Chapter Fifty-Eight: Preparations Before the Match

Ming Tian’s head was pounding.

To soak and rehydrate the fresh seafood for the Rare Delicacy Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, his room was crammed with all sorts of earthen jars, to the point that the entire place was saturated with the pungent scent of the sea. The dish required ninety-three different ingredients, with only a pinch of salt as seasoning—salt that served merely to fine-tune the flavors.

Among those ninety-three ingredients, twenty-two were varieties of seafood. In this era, the palace had seventeen kinds, and for the remaining five, Ming Tian had to substitute with the closest available river fish. Yet, seafood was difficult to preserve. Even if caught and rushed to the palace at the fastest speed, it would already have lost its freshness. Some types had to be cured and dried before they could be rehydrated and used, so almost all the seafood ingredients were dried.

Each dried ingredient required a different method to bring back to life—boiling, simmering, pouring hot water, soaking, and other techniques, nearly a dozen in total. As a result, in order to prepare all these ingredients, the entire room, even his bedding, was permeated with an overwhelming fishy stench.

Now, Ming Tian finally understood why most chefs were unwilling to learn the authentic version of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall. The dish itself wasn’t rare—what was rare was the genuine article. In modern times, fewer than fifty chefs across all of China could make the authentic version. The recipe was nearly lost, and those who mastered it were eager to take on disciples and pass it down, even teaching for free! Yet most chefs, even given the chance, would not bother—the process was simply too exhausting. That was precisely why the master chefs were so willing to take apprentices.

But for the sake of his woman, Ming Tian was willing to endure this hardship.

It was already midnight. Ming Tian wiped the sweat from his brow, his tired eyes fighting to stay open. He was wounded, yet could not sleep—there was still work to be done. This was already a simplified version of the rare delicacy, yet even so, it was exhausting; what would the complete version demand?

Beyond seafood, there were land animals, river fish, birds, and all manner of cured products to prepare. Outside the door, Ming Tian had An Luo slaughter sheep and cattle for him. As expected, the man was born into a butcher’s family—not a cook, but his skill in slaughtering livestock was first-rate.

It was best to process the animals while alive and store the meat in a cool, dry place. Contrary to common belief, freshly slaughtered chicken, duck, beef, or lamb was not at its best; all meat went through a rigor period. Only after this phase would the meat reach its peak quality. For this dish, every detail determined the final taste. At this season, with this temperature, beef and lamb should be stored for twelve to eighteen hours before use for the perfect result.

These details left Ming Tian flustered and scrambling.

The seafood had to be ready for rehydration by tomorrow, so preparations had to be finished tonight. The broth would need to be started in the morning. Not until 2 a.m. did Ming Tian finally complete his preparations, and, exhausted, he crawled into bed.

Xin Zhu…

Lying there, he stared at the dirty ceiling and couldn’t help but think of Xiao Xin Zhu. It was because of her that he had come to this point. If he had never met this Lady of Jiangmen, where would he be now? What would he be doing?

With these thoughts, Ming Tian drifted into a deep sleep amid the pungent scent of seafood.

Tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter if he got to work a bit late; a couple of simple dishes would be enough to get by. Once the culinary competition began, he would settle all these troubles in one stroke. Then he would take Xiao Xin Zhu far away, leaving behind all the grand ambitions and that so-called Chaos Reaver—none of it would matter. He would marry her, raise a family, and live a good life.

What am I thinking? Isn’t this just setting up a marriage flag? No, absolutely not—if I raise this flag, there’ll be no taking it down.

The next day.

Because he’d worked late, Ming Tian woke late as well. By the time he reached the kitchen, it was already three-quarters past dawn. Even so, he’d only managed three or four hours of sleep. With chronic sleep deprivation, his head felt like it was stuffed with explosives, throbbing painfully.

But when he walked into the kitchen, the scene jolted him wide awake.

“What happened?”

“How could this be? Poor thing…”

“Such a good man, too…”

The usually bustling kitchen was silent, no chefs busy at their stations. Instead, everyone was gathered at the storeroom door, talking in hushed voices. Even Qian Shanduo, who had wet his pants in fear at the emperor’s order to compete with Ming Tian just yesterday, was now sitting leisurely at the door, sipping tea.

Don’t tell me there’s more trouble.

A sense of unease crept over Ming Tian. He quickened his pace, pushing through the crowd to see what had happened.

When his eyes adjusted to the scene, his heart stopped.

“How…how could this be…”

Ming Tian was an optimistic person. Since traveling to this era, he’d always faced hardship with a smile. But now, he realized how powerless his optimism was in the face of the world’s malice.

“We didn’t notice during the early shift. Not long before you arrived, one of our kitchen hands came to fetch supplies and discovered it. You were close, weren’t you? My condolences.”

An older chef patted Ming Tian on the shoulder.

What Ming Tian saw was Zhao Ke’s corpse!

Just yesterday, this man had laughed heartily, helped him wholeheartedly, striving to reclaim his honor despite a lifetime of oppression. Now, he lay lifeless on the floor.

“Why…why did this happen?!”

His body was still warm, his skull smashed open, brain matter splattered, surrounded by shards of earthen jars. It looked as though he’d been killed by a jar falling from the high shelf.

No, impossible!

Zhao Ke wasn’t like him—he wasn’t clumsy or careless. He was skilled, efficient, and cautious, a top-tier chef who could foresee three steps ahead with every move. There’s no way he would make such a rookie mistake as standing under a shelf and getting killed by a falling jar!

Besides, these were pickle jars, no more than thirty pounds each, and they should have been stored in the corner, not on the rack meant for empty jars!

This was no accident. The scene had been staged. Zhao Ke was murdered.

But who would want him dead?

Suddenly, Ming Tian thought of the only possibility.

Qian Shanduo?!

He turned and saw Qian Shanduo, now standing at the kitchen door, smirking coldly at him from ten meters away.

Anger burst through Ming Tian’s mind.

Qian Shanduo! I’ll kill you!

...

P.S.: By the way, I forgot to plant a plot point earlier—my mistake. Let me add it here. I should have mentioned before that Zhao Ke is Zhao Yu’s father. If you don’t remember who Zhao Yu is, check the latter part of Chapter 27.

I finally have some chapters stocked up—just two, but it’s something. Enough chatter; I’m off to write the culinary competition sequence. Around midnight tomorrow, I’ll start writing Qian Shanduo’s death scene. If you want him to die a particularly miserable death, go to the pinned post in the comment section and reply with the two tortures you’d like him to suffer. Or, just reply here in the chapter comments.