Ch. 35 - Tang Yihan’s Dark Desserts

After I waved goodbye to those customers, I breathed a small sigh of relief. A few more came in afterward, but luckily, none of them asked for morning blessings.

To avoid getting stuck in that awkward spot again, I figured I should probably spend some free time learning a few cute greetings—just to be safe.

Those people might come back. And if this turned into a thing, I’d be in deep trouble.

While I caught my breath, a warm, toasty smell suddenly filled the shop, cutting through the usual buttery sweetness.

Tang Yihan emerged from the kitchen, wearing chunky oven mitts and hauling a huge metal tray.

“Yuehan! Come try my new creation!” she called out, spotting me chilling by the counter.

“What are those?” I asked, eyeing the tray. The pastries looked… interesting, to say the least.

“No name yet,” she said, setting the tray down. “They’re puff pastries, and the filling’s pretty good, I think.”

“What’s in them?” I asked, curious but wary. The pastries were still steaming, so I wrapped one in paper before picking it up.

“You’ll find out,” Senior Tang replied with a grin, her eyes lighting up as I brought it to my mouth.

I took a tiny bite. The crispy, flaky crust was amazing, and the warm, fragrant steam hit me hard. Honestly, the smell was so strong it might actually overwhelm customers.

Then I hit the filling.

A weird taste spread across my tongue—like I’d just munched through a field of wild grass and ended up with a mouthful of dirt and weeds.

I couldn’t even find words for it.

Senior Tang watched my face twist in disgust, but she didn’t look surprised.

She grabbed one herself and took a bite. Seconds later, her expression mirrored mine.

“Pfft… ugh, still terrible,” she said, spitting it out. “I followed that online recipe, but it didn’t balance the flavor at all. Smells great, though…”

“What is this?” I asked, grimacing as I chugged water to rinse the taste away.

“Some kind of plant root. Super healthy, but yeah, the taste is… rough,” she admitted. “Needs more tweaking.”

“Rough? Senior Tang, can this even be called a dessert?” I asked, floored. This wasn’t just “rough”—it was a total disaster.

Even if she was bored with normal sweets, did she really have to go this crazy?

“Absolutely,” she said, nodding with total confidence.

She pulled out a beat-up notebook bound with a string. The cover was stained with flour and smudges of chocolate, and the corners were curled like overbaked cookies.

“My recipe journal,” she said, handing it over like it was a family heirloom. “Every disaster, every success—it's all in here. Feel free to add your own notes.”

I held it like it might fall apart in my hands. “Wait, are you sure? Isn’t this, like, sacred?”

“Sacred?” She laughed. “Please. It’s just food. Besides, I’ve got most of it memorized anyway.”

I flipped through a few pages—doodles in the margins, cryptic notes like “Too salty but emotionally satisfying” or “Never trust bananas again.” This wasn’t just a recipe book—it was a chaotic diary in pastry form.

“I feel like I’ve been handed the grimoire of forbidden desserts,” I said.

“That’s not far off,” she smirked. “But hey, maybe you’ll crack a few spells I couldn’t.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of culinary responsibility settle over me like powdered sugar dusting. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“You’d better,” she said, walking back to the front. “If I find butter fingerprints on my tiramisu page, I will hex you.”

“No promises,” I called after her, grinning as I tucked the journal under my arm.

Honestly, though? I was starting to feel like I really belonged here. And that was a nice change of pace.

She pulled out a slightly thick, well-worn notebook and handed it to me, brushing off imaginary dust.

It looked like a recipe book, bound like a diner menu.

“Thanks, Senior Tang,” I said, taking it carefully.

The pages were dog-eared from heavy use, but it felt like it’d been stashed away for ages, almost forgotten.

“No biggie,” she said. “I got it back when I was learning. Start with the basics if you want to experiment. You can use the shop’s ingredients, just don’t go overboard.”

As she spoke, she started peeling off her gear—her hat, her apron, the works.

“Where you headed, Senior Tang?” I asked.

“Gotta grab supplies,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Shiqi was supposed to handle it this time, but then she bailed for whatever drama she’s caught up in. I only realized this morning we’re almost out.”

“Oh, got it,” I said, nodding.

I had no clue how much stock they bought at once, but given how fast stuff sold—or didn’t—here, it probably wasn’t a ton.

Most of it probably ended up in the trash anyway.

In my head, I was begging Senior Tang not to come back with anything too weird. Like that root-thing we tried earlier? That was not food.

Salted egg yolk would’ve been a better filling, and that’s saying something.

“Yuehan, hold down the fort,” she said, grabbing her bag. “If any tricky customers show up… oh, wait, you don’t have my number yet, do you? Let’s fix that. Call me if you need me.”

“Sounds good,” I said, pulling out my phone.

We swapped contacts in a flash, and my phone pinged with her info.

“Alright, I’m off. Catch you later!” she said, breezing out the door.

I watched her go, lingering at the entrance until she was out of sight. Who knew Senior Tang was a broom-riding pro? Zooming off like that, she’d probably be back in no time—straight-line sky travel and all.

Ever since I learned about the bakery’s other income streams, I knew this place wasn’t as simple as it looked.

I just hoped no weird orders came in while I was alone.

Feeling a bit bored, I plopped back at the counter and cracked open the recipe book. Flipping through, I realized a lot of the ingredients were totally different from my past life.

I wasn’t exactly a baking expert back then, but I could tell the difference.

For one, none of the recipes in that world called for ingredients infused with transcendence energy.

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