow leopard was more interested in showing the Amur what he could do with the spices he'd selected. And he was sure the rice must be nearly done by now. Stirring it thoroughly with a wooden spoon, he selected three different spices and began to add them…at first a little, then as he thought about it, quite a bit more.

Once again Dalang grabbed his paw to stop him. "Whoa, slow down, big guy. What're you trying to do, burn the customers' tongues off? That's way too much!"

"Says you." He was obscurely proud of how coolly he managed to say that.

"Says the chef," the tiger corrected him, even as he commandeered the spoon to stir the rice around, examining it with a careful, critical eye. "Ginger and szechuan pepper? I know you're hardcore, but come on..."

"Hasn't it ever crossed your mind that people just might happen to like different versions of the same dish?" That came out more pompously than he'd intended, but he let it stand, if for no other reason than that he rather enjoyed the compliment, backhanded though it had been.

"Yeah, in which case if someone ever comes by who's just dying to have undercooked and overseasoned rice, I'll know just who to have handle the order." Before Tai Lung could do more than glare at him, Dalang scooped up a spoonful of the dish and thrust it at him to taste. "See, your problem is you didn't taste it to see if it was flavored right. You have to check the food as it's cooking."

"So that's why Po does that. And here I thought he was just stealing morsels ahead of time...well, as long as I don't end up flabby like—" He cut off, coughing and trying not to choke on the mouthful of rice. All right...perhaps I did go a bit over-the-top with the seasonings... But he would never admit that to Dalang. Besides...he had rather hoped the extra spices would cover up any undercooking.

Feeling rather disheartened though, as he could think of no way to mitigate the flavor now without having to start over yet again, this time with the rice, he took the spoon back and reached to stir—hoping futilely that if he moved the rice around enough, the spices would somehow disperse.

Before he could blink, the Amur had lunged for the spoon and snatched it out of his hand with all the speed of an Eagle Claw master. Instantly and instinctively, Tai Lung took up a kung fu stance, eyes narrowed suspiciously and muzzle twisted into a snarl. "What in Shang Ti's—do you mind?"

Dalang looked openly horrified. "Do you know what you almost did?"

"...No?" Very confused, and beginning to doubt the other feline's sanity (as well as his own for agreeing to these lessons), he kept staring at the striped paw holding the spoon. If Dalang had inherited (and learned) much of his culinary skills from Ming Hua, it seemed he'd also gained at least a little warrior's training from his father and brothers.

"You almost double-dipped."

"And that would be...bad."

Dalang smacked his forehead. "Yes! You'd be sharing everything you ever ate, all your sicknesses, everything, with anyone who ate it. I can't believe you don't know this!"

"Well excuse me, I had no idea snow leopard saliva was so venomous!" He was starting to get rather offended.

"Let me put it this way. Would you want anyone to spit in your food?"

"No."

"Well, there you go, that's essentially what you're doing."

I hate it when he's right. I did mention that, yes? "Hmphh. Very well, you have a point. It simply never occurred to me, as I've never cooked for anyone other than myself...oh, damn..." A horrible, nasty thought wormed its way insidiously into his mind.

"What?"

He truly didn't want to tell the tiger, but he knew if he didn't, it would come out as soon as the Amur got to relate his first day of lessons to the panda. "When Po was badly injured, I was the one who prepared his meals."

"Yeah, I heard about that...wait, you mean you—?" Dalang made a disgusted face, then sighed. "Well, he obviously got better, so no harm done, Tai. Lesson learned and all that." He paused again, then started to grin slowly. "So...you indirectly made out with the Dragon Warrior?"

"Quiet!" That little wrinkle had not crossed his mind at all, he'd only been concerned with whether he'd passed anything on to the panda, but now that that the subject had come up he couldn't banish the unwanted images. "Just...never mention that to me again, if you want to live."

"Deal. If..." He pointed to the utensil drawer, rather firmly.

Tai Lung's shoulders slumped again as resignation washed over him. "If I get another spoon, and start over."

"Yup."

The snow leopard tried in vain to determine if there was far too much satisfaction in that reply. But as he went to fetch another spoon, cursing under his breath at the waste of time it was to constantly wash or replace the cooking implements, he couldn't help but find a nagging familiarity about all this... "Gods," he muttered as it dawned on him. "You're as bad as Shifu was..."


The rest of that day went by in a blur for Tai Lung. Finally, after several more false starts and repeated attempts which left the snow leopard wanting to scream, break every spoon in the kitchen, and tear Dalang's throat out, the tiger pronounced his rice dish 'passable'. But by that point there was next to no time before the restaurant opened, and so the Amur pressed him into service to take care of all the menial tasks, thus leaving Dalang to do all the cooking.

Which meant all through the lunch and dinner rush, he slaved away washing all the dishes until he swore he had prunes for pawpads, when he wasn't fetching ingredients at the chef's harried, barked commands. And when he wasn't doing that, he was pressed into service as an extra waiter, both taking down and delivering orders. On the one paw, the villagers were all used to him by now so no one fled screaming when they saw the former scourge approaching their tables (though there were certainly a number of startled and even amused looks); on the other paw, he became very swiftly confused.

Not with jotting the orders down—thanks to his arduous education and Shifu's own famous lack of patience, he'd learned in his early adolescence the simplified hanzi needed to write shorthand. No, there were simply so many orders to keep track of, the tables were laid out haphazardly, and so many of the geese, sheep, and pigs looked alike to him that he mixed up far too many orders, to the point that he was so mortified and continually flushed red that even the most irate customers took pity on him.

Thankfully, one of the other part-time staff, a friendly and soft-spoken pig waitress named Zi, helped explain the layout of the restaurant for him as well as identified the diehard regular customers, and once he began comparing the noodle shop to a battlefield map it became much easier to find his "targets".

The second day was much like the first, although the extra time he'd taken the previous day whenever there was a lull in attendance had allowed him to practice proper knife use. It hadn't been easy to force himself to move at a slower pace, but once he'd mastered chopping the fruits and vegetables all the same size, he'd found himself well able to cut at a rapid speed again—if not the blur he'd wished to use. Dalang had then given him a few simpler recipes to study...and this was where, to his vindicated pleasure, he began to excel.

Prior to this, he had not known anything of the various dishes available simply because he'd refused to indulge in such a frivolous pursuit. But now that he was choosing to do so, Tai Lung had the same dedication and wherewithal he'd had when mastering the thousand scrolls—if he could traverse the kwoon's deadly obstacle course, and fight entire armies by himself, then he could certainly handle cooking five or six dishes at once and have them all served at the same time. He refused to let this task beat him.

And while it would take time, he knew, to master more complex dishes let alone invent his own, he at least was confident that with practice he could prep the easier dishes for Dalang—as with the scrolls, once he was shown something, he retained it like a sponge.

That was the theory, at least. In general it did hold true...but there were several dishes identical save for one ingredient that he found far too easy to mistake for each other, and in his care not to run afoul of the dreaded "double-dipping", he often forgot to taste what he was cooking altogether. Which meant if he didn't undercook or overcook, he periodically mistook one spice for another—and needless to say, accidentally using white pepper instead of salt, black pepper instead of anise, or something called curry instead of ginger, had both Dalang and the patrons screaming at him, in some cases literally until water could be hurriedly fetched.

Which led to the tiger declaring the snow leopard needed a thorough training of nose and palate. "If you're going to be any kind of chef at all," Dalang lectured him, "you have to be able to recognize which ingredients are in a dish simply by tasting or smelling it. Train your palate like you would your body, you know! Eventually that knowledge'll help you come up with new combinations that just might taste great together, but before you can do that, you've got to know the basics. And that'll keep you from burning more tongues or making anyone sick."

Remembering one poor old ewe that would be confined to her bed for the next several days, even with herbal remedies from Ning Guo, Tai Lung had hastily agreed. The problem was, of course, just how much blasted time it all took. He couldn't overdo it on identifying spices by scent; between his sensitive feline nose and the overpowering odors of some of them, he often needed as much as half an hour to clear his sinuses again. As for tasting, to keep from having his palate completely deadened he had to cleanse it periodically—with water, but also with flat rice cakes.

Now, the spotted feline could readily discern how useful the things were in clearing his taste buds of all this saturation...but rice cakes had never been his favorite in the best of times, and the more he ate, the more sickeningly bland they became. And the more gods-cursed thirsty he became.

Downing another glass of water after his third or fourth hour of taste-testing, he groaned and stared pleadingly at the Amur. "Can we stop training for today, at least? Much more of this, and I'm going to be putting on pounds no matter how hard I train in the kwoon." Morosely he rested his paw on his stomach, which already felt uncomfortably full, and the nasty jibe slipped out before he could stop himself. "Po's palate must be impeccable, now that I think of it..."

Somehow missing the implied insult to the panda's weight and eating habits this time, Dalang only grinned amiably. "That's why his cooking's so delicious, I guarantee it."

Tai Lung sighed. "It is indeed, and so is yours, Chef..." He found he couldn't drop the matter completely, however, seeing as the tiger not only buffed his paw on his white chest fur but rather ostentatiously drew attention to his own lack of poundage, patting his absolutely flat stomach. "That's it, I have to ask. Just where the bloody hell does all that food you taste go?" He pointed at Dalang's midsection.

Dalang grinned even wider and winked. "High metabolism, buddy."

The snow leopard scoffed; the last thing he wanted to admit was that someone else could match or surpass himself in that regard. "You wish."

Poking the older cat's own midsection, where the master of the Jade Palace still sported the set of sculpted abdominals he was rightfully proud of, the tiger chuckled. "It's gotta be true, look at you! And we're both big cats."

At that, Tai Lung couldn't help but grin in return. "See, now that I can accept as an explanation."

Dalang smirked. "So, bottom line being, big cats rule?"

"Damn straight." The spotted feline sighed again, glancing away. "In any event...the only way I can prove I've got this is if you let me try again, Dalang. Knowledge is wasted unless it is applied, that was one of the first lessons Shifu ever taught me." He gritted his teeth and then forced the words out. "Po learned kung fu at an incredible rate. If I can't learn to cook as quickly as he learned kung fu, he'll never let me live it down."

"Don't you mean you'd never let yourself live it down?"

"Shut up. Chef."


The third day started off better, for a number of reasons—not only had it taken next to no time to adapt to the schedule thanks to his usual training regimen, so that he was wide awake and brimming with energy, but he was skilled enough now to help Dalang prep all the ingredients for the dinner rush. And while he still hadn't mastered who received which dishes, or trained his mind well enough to recall every order perfectly, he did at least discover the foolproof path for maneuvering through the tables—and other than one moment when he almost clocked Dalang in the head as he wheeled about with his tray, he was as graceful and agile as a feline could be.

In fact his great strength allowed him to carry far more heavy trays and bowls than Po or even the tiger could, making his size an asset instead of a liability. (And, he had to admit, letting him show off his physique to some of the lady patrons. He was married, but that didn't mean he didn't still enjoy being ogled.) And thanks to a very clever addition he'd had Xiulan sew onto his apron, the snow leopard now possessed a series of pockets wherein he kept numerous spoons of various sizes—letting him always have one on hand with which to taste, but keeping them organized and separate so he'd never accidentally use the same one twice, always ready to stir and taste again as needed. Dalang, who had simply kept a passel of spoons in a case near both the counter and the oven, had admired and commended Tai Lung's creativity—and unless he missed his guess, was actually a bit begrudgingly jealous.

However, while he had mastered chopping vegetables and fruits, as well as various simple rice and tofu dishes, the more complex ones were still eluding him. The harder Dalang pushed him, the more he rankled at having to follow orders instead of give them, and the more the tiger grew frustrated until finally he threw in the towel, literally.

"All right, that's it. There's just too much you aren't getting, Tai. If it isn't the recipes themselves, it's the time factor. Some dishes take longer to cook than others; some ingredients take longer. You have to time them to each other if you want the dish to turn out right. You have to time the dishes to each other, so you can serve them in a timely manner and nothing gets cold. And you just plain have to cook faster than you have been."

"What the bloody hell d'you want from me?" Tai Lung exploded at the tiger. "Cooking is not simple, it's much harder than it looks—you've been to school for it, you damn well should know that. And I've only been at it for three days!"

Dalang's eyes flashed, reminding him uncomfortably of Tigress, even as he clearly forced himself to remain calm. "I know, I know. But it's going to get worse before it gets better, if you don't pick this up soon. The lunch and dinner rush only get more crowded as the week goes on. How're you gonna handle it then?"

He shook his head and growled under his breath. "Do you have any idea how many requests I get in a day for the Secret Ingredient Soup? Bare minimum, twenty, and usually it's more like a hundred. But how can I take care of that, if you can't look after the five or six other dishes on the menu that are really popular?"

The snow leopard eyed him speculatively, then the large stewpot that was simmering on the oven and giving off what he still thought were the most delectable aromas the gods ever created. "If it bothers you that much, why don't I take over the soup, and you do all the other—"

Dalang headed that one off at the pass, as he always did whenever Tai Lung brought it up. "No. You know I've gotta take care of that one myself."

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then pounced, figuratively. "Hah! There is a secret ingredient after all! I knew it!" He sidled toward the Amur's work station, peering closely.

A cleaver slammed down on the cutting board, inches away from his soft gray fur. As he recoiled, Dalang smiled at him, the predatory gleam in his eyes and the way he bared his fangs quite at odds with the first seemingly teasing words he spoke.

"Wouldn't you like to know? But I'm not at liberty to discuss that, big guy. Even if I was—every chef has his own special recipes. They may not have 'secret' ingredients, but the ingredients they do have are still unique to that chef, and he isn't going to want them bandied about or they're not his anymore, and nobody'll come to his restaurant if they can just get it somewhere else."

Tai Lung gazed at his reflection in the knife, then at the boiling pot, and finally at Dalang again. "So...there is, or there isn't one?"

The Amur smacked his forehead again with his paw; Tai Lung was rather afraid there'd soon be a permanent impression left there. "It doesn't matter. It's the shop's most popular item, the specialty, and if I let you try and learn it, especially if you screw it up, Po will have my hide. If he doesn't, Ping definitely will." He shuddered, which both startled the other feline and made him wary. What could the goose have said or done that could possibly make the large cat so terrified?

"Fine, I get it, take it easy." He held both paws up soothingly. "I'm a feline, can't blame me for being curious. You should know."

Dalang eyed him flatly, pointedly. "And you should know what happens to curious cats. Anyway, we're getting off the subject." He stabbed a finger at his apprentice. "You need to master these dishes. The only way that's gonna happen, and soon, is if you stay after closing time with me tonight for a crash course, and we train until you get it."

"But—" He'd been looking forward to relaxing for a change, and he really needed his sleep.

"No buts! I'm not gonna cut you any slack. This...takes...discipline!"

"But—" He growled threateningly.

"Don't tell me you don't know about discipline. And in this respect, cooking is just like kung fu." The Amur counted off on his fingers. "It requires precision, good timing, attention to detail, and focus. Because one small mistake, one moment of distraction, can ruin a whole dish."

Tai Lung opened his mouth—and then closed it. When he put it that way, it made a great deal of sense. Disheartening and anguish-inducing sense, but sense. Slumping his shoulders, he sighed a third time, rubbed at his temple where he could feel a headache coming on, and then said, "Very well. But may I make one observation?"

"Hey, it's your time. You wanna cut in on any napping you can do before tonight, be my guest."

That last bit sounded so insulting and smug that it only made him more determined to ask the question. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You like getting to torment me, order me around. This is revenge for what happened that day Tigress, Po, Jia and I were here, isn't it?" He jutted his chin out pugnaciously, daring him to deny it.

Surprisingly, Dalang didn't. "Maybe at first it was. You went to all that trouble, got me flustered and infuriated in my own kitchen, made me waste a bunch of food—which, for future reference, that is really a bad idea, since that's the quickest way to make me lose it!—made me look like an idiot, and got it spilled all over me. While Ping tried to batter me senseless. You're just lucky I didn't get badly burned. And it was all for nothing, because they already knew you were there anyway."

Tai Lung felt like sinking into the floor. He'd always suspected as such, especially with some of the sidelong, very amused looks Jia had given him since that day, but Po had never confirmed it. I made myself look like an idiot too. For nothing!

As if he were reading the snow leopard's mind, Dalang smirked at him. "Once I found out what was going on, of course, I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. Especially the way the baddest, meanest, most fearsome scourge of a warrior this Valley has ever seen...made a complete clown out of himself."

The snow leopard bristled, snarling. "I-I did no such thing!"

Green eyes twinkled with amusement now. "Dude, you stood there in a corner and pretended to be a statue. And you actually thought that was going to work." Before Tai Lung could launch himself at him, Dalang continued, "But that's just it. Once I found out was going on, once I knew why you were so gung ho about giving Po and his lady a little private time, and prove to your own ball and chain that Jia was good enough, I couldn't care less. In fact I was happy to help. I forgave you a long time ago, big guy."

Slowly the snow leopard's anger deflated, leaving him with intense confusion, puzzlement...and a bit of worry. "So...this is how you...always behave in a kitchen?" If this is him on a normal day, I'm rather glad he's not vindictive.

"I don't settle for half-assed work," Dalang said matter-of-factly. "If something is worth doing, it's worth doing well. And to me, making the best food I can, food that's healthy and tastes like it came right from the gods' feast-tables, food that makes my customers happy, is so worth doing."

Relaxing the knots in his striped shoulders, he turned back to the pot and stirred the soup, making sure it hadn't burned or boiled over. "And yeah, this is how I behave when I have a student who's as stubborn as I am. But also one I'm not about to give up on—because I believe in him."

There was no possible way he could respond to that without feeling incredibly guilty, or at least ashamed. So after several long moments of silence, he only crossed over to place a paw on Dalang's shoulder, wordlessly thanking him for the vote of confidence, and then nodded, turning away toward the stairs up to Po's room. "I'll see you tonight, Dalang."

"Sure thing, Tai. Nights after dinner are always pretty dead, so get as much sleep as you can. You're gonna need it." It was the way he said it that worried the snow leopard—not maliciously or cockily, but with resignation, as at an incontrovertible fact.


And he had a right to be worried, for when he did rise from bed three hours later, he found Dalang had been absolutely right. Worst of all, Shifu and the Five got to be the witnesses to it.

The Amur had decided that, both as the only way to truly test Tai Lung's knowledge and skill as well as his ability to work under pressure, and to keep from wasting food, the snow leopard would have to actually prepare meals for someone, flesh-and-blood people rather than imaginary ones. This would more accurately represent what he'd have to weather at the restaurant, and there'd be someone to actually eat his creations.

By chance or the gods' design, at the same time Dalang had decreed this, the Grand Master and the Five had chosen to visit the restaurant after closing so as to inquire into Tai Lung's progress (or more likely, spy and heckle, the snow leopard bitterly surmised). The tiger had commandeered them at once into serving as stand-in patrons, and all of them—save the reticent Crane and the red panda, who had been rather taken aback at Dalang's domineering attitude—had been eager to accept.

Tai Lung had in fact importuned upon his father to rescue him from his plight... "Shifu, you have to get me out of here, I'm going mad!" He'd grabbed the kung fu master by the shoulders and shaken him (gently, of course), hoping he'd looked as haggard as he'd felt.

"Why, whatever is the matter?"

"This isn't training, this is torture!" he'd hissed, hurriedly checking over his shoulder to make sure Dalang was occupied giving the other warriors the details of his imminent demise.

Shifu had looked at him skeptically, eyebrows raised, and spoken in the sort of soothing way one might to a terrified cub. "Don't you think you might be exaggerating a tad?"

The snow leopard had shuddered and whispered harshly. "Being in his kitchen reminds me of your training. In fact it makes me long to be in the kwoon, tearing muscles and breaking bones."

His father had stared at him, eyes wide, and nervously smoothed out his robes. "...Oh my. I...see..."

But by the time the panda had begun to see what he meant, it was too late: Mantis, Monkey, and especially Tigress had insisted, even Viper was in favor (because she believed in his abilities, of course), and as Shifu had lamely admitted, being Grand Master of the Jade Palace gave him no power whatsoever over the Amur and his kitchen. So, he was doomed, his fate sealed.

At least he didn't have to worry about Mei Ling and Jia being there to make his humiliation complete, since the two had gone off for some sisterly bonding time in the nearest town outside the Valley (which he had on good authority would involve a great deal of shopping). But in all other respects, this was not going to go well at all.

It started almost immediately with Monkey, snickering to himself as he took his seat around the large, round table that had been arranged in the center of the courtyard beneath the swaying light and shadow cast by the lanterns strung overhead. "Okay, so you don't just go sittin' on your butt up at the palace all the time, but now you're learnin' to do a womanly thing like cooking? This I gotta see..."

Luckily, before Tai Lung could explode into a whirlwind of violence that would have left the langur curled into a twisted golden corkscrew, Viper hissed at Monkey and reared up in her seat to get right in his face. "Something wrong with being female, Chan?"

"N-no...of course not...but, it's Tai Lung..."

"So? I happen to think it's wonderful he's broadening his horizons and doing more than just fighting and killing—or paperwork." The serpent narrowed her eyes, and Monkey gulped. "Besides, I'd love to see you tell someone as manly and drop-dead gorgeous as Dalang that he's doing something only meant for women."

Even as the primate was flicking his eyes toward the serving hatch, where the Amur was indeed watching him with slitted jade orbs of his own, Tigress added her own frosty reply. "Monkey, remember when you told me you loved me, and you wanted to propose marriage, but I said no? This attitude was a big reason why."

"Okay, okay!" Monkey held up his long-fingered hands to ward them away. "Jeez, nobody can take a joke 'round here no more..."

"A joke implies humor," the leader of the Five said testily. "Yours...had none."

"Oh, don't worry, buddy," Mantis interjected soothingly, even as he busied himself with unfolding and laying out his napkin. "Being married's overrated. I should know. And it sounds to me like you were damn lucky to escape, so that Spottybutt here could do the honors inste—shutting up now, shutting up now!" The insect was, of course, cringing under a menu as the two women at the table turned their gimlet gazes on him.

Sadly, Tai Lung didn't have long to enjoy this, for as soon as he'd taken the other masters' "orders" and had returned to the kitchen, Dalang was upon him—hovering, watching like a hawk, harshly and critically judging every move he made and every step of the cooking process.

"Bet you thought making dumplings was easy, didn't you?" The tiger circled him relentlessly. "But it's a dough—get the measurements wrong and it's ruined. So learn these!" He rattled the wooden measuring spoons on the cutting board. "Then you have to make the filling, then wrap them—no, it's fold, fold, tuck, fold, do you want it all falling out?—then boil them. But de-vein the shrimp first—and if I catch you using your claws to do it, it's paw-washing time again and then your tofu will get overdone."

Tai Lung jerked his paw away from the pile of shrimp as if it had been burned, claws retracting. "Yes, Chef."

A little later: "Tai Lung, this is supposed to be an appetizer, just something to awaken the palate and make them crave the entree all the more. These dumplings are way too big for that, so make them petite."

"Yes, Chef!"

And again: "Those are very well-cooked potstickers, Tai Lung."

"Thank you." He couldn't help puffing out his chest in pride.

Until he heard the next flat words. "Too bad they were supposed to be wontons. Fix it."

Cooking the crab meat wasn't too difficult. Neither was steaming the buns, nor stir-frying the vegetables and tofu (he'd had to learn that for Tigress very early on in their first year of marriage). And the grilled eggplant with ginger sauce and scallions was actually coming along rather well. But then came the fish.

Now, as he had stated in the past and proven when he kept his promise to go on mountain excursions with Crane, Tai Lung knew perfectly well how to catch fish, as well as how to filet and otherwise prepare them. The actual cooking, though, left something to be desired.

"This fish is not cooked properly." Dalang shook his head mournfully.

The snow leopard bristled defensively. "Well, I merely need a minute to..."

"You said a minute a minute ago," the tiger said dryly. "I don't want excuses, I want that fish cooked properly!"

About ten minutes later he had another batch prepared. "Fish, ready to go!"

Dalang examined it, turning it over with a fork and wincing. "Wrong, it's undercooked in the middle. Fix it!"

Tai Lung began to grumble rather dark things under his breath and tried a third time.

Unsurprisingly, the increasing waspishness of his temper soon led to the opposite problem. "Okay, now you've overcooked it. Concentrate, and don't waste the product!"

Fury and misery mingled as he fought the urge to smash Dalang's head into the wall, instead gripping the edge of the counter until his claws dug out huge furrows and the wood even began to crack and split. He closed his eyes and counted silently to himself. "The kwoon. I need the kwoon. I need those deadly obstacles on their highest setting. Those soothing obstacles..."

As if that wasn't bad enough, serving his father and the Five was almost worse—since if they weren't outright criticizing and complaining about the food or the service, they simply couldn't cease all the commentary on his skills or lack thereof.

Some of them, like Viper and Tigress, of course, tried to be fair and diplomatic about it. When he had to use the utmost care and decorum in presenting their meal, laying out the platters of shrimp and stir-fry while naming each vegetable he'd used and inviting them to enjoy their dinner, the two females were all smiles at his etiquette and his elegant bow—though of course Mantis and Monkey had found it all hilarious, and even Shifu had looked torn between approval and amusement.

Still, Viper hadn't been able to outright lie, and in fact from her expression she seemed to be regretting her eagerness to support Tai Lung in this new endeavor. "These dumplings are... well, dense," she admitted, rolling one over with her chopsticks.

"They're heavier than Po," Mantis complained. Crane swatted him with his hat.

And when the time came for them to slice into their fish, Tai Lung couldn't help watching them apprehensively. From the way they had to cut into the meat, and a few choice expressions as they chewed, he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, no," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. "Please don't tell me it's overcooked." Oddly, it wasn't just the fact he'd messed up yet again that bothered him—it was that in doing so, he had let down both Dalang and himself, failed to meet both of their high standards.

"All right, I won't tell you," Tigress said, as politely as she could.

"But I will," Monkey spoke up. Here he goes... "How can I put this, Tai...don't know how you did it, but you more than just killed this fish. It's deader than dead."

"Must you be so harsh?" Tai Lung actually did a double-take, while Monkey wriggled his finger in his ear...for that last had come from Shifu.

After several stunned moments of silence, the langur finally found his voice again. "Hey, just bein' honest. And since when did you ever coddle any of us in training, let alone him?"

The red panda eyed Monkey askance, then drew himself up to his full diminutive height as he looked at Tai Lung. "Perhaps it has escaped your notice, Monkey, but after everything that has happened, even I have learned my lesson as well. Honesty and bluntness are all well and good, and my training has turned out matchless warriors...but it has also taught all of you, especially my son, to be hard rather than merely strong. That was a mistake; I am trying to rectify it." He paused, then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Besides, he already has a very strict teacher in that kitchen. No need to have him deal with two."

Everyone stared at him, though Tai Lung noticed both Crane and Viper seemed very relieved, even pleased; he himself couldn't believe what he was hearing, but then he supposed if he could change his spots, there might be hope for Shifu as well. Tigress, meanwhile, eyed their adopted father with a sardonic smirk. "Don't you mean you don't want him to have to deal with two of you, Master?"

Shifu winced ruefully, then rubbed at his mustache. "I suppose you could view it that way."

Under his breath, Mantis muttered, "Now there's a scary thought." Tai Lung couldn't help but privately and fervently agree.

If the red panda heard the insect, he made no sign of it, though he did add, albeit reluctantly, "Frankly though, I do agree. This fish is just terrible."

Before Tai Lung could do more than shoot him a hurt look of betrayal, Crane spoke up. "Which is...rather strange, I think. I mean, you did so well on our fishing trips, Tai Lung, and you said you and Shifu used to enjoy doing that too. So how—?"

The snow leopard scoffed, managing to cut the panda off at the pass. "Perhaps he neglected to mention this, but Shifu was the one to do all the cooking, I just prepared the fish. He didn't want me 'playing with fire'." He chuckled at the irony. "And by the by, all he did was roast them on sticks over our campfires. With no seasoning."

His father frowned. "Well, I admit, I didn't think carrying seasonings was exactly necessary to go fishing, and..."

Tai Lung made his voice flat. "He often burnt them as well."

Shifu crossed his arms severely. "Fine, so fish were not my strong point. That certainly did not stop you from devouring them."

"Tai Lung." The voice was only mildly chiding, but he winced as if the rebuke had been snarled at him. He turned to look at Dalang, drumming his fingers on his striped arms before he counted off one finger, then a second. "One, you should never argue with a customer. Just accept the fact that you didn't cook the dish to their liking, and move on, you can always fix it. And two, I can smell those eggplants burning. Get in the kitchen."

He hunched his shoulders. "Yes, Chef."

Behind him, as he turned to leave the courtyard, he heard his father chuckle softly. "I know it's very wrong of me to say this, after everything that happened in the past... but this is still rather fun to watch."

"That's a terrible thing to say," Viper whispered harshly. "And I had no idea Dalang was going to ride Tai Lung this hard, or else I'd never have—"

Mantis snickered, low and ribald. "Yeah, who would have thought Tai Lung would be the bottom in that relationship?"

From the snarl followed by a loud smack on the table, Tigress had thankfully swatted the insect for that one, but the damage had been done: tail puffing, ears flattened, the snow leopard slunk into the kitchen to the sound of Monkey's hysterical laughter. That's it. I don't care when, I don't care how: I...will have...my revenge. And the next time I see Oogway, I am so asking him why he had to spare that witless little stick again...


The next several nights were unfortunately more of the same. Gradually Tai Lung did show increasing progress in mastering various types of dishes and cooking rules, but the hectic pressure of the days where he had to keep up with the actual orders and the serving at the restaurant ran him ragged...which only made it tougher to learn the grueling lessons after closing.

The snide commentary from Monkey and especially Mantis continued at each successive meal, and even the times when he dragged himself up the long stairway to sleep in his cozy little home with Tigress and the cubs couldn't shield him completely from the adverse effects of his training.

Because one night, when he was thirsty and had stumbled, still groggy and half-asleep, into the Jade Palace kitchen to fetch some water, the voice of the insect had suddenly barked out behind him, "I need an order of steamed veggies and crab dumplings, and I need them now!" And before he had even been aware of it, he'd found himself instantly obeying with a startled "Yes, Chef!"

It wasn't until he'd heard Mantis's distinctive laugh behind him that he'd realized he'd been had, and only the fact he didn't want to wake up the whole palace had kept him from hurling the pots and utensils forcefully at his tiny tormentor.

Finally, though, Dalang deemed him to have mastered enough of the cooking trade to leave off the nightly lessons. But just when Tai Lung heaved a sigh of relief, the Amur then decided that meant he was ready to serve as the line cook. And while not quite a disaster, it was certainly not a stroll through the Emperor's gardens. In fact it was downright stressful.

Getting the seasoning just right on his sauce, steaming the buns, stirring the boiling vegetables while keeping an eye on his fish, and eventually sending out three platters all timed to each other with great precision was pressure enough. But even when he was doing well, Dalang never let him grow complacent. As he delivered three bowls of soup and noodles, the tiger placed a firm paw on his shoulder. "Tai Lung, that's perfectly cooked."

He beamed. "Thank you!"

Dalang chuckled. "Thank me when we're finished, now perk up. Next order, three potstickers, three wontons, two soups, one bowl of rice and shrimp, hold the soy sauce." Tai Lung grumbled under his breath. Never satisfied.

Or, half an hour later: "Tai Lung, the lunch rush is starting. I need six soups, four orders of dumplings and eight tofu specials, and I need them five minutes ago!"

And when the snow leopard dared to suggest that they could perhaps slow the pace a bit, since rushed food was often not quality food, the tiger had launched into a diatribe about how swiftly delivering all the dishes at once to one table meant he could move on to the next order that much more quickly, thus ensuring the customers at the next table wouldn't have to wait long for their food.

"Honestly," Tai Lung scoffed, "could you be any more of a perfectionist?"

"Look who's talking. I still don't see those soups. Ladle, ladle!"

The worst part was, it wasn't even as if he could get after Dalang for giving orders while standing around doing nothing, because he wasn't—he was very much tied up in making the big, complex, expensive dishes which were still beyond the snow leopard. But somehow Tai Lung still thought he got far too much enjoyment out of ordering him around.

And as he improved in his skills, he also wondered if the tiger might not be becoming a tad more jealous. As a prime example, there was the time Dalang suddenly demanded an extra order of fried fish. At the time, not only was the Amur busily handling several orders of tofu, rice, buns, dumplings, and soup (including, of course, the Secret Ingredient Soup), but between the seafood, vegetables, more dumplings, and spicy sauce every one of the burners of Tai Lung's oven was already in use.

Gazing down in mingled panic and frustration at the many pots and pans before him, the snow leopard suddenly hit upon a breakthrough so brilliant he cursed himself for not seeing it before—though to be fair, he'd hardly been in the right mindset to attempt it before that day.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dalang wasn't watching. Then, taking a deep breath and expelling his worries and stress as best he could, he drove his chi down into the pit of his stomach, gathering it, concentrating upon it—and then, just like that, a ball of fire appeared above his outstretched palm.

Smirking to himself, he sent it wafting down toward the counter beside the oven with a brush of his will, and even as he continued stirring the proper utensils in the various dishes in rapid succession, he kept the fire burning merrily beneath the pan of fish in his left paw, cooking it readily without need for further space on the range and moving it about along with the pan whenever needed. Now there's something you'll never be able to match, Chef.

Minutes later, Tai Lung delivered all the orders in a timely, organized manner, sighing in relief at his creative thinking in overcoming that hurdle—and damned proud of himself too. This only lasted for a good five seconds, though, as Dalang called out the next order. "Tai Lung, I need three salads, an order of steamed buns and two shrimp stir-fries! And by the way, if one of your little fireballs ever falls into the cooking oil, you're going to be saying goodbye to your singed-off fur. So if I ever catch you doing that again, you'll be in dish-washing duty till your paws shrink!"

The clear note of begrudging admiration in the tiger's tone, and the envious expression on his striped face, were almost enough to offset that reprimand. Almost, since ultimately, he knew that Dalang had a very good point, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally burn down the restaurant. Still...he couldn't help but smirk to himself again a little. One way or another, I'm going to keep getting this.

And in the end...after five more backbreaking, stressful, intense days of training...he finally did. The proof was when, not only could he handle all the early morning vegetable prep unsupervised; serve up whatever simple dishes Dalang rattled off for him and make sure they were properly cooked, delivered to the right tables, and equally piping hot; and receive compliments rather than complaints from the patrons, he was also capable of fashioning some of the more complex dishes. Including one the tiger had asked him to reproduce for him, from memory, aided by the palate he'd cultivated and his own penchant for asking Po to make it for him, as it was one of his favorite dishes—shrimp wonton soup.

In a parallel to how this arduous training had begun, it was again early morning, hours before the restaurant opened, when all the prep time was underway. With the waiters and waitresses handling that for now, there was time for him to make the dish...all under Dalang's watchful eye, of course. But as he had so often in his life, the snow leopard tuned that out, focusing exclusively and determinedly on his single task.

The shrimp were de-veined and the dough rolled out for the dumplings with deft ease now, he'd practiced again and again until he was certain he could do it in his sleep. The carrots, green beans, and spring onions were all properly chopped, diced, and simmering in the broth, while the dumplings themselves cooked first in their own pan before being dropped in to add their own flavor to the soup. All was going well, none of the wontons had split or burst...but something seemed missing.

Thinking hard, Tai Lung waited until Dalang turned away to ask Zi something before fetching five bottles from the spice rack. Then, smiling to himself, he began to add some of each to the broth...

When the soup was done, he stood by nervously, waiting for the verdict...watching the tiger remove a wonton to slice it open on a plate so he could sample the stuffing; examine the vegetables; taste the broth, pause, then taste it again. He swallowed hard, his palmpads getting rather clammy with sweat now...

"Well." Dalang turned to him, an absolutely neutral expression on his striped face. "The broth is quite good, I can definitely taste all the ingredients. The wontons are well done and they didn't burst. You blanched the green beans perfectly, they've still got their color and are nice and crisp. Onions too, soft enough to show they're cooked while crunchy enough to keep the flavor." He paused. "About this broth though..."

Tai Lung's heart sank, but he gamely tried to stick to his guns. "Well, it's rather cold today, so I thought a bit of spice..."

"A bit? I thought the idea here was to re-create a dish, not change the recipe." He didn't sound angry though, in fact he was smirking.

"And I thought you told me to be creative when my palate was better trained. So here I am, doing both. Consider it extra credit, Chef." Tai Lung jutted his chin out challengingly.

"Good point." The Amur licked his lips, as if to savor the broth. "And—you were right. It's delicious, Tai. But what made you decide to go with the five spices?"

Slowly he began to relax—he hadn't failed after all!—and as he did so, his tongue loosened. Considerably. "What can I say, some of those lessons Oogway gave me all those years ago finally sank in. It's all about balance. Sweet, sour, pungent, salty, and bitter. Star anise, fennel seed, cinnamon, clove, and szechuan pepper. A measured amount of each, and..."

Dalang suddenly cut him off with an upraised paw. "Wait a minute...you prepared your own five-spice powder? I never taught you that."

"Well, I did my research, Chef. And I practiced in the palace kitchen. It took a lot of rice cakes for my poor palate, I assure you. I never want to see a rice cake again." He felt vaguely offended, but also uneasy. Perhaps he was in trouble?

"Was that to impress me and Po? Or just to show off?"

Nettled now, he crossed his arms. "Pick one."

"Knowing you, likely both." Still Dalang kept his face impassive.

"What do you expect? We big cats have a lot of pride." Tai Lung drummed his fingers on his arms. "Now, did I pass or not?" A beat. "Chef."

The Amur gazed at him, considering. "Well you see, big guy, the reason I asked is because..." He pointed to a bottle on the shelf. "There's already a five-spice mix, all made for you."

Tai Lung stared at this with a different sinking sensation than before—one that swiftly turned to annoyance and anger. "You mean...damnit, it already existed, and I went to all that work for nothing?"

"Not at all." Dalang was finally smiling now, broadly and warmly. "Like you said, it was extra work you did to show you could do it, that you'd learned your lessons. You took initiative to make the dish better, you made it more difficult for yourself in the process—and you still pulled it off. Overall? I believe you're a full fledged chef now."

While Tai Lung was still standing there, open-mouthed, fighting the conflicting feelings of despair and pride, confusion and overjoyed relief, the tiger slapped a paw in a comradely gesture on his shoulder, then turned to the waitstaff who were standing nearby, some beaming and some outright clapping. "So, dig in and celebrate. Because this means you're ready for the kitchen full time."

The snow leopard was hesitant at first, but when Dalang informed him he'd be handling all the soups and the potstickers, both of them would prepare the steamed buns, and the dumplings would be Tai Lung's department, he felt more at ease. And since it was one of the two nights of the week when Ping usually allowed a change-up in the menu with unusual dishes, even ones that weren't local, the tiger allowed his apprentice to choose whatever dishes he wanted to try.

Which was why, after looking at the list of dishes Dalang had learned at culinary school, the snow leopard suggested that they serve chiu-chao dumplings from Guangdong instead of the usual (he did love shrimp and mushrooms, and the garlic and chili oil would give it an extra kick); Shanghai steamed buns, since the rich broth within would be a delicious surprise for the customers; lotus leaf rice with tofu; and for dessert, silky dou fu fa with sweet ginger and sweet cream buns—the latter's custard filling one Tai Lung was utterly confident he could handle after Po's teaching and Viper's family recipe.

Looking at his choices, Dalang whistled low, then grinned. "You don't think small, do you, big guy? Well you've gotten really good with the seafood, so neither those dumplings nor the steamed buns should be too hard. Some of those vegetables though, like the peanuts, mushrooms, and water chestnuts, you'd better let me handle, and if you have any trouble with the egg yolks, for Tsao-Chün's sake, call me!" The tiger paused, then smirked wryly at him. "You got a bit unbalanced there, though."

"What do you mean?" He frowned, examining the list again; seafood, vegetables, noodles, soup, bread, desserts, it was all there.

"Well, the thing is, even in cooking there's a Yin and a Yang. Different foods belong to each of the philosophies, and so do the way you prepare them." Dalang shrugged apologetically. "Steaming the buns, boiling the rice, that's Yin; deep-frying the shrimp and stir-frying the other vegetables, that's Yang. But the eggs, ginger, peanuts, garlic, water chestnuts, and chili oil are all Yang. The only Yin foods you've got here are the tofu, mushrooms, rice, and the seafood."

Of course, what a surprise; once again I fall too far on the Yang side of things. Crossing his arms, Tai Lung sighed. "What do you expect? I like strong, spicy foods. But are you telling me you balance the Yin and Yang in all the meals here constantly?"

Dalang chuckled. "Touche. I have to cook whatever the customers order, and if they don't want a balance of Yin and Yang in their dishes, that's not my problem. My duty is just to make it taste good." He held up a finger. "But, if I'm choosing the menu for them, as you are today, then I do need to keep it balanced."

Even as Tai Lung grumbled to himself, filing the information away but thinking a bit caustically that with as seldom as he'd likely need it in the future, and how much of a Yang person Tigress was, it was more like an ancient history lesson, the Amur spread his paws and smiled. "Don't worry, big guy. We'll just add your soup to the menu, and toss some bean sprouts, bamboo, and watercress in it, problem solved." Dalang tied his apron in place and began to turn back to his work station.

Glancing down, the snow leopard saw that like his own, it now had numerous pockets sewn onto it to separate and categorize utensils. He smiled to himself. I may be off on some things, but it seems I can still teach a few lessons too. "Thank you...Chef."


The rest of the day went by fairly smoothly after that, not half because for this service his father and the Five were nowhere to be seen—Shifu being busy at the palace watching Hu and Huo while the Five, Mei, and Jia were away on a mission. Viper had expressed disappointment she wouldn't be there to sample the cuisine now that Tai Lung had improved so dramatically, while Mantis, sadist that he was, had complained about not getting to watch him crack under the stress. The snow leopard was simply relieved—knowing they were out fighting enemies, easily able to survive anything thrown at them, and not constantly hovering about watching him and adding to his workload, was far more relaxing for him.

And he knew all of them, even Monkey, would be impressed when they saw him at full skill. Zeng certainly was, when he stopped by to bring the master of the Jade Palace a message scroll to sign for Chen and the Kung Fu Council. Tai Lung couldn't help but frown darkly in annoyance as he read it as quickly as he could—he wanted absolutely no distractions tonight, and clearly even after all this time the masters were still as uptight as ever. And have staffs up their arses where I'm concerned. He sighed.

In retrospect he was grateful that Oogway and Shifu had insisted his case was an internal affair, not under the jurisdiction of the Council—otherwise despite Master Thundering Rhino's leniency and belief in the innate goodness of people, Master Croc would have insisted on his execution instead of Chorh-Gom, or at least that the Council attempt to stop him themselves when he later escaped. And while he was still confident he could have defeated them, their skill and determination were enough to give him pause. But it was for this reason, the bad blood and decidedly cool distrust between them, that Shifu had not tried to summon them during Chao's siege of the Valley—that, and the conflict of interest with Vachir—though Tai Lung allowed they could have been damned useful against the Wu Sisters, particularly that newer student of theirs, Storming Ox. And as yet they hadn't quite forgiven him, it seemed…

In any event, while Tai Lung was scribbling his signature, Zeng had smelled the steaming pot of the snow leopard's soup and, despite knowing who had cooked it, expressed interest in a sample, declaring it smelled too good to pass up. And once the messenger goose had actually eaten it, he couldn't stop raving about the unique flavor, or how tender and well-cooked the wontons and vegetables were. He immediately declared he'd be bringing his family to the restaurant before Po and Ping's return, with a strong hope that the recipe would be kept around even after that—and had no issues promising, upon Tai Lung's request, to deliver some to Xiulan and the Weis in some of those heat-retaining cartons of Ping's.

As for the work itself, having finally gotten the hang of the restaurant's routine and pace, as well as mastering a large portion of the finer aspects of cooking, had made things much more smooth for the ex-convict. But that didn't make it any less work. In fact, he discovered that serving in the restaurant during a full dinner rush was about as strenuous a workout as a full session in the kwoon. Tending to all the various dishes, with their specific utensils, running in and out of the pantry to get more ingredients while also making sure not to burn the food, running across the kitchen to deliver the dirty pots and pans to the dishwasher only to grab clean ones and restart the process again, making sure everything cooked at the same time so as to deliver it to Dalang to check and then serve—it didn't leave room for a single second of rest.

But...that was how he liked it. It was no different than the way he had always approached his martial arts training. Thinking of things on the fly, always being attentive to his surroundings and reacting accordingly, never panicking, quickly fixing any mistake he might have made—it was exactly the same for both arts. If he had taken on invading armies for hours with no rest, then the kitchen was just another battlefield he would conquer. No wonder Po was such a natural at kung fu—all right, he still needed food as an incentive, but the lesson, the discipline, was always there. It just needed to be drawn out and aimed in the right direction. Why did I never see it this way before?

At last, dinner was over, the staff had been sent home, and the kitchen had been properly cleaned to Dalang's exacting specifications. He and the Amur sat down together afterward, snacking on leftovers, sipping tea, and generally having a more genial time with each other than they'd had at any point previously. "So...what d'you think?"

The tiger chewed thoughtfully on the scallops and rice inside a lotus leaf. "Well...you burned your oil once, overcooked some of the rice and a few vegetables, and undercooked some shrimp and dumplings. But all of them you fixed in a timely manner. I'd say you did great, Tai."

"Hah!" He couldn't help himself; grinning hugely, he slapped a paw down on the counter in triumph. "Monkey and Mantis, eat your hearts out!"

Dalang chuckled ruefully and shook his head. "After the way they were treating you, they deserve that. And more, really. You got any plans for revenge?" He grinned cagily.

Tai Lung smirked and nodded slowly. "Oh yes...as soon as they get back from their mission, I'll serve them up my new soup—how can they say no, when everyone else seems to adore it? But I'll add just a few extra doses of szechuan pepper, perhaps. Enough so its kick is as hard as the ones Tigress gives when she's angry." He couldn't keep the smug note out of his voice.

The Amur choked on his tea, and as soon as his throat was clear he laughed uproariously. "Perfect, big guy. They'll never know what hit 'em...but man, can she really kick that hard?"

The spotted feline smiled to himself; he still enjoyed bragging about himself now and then—all right, fairly often—but he enjoyed bragging about his wife even more. An incredible fighter...and the best thing that had ever happened to him. "Did they ever tell you how I took down an entire building with one kick when I was fighting Po for the Dragon Scroll?"

"Yeah, I heard about that. Pretty damn impressive. She can do that too, then?"

"Actually," he drawled casually, "she can kick harder than me."

Dalang stared at him, a wonton dangling forgotten from his chopsticks. "You're joking."

"Look a little too closely at her backside and you'll find out."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake. Indeed, Dalang was already smirking. "So you're inviting me to ogle your wife now? Is your brother De rubbing off on you?"

How did he bloody know—oh. For he had just recalled that during his family's visit to the Valley for the wedding, De had frequented Ping's restaurant rather regularly. But as Mantis was fond of saying, that just raised even more questions...such as just what his brother had done to let Dalang know what a raunchy feline he was. No. No, I do not want to know, I am never going to ask, and so help me I will find a way to scrub the whole blasted concept, and all its imagery, out of my mind, if it's the last thing I do!

Sidestepping the issue, he narrowed his eyes to slits above his tea cup. "I can slip more spices in your portion too, you know."

Dalang winked. "Bring it, snowman. I have plenty of endurance."

Tai Lung bristled. "I can swallow just as much as you can."

"That sounds like a challenge. Care to put that mouth to better use?"

"Bastard. You're on!"

Which led to two of the most fiery hours Tai Lung had ever experienced. Both of them were so determined to test their stamina, prove themselves the bigger man, and come out on top that neither would relent, exchanging ever more burning heat with each gulp of sauce so that at times they were practically roaring from the intensity. By the time they had ended both he and the Amur were literally collapsed on the counter, panting and sweating, and no matter how much milk they drank he had a feeling their tongues would never be the same. And perhaps a few other body parts too.

At least, though, it had been a draw. Equaling was just as good as winning.

When both of them had recovered (and spent still more time laughing wildly at the inane contest) and switched to a cool, minty tea to wash the last of the harsh flavors away, Tai Lung snickered. "You realize, of course, that if my wife or any of the lovely ladies of our acquaintance knew we were testing our masculinity like that, we'd never hear the end of it?"

"Well then, we won't tell them, will we?" Dalang lifted his cup to clink it against his apprentice's.

"Good boy." He took another sip of his tea, then made a face as it had gone cold. He started to get up to fetch more from the kettle still on the oven, then paused and smiled. "D'you mind if I heat the tea my way, Chef?"

Dalang chuckled. "Sure, why not? No oil here now. Plus, it's not every day you see someone make fire right out of their hands."

Tai Lung smirked as he did precisely that, summoning up a small fireball to warm his cup until it steamed, then banishing it. "If you ever run out of firewood, you know who to call."

"Hey, big guy, we never run out of firewood. As the chef, I'm supposed to make sure we're fully stocked for a full service."

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "My goodness, man, I know you love what you do, but we're done with dinner service, so lighten up a little."

Green eyes twinkled, suggesting that perhaps their owner hadn't been quite as serious as he'd been pretending to be, but then Dalang sighed. "Okay maybe I do need to, at that. But you can't deny that me being so hard on you is what helped you master cooking, and progress so fast, too." He paused and smiled. "And even if you did give me a few headaches during the whole thing, I've got to admit...now I'd trust you in my kitchen any day."

Despite everything, Tai Lung was truly touched by the sentiment, but he'd never admit such a thing aloud, even now. Besides, the tiger had teased him relentlessly, so it behooved him to return it in kind—and he'd left himself wide open on this one. "By the gods, man, could you be any more maudlin?"

Dalang flushed deeply, but instead of laughing or growling, he only looked deeply hurt. Realizing his mistake, the snow leopard swiftly tried to cover for it. "Er...well, I mean, fine. You put me through hell, a bloody lot of it, enough I kept expecting one of the yaoguai to show up—"

"Making me feel real good there, buddy. I get it, I busted your chops. And?"

"But, when all is said and done, you were right to do it. And I guess I can see now why Po enjoys cooking for us so much. After busting my arse in this kitchen all day, it's worth it to see the smiles of those eating my meals, just enjoying it, all the hard work that went into what I put on that plate for them."

The tiger gave him a small smile. "Now who sounds corny?"

"So? I'm in good company then, the panda's said that too." He took a sip of his tea, inhaled the steam, and then remarked, "And anyway, if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll feed you your spleen. Properly roasted and seasoned, of course."

"Gotcha." Dalang leaned back in his chair, looking a bit wary, even pale, but then he shook his head and smiled again. "Looks like Jia was wrong about you after all."

Quizzically he raised an eyebrow, even as a dark suspicion entered his mind. "Jia? What's she got to do with this?"

The Amur raised his eyes to the ceiling as he clasped his paws behind his head. "She was the one who suggested you be my apprentice."

"I knew it!" He slammed his fist down on the table. Ever since that honeymoon dinner, when he'd overheard the ex-Wu Sister speak so glowingly of the war fan and seemingly determined to teach him that such a weapon wasn't effeminate at all, he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except it hadn't. But now, if it hadn't been Po, Ping, or Dalang himself to arrange his newest torture, it made damned good sense that it would have been the former assassin.

Dalang meanwhile looked apologetic, yet he was still chuckling softly. "Yeah, she seemed to think it'd be pretty funny, subjecting you to that. Said you needed to be taught another lesson in humility." Even as the snow leopard growled under his breath, chest heaving and shoulders hulking, the tiger held up his paws. "Don't worry, I stood up for you, big guy. Said it wasn't right for her to do that to you." He paused. "Since, you know, the idea was to feed Ping's customers, not poison them."

"Thanks awfully," he growled between gritted teeth.

"Don't mention it. But really...Po was in your corner too. Said you really needed to learn, for the sake of Tigress and your cubs, and because you were pretty terrible before, but he believed you could do it. That if you learned, you'd get an appreciation for how difficult it is, but also how satisfying. And then you'd master it easily, just like everything else you've learned."

Tai Lung's anger deflated. That sounds like the panda, all right. In spite of himself, and in spite of the needling but sadly true insults toward his once-horrible cooking, he felt an upwelling surge of affection for Po.

"Anyway," Dalang went on, "I ended up saying yes because even if you underperformed, I was pretty sure I could run the restaurant alone. I was confident though that I could whip you into shape." He smiled. "And I was right. I'm glad you've come so far, Tai Lung, and I'd have you by my side in the kitchen any day."

There was nothing he could say to that. Except, after a disgruntled grunt, "Well, thank you very much, Dal... Chef. For everything."

The tiger took another drink of his tea, then added, that twinkle back in his eye, "So, want to come work every once in a while, then?"

"Not on your life." As Dalang smirked at his instant answer, he went on. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all you've taught me, it'll make things so much easier at home when Tigress is away, and it means I don't have to depend on Po all the time. But there's only so much a man can take, and after everything I've been through I think I deserve to forego a little more agony. Especially when I have a choice. I can do it every once in a while, like my carpentry...and of course I'll do it for my family. But beyond that..."

He shrugged. "Besides, I do still have kung fu training to do, as well as all my other duties as master of the Jade Palace."

Dalang nodded slowly, and instead of looking offended seemed understanding, even respectful. "Good points, all. Well, you know you can come back any time you like. For now though, piece of advice? Tomorrow's your day off, and the Five should be getting back to the Valley."

"And Shifu took pity on me, he'll be helping with all the tasks around the palace so I can rest up." Tai Lung's tone was wry.

"So," the Amur continued, "you stay at the palace, and cook your wife her favorite dishes. And time it so she can see you midway through cooking after she comes in after kung fu training. Because you know even after that trip, she's going to go right for the training hall." He winked suggestively. "I've learned that few things are more appreciated by a woman than watching her man slave in the kitchen to cook her what she likes most."

He hated to admit it, but that was very good advice, especially where Tigress was concerned. "I'll definitely, strongly consider that. Again, thank you."

Draining the last of his drink, Dalang took his cup to the sink to be washed. Over his shoulder, he added, "You're welcome. And who knows, maybe now that you've learned as much as you have, you can teach her, too."

A long, uneasy silence settled over the kitchen as they both considered that prospect, both the leader of the Five's current skill level and what the experience of teaching her cooking would be like. Tai Lung in particular was remembering what Po and Shifu had told him, after his return from Qinghai, about Tigress's attempts to learn from the Dragon Warrior.

"Jia suggest that too, did she?"

"Yup. Said something about weathering a storm."

"She's absolutely right. Still...she'll have to learn sometime, there will be times when I'm the one away on missions, and she can't always be going to Po or you."

"Good luck with that."

"What's life without a little pain, eh? Life is pain, anyone who tells you differently is selling something."

"Keep telling yourself that, big guy."

"Right."

The kitchen was very quiet for the rest of the night after that.


(A/N: The brief reference to Tai Lung's only cooking role model growing up being a woman with an attitude and language problem is of course Marie's Lin from "Blue Plate Special" and "From Scratch" again. And aside from this whole vignette being built around Dalang (Luna was only too happy to let me go wild with him, so don't worry), the background I gave my AU Jiao Clan might seem rather familiar after her Chapter 17 of "Soaring Dragon". That would be because we basically worked out together what the Jiao boys would have been if their lives had gone differently. I wanted to reference that here since in my world their lives did go differently, thanks to Ming Hua living—talk about For Want of a Nail—but I had no idea Luna was going to include it too. Great minds and all that. If you're curious, General Shen of my timeline is somewhat inspired by Captain Shang's father in Mulan [yes basing Shen off of another man with a son named Shang was deliberate on my part]. Though he won't appear in any of my vignettes, expect other cameos.

On a related note, some may wonder why I bothered to go into so much detail about Tai Lung learning to cook when Luna already had him learn in "Present". The answer is twofold: first, while she did show flashes of his training and learning, she never really delved into it in great detail, only showing bits of it in between everything else. And rightly so, as there were far more important plot elements to deal with. So you can consider my version of it to be the extended version of "Present" if you like, since the bit where Dalang 'taught' Tai how to use a spoon was my starting point for much of what I wrote here. Second reason? It was just too funny to pass up, especially as a bit of revenge for the poor Amur.

The references to Gongmen City and the masters of the Kung Fu Council were included not only to acknowledge the existence of KFP2 but because a) there is so much amazing, cool, awesome material in that movie I thought it was a shame to leave it out just because it and my AU are almost completely incompatible, and it turned out I could weave it in without having to completely render my story invalid, and b) KFP2 never acknowledged why it was, if these other masters existed, none of them were involved either when Tai Lung went on his rampage or later when he escaped. I haven't completely explained their absence, that will be covered during one of the vignettes with Crane, Mei, and Jia, but for now I think I offered a pretty good explanation for it, and also for why they weren't summoned during Vachir/Chao's siege of the Valley.

Lastly, the numerous double-entendres, naughty jokes [especially Mantis's dig about being the bottom], and that particular passage regarding Tai and Dalang's spice-eating contest...which that is all it was, how could you with your dirty minds possibly think I meant anything else?...that of course was inspired by Luna, both her wonderful fakeout from the Taigress Mix and her running gag of teasing the TaiPo shippers in "Soaring Dragon".

Next up will be the other part of this vignette—yes, I had to split it thanks to all the information I found on Chinese cooking and the necessity of showing Tai's progress from newbie to excellent chef, both the humorous and the serious side of it. So that half will have the banter with Shifu, Tai spending time with his cubs, and a few other events of note. R/R!)