Jiou: Is it tasty? If you like it, have some more.

Cooking in this era is fraught with limitations. No matter how skilled Ming Tian is, the variety of ingredients and supplies available restrict his ability to showcase his culinary talent. To truly unleash his abilities, he would need better resources and more advanced tools. Given the relatively complex nature of Chinese cuisine, simpler Western fast foods have a distinct advantage under these circumstances. Western cuisine may rival Chinese in complexity, but its fast food variants demand less diversity in ingredients.

Ming Tian decided to make the most common modern Western dish: the sandwich.

He began with poached eggs—a simple side dish found in both Eastern and Western cuisines. Yet, like fried rice, it is easy to make but incredibly difficult to perfect. Since there was no white sugar or rock sugar available, Ming Tian substituted with the most common ancient snack: maltose.

He boiled water, added a small amount of salt and maltose, then stirred it to ensure the water rotated slowly and evenly, forming a vortex.

Poaching eggs presents two main challenges:

First, the speed of the water’s rotation. If it’s too fast, the egg will scatter when added; too slow, and the egg will sink to the bottom, exposing the yolk.

Second, and perhaps the hardest for both novices and seasoned cooks alike: the heat. The egg is extremely sensitive—just five seconds too early, and it’s undercooked; five seconds too late, and the yolk is overdone. The worst part is, he was cooking over a campfire, not a gas stove, so he couldn’t regulate the flame.

But Ming Tian, single for thirty years, was not about to let poached eggs defeat him.

Next, he used freshly risen dough, adding extra salt to neutralize its sourness. Without an oven, bread was impossible, so he opted for thin pancakes, pressing them onto an iron plate and baking them over the fire—so long as they weren’t over-dried, it would work.

He took chicken breast, placed it on the iron plate, which sat higher above the fire, brushed it with a thin layer of oil, and pan-fried it gently without preheating, sprinkling salt and Sichuan pepper powder for flavor.

Then he shredded cabbage, blanching it quickly—just dipping it in boiling water and immediately retrieving it. Cabbage can be eaten raw; the brief heat only softened it, preserving its crispness.

Finally, the most troublesome element: the salad. With few ingredients to choose from, Ming Tian decided to use traditional, effective mayonnaise. The problem was, mayonnaise requires olive oil, but here, only lard was available.

Not ideal, but doable.

He heated the lard, being careful not to overheat—otherwise, the eggs would cook instantly upon contact. Too cool, though, and the lard would remain solid at room temperature. He poured over three hundred milliliters of lard into three eggs, very slowly, as too fast would prevent proper emulsification, stirring constantly and finally adding a pinch of salt.

After an hour’s effort, Ming Tian looked at the eight sandwiches before him and nodded in satisfaction.

Who says a loser can’t make it in ancient times? Haven’t I just done it? Isn’t this proof enough? A single man who can cook is invincible!

For the first time, Ming Tian felt grateful for his thirty years of singlehood in his previous life.

Eight sandwiches were more than enough, and as a chef, tasting is essential.

He picked the four least appealing ones as samples and ate them.

One bite.

Boom!

A thousand fireworks burst in his mouth—the perfectly tender chicken breast, the sweet crispness of cabbage, the dry aroma of the pancake. After six days of poor meals, Ming Tian was conquered by his own creation.

His stomach, ravenous and starved, attacked the food like a mad beast, and with this rare feast, his strength returned.

Though the pancake was sour, the overall flavor salty, and the mayonnaise made with lard carried an unmistakable porky smell, this meal was far superior to anything Ming Tian had eaten in recent days.

It was a massacre.

Compared to these sandwiches, the food he’d encountered lately was as revolting as dung.

The poached eggs were perfectly soft-centered. Though the embryonic egg flavor was a bit off-putting, it was still a rare delicacy.

Ming Tian devoured the four sandwiches completely, more like a rabid dog than a hungry wolf.

Satisfied, he carried the remaining four sandwiches with confidence into the princess’s tent.

Inside, the princess, clad in silver armor, and her ostentatious deputy were still present, their faces showing impatience but no loss of authority.

Confronted by Ming Tian, the princess’s expression was impatient. “What took you so long?”

Ming Tian deliberately flashed a rakish smile—not out of true confidence, but simply to show off.

“To cook for such a beautiful princess, I must give one hundred percent effort. I believe that slow work yields fine results. Princess, let me use this dish to conquer you today.”

Women like confident men. She’d assumed Ming Tian’s delay was due to nerves, but he entered without a trace of worry about losing his head, brimming with self-assurance, his tone composed.

A flicker of surprise crossed the princess’s face. Was it an illusion, or did the man before her emanate the majesty of mountains and rivers?

“Slow work yields fine results? I’ll remember that. I didn’t expect you to have such spirit,” she said, a trace of admiration in her voice.

“A man should have some spirit,” Ming Tian replied, calmly smiling.

Spirit?

Spirit, my foot! Just confidence, posture, a smile, and no negative emotion. Every modern white-collar worker who’s socialized knows this routine. It’s not true spirit, but basic social skills.

“Present the dishes.”

At her command, the soldier brought forth the ceramic plate with the four poached eggs and four sandwiches—though, lacking bread, they were more like rolled pancakes.

To modern eyes, these foods were nothing special, but to people of ancient times, they were exquisite novelties.

“Oh?” The princess exclaimed, admiring the sandwiches and looking up to ask, “What are these? I’ve never seen them. Who taught you?”

“Self-reliant, self-taught.”

“Self-taught?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Even the imperial chefs couldn’t make such exquisite fare.”

Exquisite?

Ming Tian scratched his ear, checking he wasn’t hallucinating.

Without molds, the pancakes were uneven; the sandwiches were haphazardly arranged. Complimenting the taste made sense, but exquisite? Lady, are your eyes okay?

If this was served to a master chef, the plating alone would earn Ming Tian a slap. Exquisite?

Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to reject praise.

The princess picked up a sandwich and sniffed it. For the first time, delight appeared on her previously somber face.

“So fragrant!” She turned to the wide-eyed deputy. “An Luo, you try one too.”

“Yes, I’ll gladly obey.” The deputy, An Luo, shot Ming Tian a jealous glare, picked up a sandwich, sniffed it, and his ugly face relaxed. He didn’t say a word, but it was clear he was won over by its rich aroma.

Both took a bite almost simultaneously.

Instantly, as if thousands of tons had exploded, their faces stretched longer than a horse’s.

The succulent meat, sweet crisp cabbage, and mildly sour pancake shredded their former conceptions of food, erecting an entirely new framework for their taste buds, as if Napoleon had discovered a new continent.

An Luo devoured his sandwich in three bites, licking his fingers and even the dirt under his nails without noticing.

On the princess’s side, her pale cheeks flushed crimson, her blood-red eyes brightened with life, her snowy brow lifted in pleasure, and her luscious lips were damp with saliva, uncontrollably produced by the deliciousness.

Ming Tian’s mouth twitched.

This scene showed they were thoroughly enjoying the food, but lady, could you mind your image a bit? A few soft moans would suffice—no need for that “doujin face.” Don’t make it look as if I slipped you something indecent!

Almost nonstop, it was hard to believe such a delicate princess had such a large appetite. Like a starving ghost reborn, she polished off three sandwiches and the poached egg in minutes.

“Delicious!”

She exclaimed, disregarding decorum, gazing at Ming Tian with newfound appreciation rather than disdain. “So good! I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful!”

“Thank you for your praise, Princess,” Ming Tian replied, calmly, though his heart was bursting.

Ah! This is what it feels like to show off—so satisfying! Now I understand why people love to brag.

“You’re called Zhuge Bu Liang, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The princess nodded in satisfaction, slouching in her chair rather than sitting upright. “I am of the Di tribe—open by nature. My father, the emperor, has only one daughter and loves me dearly. But I developed this strange illness, and no one in the capital will marry me, so I travel the land seeking a consort.”

She spoke with a trace of happiness, not sorrow.

Ming Tian felt a bit disgusted.

Oh, so when no one else will marry you, you come to me? Am I a recycling bin? True, I admit you’re beautiful, but what’s that supposed to mean?

She looked at Ming Tian, nodding in satisfaction. “I heard you’re the most handsome man in Su Men Town. I wanted to see for myself. I expected you to be a mere pretty face, but you possess such talent.”

Ming Tian’s mouth twitched.

Cooking was a lowly skill in this era—there’s an old saying, “The nobility keep their distance from the kitchen.” The Di tribe really viewed things differently from the Central Plains.

No wonder, after the Southern and Northern Dynasties, Sui and Tang were replaced by the Song. The status of chefs began to rise in the Song, as food is essential to life. There are no immortals, no one can live without sustenance, and chefs are artists of food. Any dynasty that looked down on chefs was doomed to perish.

“I thought you were just bluffing, but after tasting your food, I understand—only genuine emotion can create such delicious dishes. I believe in you.”

The princess’s face softened with girlish affection.

Beside her, An Luo, seeing the princess’s tender smile toward Ming Tian, wore a look of displeasure and resentment.

But Ming Tian barely noticed. All complaints vanished; faced with her gentle smile, he was utterly charmed.

Wait, that look—my God, is it possible… Mom, I’m about to have a wife! And she’s a princess!

As for tomorrow’s journey to the capital and the appointment with Yin Chan to seek the Alliance of Travelers?

Ming Tian had forgotten all about it.

Chasing women takes precedence!

“Zhuge Bu Liang, I apologize for my earlier rudeness. Tell me, would you be willing to become my consort?”

“I’m willing, absolutely! A hundred times willing!” Ming Tian nodded so vigorously it was almost comical, his mind awash with thoughts of losing his virginity.

“Very good.”

The princess smiled in satisfaction, then said something that took Ming Tian by surprise.

“I depart for the capital tomorrow to inform my father. But though I wish to choose you, that doesn’t mean you are my consort yet—you need the emperor’s decree and my father’s consent. For now, you’re still a commoner. As a princess, I cannot travel with a commoner. You’ll set out for the capital tomorrow as well. When you arrive, find me at Chu Feng Tower, the largest restaurant. We’ll meet there and go before the emperor together.”

The capital? She wants me to go to the capital alone?

Only then did Ming Tian remember his appointment with Yin Chan.

He’d expected another troublesome twist, but now it was perfectly convenient—no need to sneak out or hide from his parents.

Ming Tian was elated.

Of course I’m the protagonist—this is how things should go.

But, as Ming Tian knew, twists and turns? He could never predict them; surprises would always come.

“Oh, and the journey to the capital is long and unpredictable. For your safety, An Luo will accompany you.”

“Uh… what?!”

He barely had time to be happy before the princess’s words shattered his dreams.

He glanced at An Luo, whose eyes now glared at him like two light bulbs.

To Ming Tian, this guy radiated the aura of muscular brotherhood. Travel with this guy? Are you sure he’s straight? I’m not dung—I don’t want to be stirred up by a stick! And judging by him, the stick is probably pretty thick!

What~the~duck… Is this twist a curse? Even English has to be censored—how twisted is this debuff? Duck, what nonsense?! Change it to the F word! Duck! Duck! Duck!!!

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