As the head chef of a super five-star hotel, Kevin Thompson, after having a few drinks, miraculously finds himself transported to the late Northern Song Dynasty.

Arriving in this strange world with no relatives or friends, Kevin Thompson has no choice but to fall back on his old profession, becoming a chef at a restaurant in Bianjing that is about to be sold off cheaply.

Kevin Thompson originally just wanted to be a low-key little chef, but gold will shine wherever it is. Sometimes, being too outstanding as a man is not necessarily a good thing.

“Grand Commandant Gao wants to eat steak? — No time!”

“Grand Preceptor Cai wants hotpot? — Tell him to make a reservation a month in advance.”

“Li Shishi wants fruit salad? — Uh... I’m busy during the day, I’ll go at night.”

“Li Qingzhao wants cheesecake? — Ask her if she’s divorced Zhao Mingcheng yet?”

“The Emperor wants a Golden Han Banquet? — Still in preparation, let’s talk in ten years.”

Chapter 0001 The Drunkard (Part 1)

The spring breeze caresses the face, and the willows sprout green.

The red sun hangs high, the sunlight warm and gentle.

Bian River. The water is clear and sparkling, gliding by like silk. Boats shuttle back and forth on the river, sometimes accompanied by lingering zither music, sometimes by bursts of laughter, sometimes by the clear sound of recitation—altogether a lively scene.

On both banks, willows sway gently, sunlight shining on the tender green leaves, shimmering with a jade-like luster, as if splashed with water—truly beautiful.

The streets near the riverbanks are even more vibrant, bustling with people coming and going: some carrying loads, some driving donkeys to deliver goods, and some scholars and gentlemen pausing by the river to admire the scenery of Bian River, occasionally reciting a few lines of poetry. The buildings on both sides stand in close rows—teahouses, restaurants, pawnshops, workshops, and more.

This street is called Bianhe Avenue, and it can be considered the central area of Bianjing City.

On the west side of an arched bridge stands a three-story pavilion, with flying eaves and ornate architecture, exuding an extraordinary aura.

Under the eaves of the second floor hangs a large signboard with three vermilion characters—Zui Xian Ju (Drunken Immortal Residence).

As the name suggests, this is clearly a restaurant.

At this moment, under the eaves to the left of the main entrance of Zui Xian Ju, lies a drunkard, motionless, it’s unclear whether he is dead or alive. Due to the recent outbreak of war, the number of refugees fleeing here has increased daily, so passersby are no longer surprised by such sights—at most, they are a little curious about the drunkard’s attire.

The drunkard is dressed in black clothes and pants, with narrow cuffs and a turned-out collar, a white shirt underneath, and on his feet a pair of shiny black boots. But though they are called boots, they don’t quite look like boots—very peculiar.

Outside, the street is bustling with traffic and people, but inside the building it is cold and deserted, with only a handful of guests.

Just a single door apart, the difference is so stark—it’s hard not to be curious.

In the first-floor hall, only two people stand: a shopkeeper and a waiter. The shopkeeper is about fifty years old, wearing a merchant’s hat and a yellow silk robe, with a long beard streaked with black and white. He stands behind the counter, one hand holding a brush, the other flicking the black abacus on the table.

The waiter is only sixteen or seventeen, with a youthful look, dressed in a blue long gown and a small blue cap, a white cloth draped over his left shoulder, leaning against the doorframe, looking listless.

The old shopkeeper, halfway through writing, suddenly stops, as if remembering something. He stretches his neck and glances outside. After a moment, he waves at the waiter by the door and calls out, “Liam Brooks.”

The waiter called Liam Brooks, seeing the shopkeeper beckon, quickly comes over and asks, “Uncle, what is it?”

The old shopkeeper nods toward the door and says in a low voice, “Go see if that drunkard has left yet. He’s been there half the day without a sound.”

Liam Brooks replies impatiently, “Hey, Uncle, we can barely take care of ourselves right now—why bother with him?”

The old shopkeeper’s face darkens. He waves his hand and says, “Go, go, go! I told you to go, so go! Stop whining, or I’ll smack you.”

“Oh!”

Under the threat of the old shopkeeper’s force, Liam Brooks responds weakly, droops his head, walks over to the drunkard, squats down, and gently pushes him, calling, “Hey, hey, hey, are you dead or what?”

“Ugh—!”

The drunkard mumbles in his sleep, then turns his head toward the corner.

“Heh, sleeping like a log!”

Seeing this, Liam Brooks can’t help but feel both annoyed and amused. He calls a few more times, but gets no response, so he returns to the counter and says to the old shopkeeper, “Still sleeping.”

The old shopkeeper sighs when he hears this, shakes his head, and says, “Alright, alright, go back to work.”

Work?

Liam Brooks looks around at the empty hall, his face full of worry. He wants to work, but there’s nothing to do!

“Waiter, waiter!”

Just then, a shout comes from the second floor.

Could it really be that magical?

Liam Brooks breaks out in a cold sweat at once!

“What are you standing there for? Hurry up and go greet the guests upstairs!” The old shopkeeper, seeing Liam Brooks still standing there in a daze, quickly shouts.

“Oh, oh, oh!”