Chapter Fifty-Two: The Death of Emperor Ming of Qi [Part One]

“Ahhhhh!!! My milk—beep!!!”

A blood-curdling scream erupted in the kitchen, and it was none other than Ming Tian. Tears streamed down his face as he wrestled with a duck, rolling and crawling across the kitchen floor. The duck clamped firmly onto Ming Tian’s nipple.

Why were ducks in ancient times so aggressive?! Even through the clothes, it hurt like hell! Are you a chicken reincarnated as a duck?! It’s one thing for groups of people to transmigrate, but don’t tell me animals can transmigrate too!

According to Shawk’s method for slaughtering ducks, you must first pinch the base of the duck’s wings with your thumb and index finger, then flip it belly-up, and make a small incision in the windpipe to drain the blood. Easy to say, but Ming Tian had never killed a duck before. The duck broke free, and though Ming Tian managed to catch it in time, he hadn’t anticipated the duck would retaliate, sensing its impending doom. It lunged and bit down on his chest, catching his nipple in its beak.

Not only did it bite, the damn duck shook its head furiously, as if determined to rip it off.

Ahhh, it hurts like hell! Let go—no, open your beak! You’re about to tear me apart! How will I ever have happy times with the princess if you tear it off?! It’s about to snap—about to snap!

The surrounding chefs stared in stunned silence.

Since when does slaughtering a duck involve being bitten by it?

“Quack, quack.” The duck stared up at Ming Tian, its eyes fixed on him, as if mocking him, and let out two disdainful quacks.

Damn you, beast—you dare laugh at me?!

Ming Tian raised his hand, paying no mind to the blood that might soil him, prepared to chop the duck’s head off with a single stroke.

Damn it, I’ll use your head as a garnish for my wine!

“Brother, don’t be hasty.”

At that moment, Shawk’s familiar gentle voice sounded, grabbing Ming Tian’s knife-wielding hand. With a swift motion, he thrust his thumb into the duck’s mouth and twisted lightly. The cursed beak finally loosened.

“Ahhh… Mother of mercy!” Ming Tian was finally free. Clutching his chest, his face paled with terror. Looking down, he saw the black kitchen robe had been torn, and his nipple, like an inflated balloon, was swelling visibly.

No matter how hard Ming Tian pressed it down, it would bounce back with a spring.

It's over. His masculine image would be ruined for days. Could a duck’s bite really be this strong?

Thankfully, it bit his chest—if it had bitten elsewhere… Ming Tian shuddered at the thought. If it had caught his manhood and turned it into mincemeat, how could he face the days ahead?

He could only regret bitterly now. Had Shawk not intervened, the duck might have truly torn off his nipple.

He should have just let Shawk handle it from the start and avoided all this misery.

Regardless, the fact remains that Shawk had helped him. Ming Tian glanced sideways and saw Qian Shandu’s expression shift, clearly realizing something because of Shawk’s assistance.

But now was not the time to worry about that. Ming Tian was helpless with live poultry, so he had to entrust it to Shawk.

Shawk pinched the wings, flipped the duck skillfully, and with a gentle swipe of the blade, as soft as a spring breeze, the duck didn’t even have a chance to resist. A small cut appeared on its throat, and blood dripped steadily into the bowl.

The whole process took only three to five seconds—his mastery was astonishing.

Since the secret was out, Ming Tian decided to stop overthinking and simply let Shawk handle the rest.

“Shawk, can you help me gut it, scald the feathers with warm water, and send it to my station once it’s ready? I’ll start the sauce.”

“Of course, brother.”

Shawk, ever astute, knew that helping Ming Tian had revealed his skill and acted decisively, grabbing the blood-drained duck and beginning to process it.

Back at his workbench, Ming Tian noticed Qian Shandu’s face was grim. He seemed to have realized something, and turned away, finding an empty station to start his own dish.

Ming Tian understood his intentions.

Shawk had warned him that Qian Shandu had two tricks. First, he would steal others’ dishes and claim the credit. Second—and more vicious—he would not only steal but also substitute disgusting garbage dishes for the originals.

That fat villain, now realizing the camaraderie between Ming Tian and Shawk, feared they’d sabotage him and was preparing to strike first.

Shawk had said this villain was despicable but extremely cautious—how true it was.

Damn, if only I’d let Shawk do it from the start, I wouldn’t have ended up with a swollen nipple from a duck bite.

But regret was pointless. Ming Tian was no fool; he always had a plan B.

For now, he needed to prepare the duck.

Mixing the marinade took only a few minutes. Shawk soon brought over the freshly processed duck.

Gut removal and feather scalding, even for the most skilled chef working by hand, would take at least ten minutes. Shawk had managed it in three to five minutes.

No wonder he could win the Gourmet Gold Medal, Ming Tian thought to himself.

Shawk’s skill was truly peerless; if Ming Tian were to compete with him in traditional cuisine, modern recipes aside, he’d probably lose.

He made for an excellent teammate.

Using maltose and cane sugar for the first stage of marination, Ming Tian applied the marinade four to five times, coated the duck thoroughly, poured maltose water into its cavity, and hung it on the rack at his station.

The marinating speed for Imperial Capital Roast Duck varies greatly with temperature. In summer, three hours is enough. But now, it was the second month of Yongtai’s first year, early spring. Marinating at this time would take at least eighteen hours, or even a full day.

That was far too slow.

He needed to raise the temperature.

He placed a pot of hot water beneath the duck, kept a low flame burning to ensure a steady stream of steam and increased humidity, but not so much as to make it damp. Then he set up a torch three or four feet from the duck, adjusting its distance by hand to maintain a temperature of around forty degrees Celsius.

That was as hot as midsummer. It should only take two and a half hours to finish marinating.

Finally, he fanned the duck gently and waited.

Imperial Capital Roast Duck demands high standards for the bird; the taste varies dramatically depending on the duck. The ancient methods, though crude, had their advantages: ducks back then tended to be well-balanced between fat and lean.

Unlike modern times, where ducks are either all lean or all fat.

Moreover, this particular duck’s aggression suggested it was the king of the cage—the leader. In ducks, only the strongest dare attack humans.

Its beak shone, but wasn’t hardened. Had it been an old duck, Ming Tian’s nipple might have been lost. Its age was clearly young.

A young duck that could rule the cage—this was the perfect candidate for Imperial Capital Roast Duck.

Sorry, buddy. If ducks could write novels, you’d surely be the protagonist. But alas…

As Ming Tian fanned the duck, boredom led his mind to wander.

Two and a half hours later, the marination was nearly complete. It was now a quarter past the hour of the Dragon, with an hour left before dishes were presented. Ming Tian processed the duck at lightning speed and placed it in the oven to roast.

Just then, two eunuchs rushed in, shouting,

“The late emperor has passed! All officials to mourning!”

…

Okay, that’s three chapters for today. Whew, I’m exhausted.