Chapter 32 — ILK Chapter 32

Some dishes can taste sweet even without adding too much sugar, such as Meicai Kourou (Preserved Vegetable Braised Pork). The inherent saltiness of the preserved vegetables, the rendering of the pork belly fat, and a touch of sugar create a magical chemical reaction where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Anything can be made into Meicai (preserved vegetables); it’s less a specific vegetable and more a processing method. The most common are mustard greens and rape blossoms, but even cowpeas and bamboo shoots can be used. After pickling, fermenting, and drying, the vegetables turn a deep, dark charcoal color. Because of the heavy salting during the process, they develop a unique, concentrated flavor.

Sang Ye took out the dried Meicai, soaked it in water for a while, and cut it into uniform segments about half a finger long. She boiled a pot of water and blanched two palm-sized slabs of pork belly with scallions, ginger, and garlic to remove any gaminess. Once removed, she used a toothpick to prick numerous holes into the fatty skin side. During this, oil continuously seeped out, which she meticulously wiped away with oil-absorbent paper. This step was crucial for better flavor penetration and coloring.

For this dish, coloring the pork belly didn't require caramelizing sugar. She simply coated the surface evenly with dark soy sauce. Then, she heated oil in a pan and seared the skin side over low heat until it was golden brown. Sang Ye actually disliked this step because searing large pieces of meat—especially meat that had just been blanched—often caused oil to splatter. The splattered oil cools quickly and doesn't do real damage, but the stinging sensation against the skin was unpleasant. She frowned, trying to stay away from the pan, only turning the meat to sear the other sides once the skin was golden. Then, she could finally cover the pot.

Sang Ye relaxed visibly and began preparing the staple: Qingjing Rice, also known as Wumi (Black Rice). She had soaked the rice overnight in the juice of Oriental Blueberry leaves. The snow-white rice had turned a deep blue-black, filled with the unique fragrance of the leaves.

Overnight-soaked Qingjing rice can be steamed. She set a steamer with a cloth and spread the rice evenly over it. Once cooked, it could be turned into Eight-Treasure Rice with red bean paste, raisins, and walnuts, or Osmanthus Rice with dried flowers and a bit of sugar. Both were equally sweet, sticky, and resilient.

After the pork belly was seared, there was one more vital step: creating the "Tiger Skin." By soaking the meat skin-side down in cold water for about fifteen minutes, the skin would wrinkle like a tiger’s pelt. These wrinkles increased the surface area, helping the heavy fat layer absorb flavors quickly.

She prepared a sauce using light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, chicken essence, a pinch of salt, and some precious white pepper. Since Lin Changli specifically wanted sweet flavors, she added an extra spoonful of sugar. She sliced the two slabs of pork vertically into uniform, thick slices—each piece perfectly marbled—coated them in the sauce, and let them marinate. Using the leftover oil from the pork, she stir-fried more scallions, ginger, garlic, and the Meicai.

Finally, she lined the bottom of a large bowl with the marinated pork slices, skin-side down. The stir-fried Meicai was packed into the center, and the whole bowl was steamed for forty minutes until the meat was melt-in-the-mouth tender. The final step was overturning: she placed a shallow plate over the steaming bowl and flipped it, so the meat was on top of the bed of preserved vegetables.

The Meicai Kourou was complete.

The Qingjing Rice was also ready. As she lifted the lid, the fragrance of the leaves rushed out with the steam. She poked it with a chopstick; the grains had absorbed plenty of water and weren't mushy, but soft and bouncy. At this point, she added raisins, bean paste, and mango slices to steam for a few more minutes. The sugars from all three would seep into the rice, making it naturally sweet.

Today's sugar intake is over the limit, she thought. The post-meal soup shouldn't be sweet.

A refreshing Luffa Egg Drop Soup was the perfect palate cleanser. For children in the Wu-Yue region (modern-day Zhejiang/Jiangsu), Luffa and rice cakes were "seasonal nightmares." In summer, there was an endless supply of Luffa growing everywhere; if not picked in time, it would turn into a fibrous loofah only good for washing dishes. In winter, there were endless rice cakes stored in water that appeared in every meal until children were sick of the chewy, indigestible lumps.

However, a light bowl of luffa soup was perfect for digestion. She sliced the luffa and soaked it in salt water for a minute. She made sure the pan was perfectly clean before stir-frying it, as any residue would turn the soup a murky black. After a few quick tosses, she added boiling water to make the broth milky white. She whisked the eggs and poured them in a thin stream along the edge of the pot, creating delicate egg ribbons. A few drops of sesame oil at the end made the aroma explode.

Sang Ye turned off the heat and shouted toward the door: "Lunch is ready!" She reached for a bowl. A creamy-white, glossy deep soup bowl was handed to her, radiating a faint coolness.

She looked up. Lin Changli’s expression had returned to normal, and his eyes looked clear, though he was still clutching his unfinished pitcher of iced tea. Sang Ye poured the soup into the bowl. Lin Changli steadily propped the hot bowl with one hand and carried it to the table with ease. He then returned to the cabinet, meticulously picking out his favorite set of tableware.

Sang Ye peered over. It was a set of fiery-red maple leaf-shaped bowls. These were hand-pinched by Rong Cheng and were far more exquisite than Sang Ye’s own work—precise, perfect, and comparable to modern machinery.

However, faced with the Qingjing Rice, he seemed unsure of how to proceed. Sang Ye stepped forward and pulled out the matching serving spoon he had missed—it had a long handle topped with a maple leaf for grip—and handed it to him. Some things didn't need teaching; seeing the shape of the spoon, how could Lin Changli not know how to use it? A veteran Sentinel’s brain was wired for quick associations.

Sang Ye didn't look at him again, turning to bring the braised pork to the table. To be honest, Lin Changli proactively helping out was already beyond her expectations. She had seen minor officials and low-level disciples from huge sects act with immense arrogance, and she had seen top-tier masters treat everyone as disposable resources. Though she hadn't lived with the Imperial family before, she assumed their pageantry would be even grander than in her old world. Yet a True Prince like Lin Changli didn't seem to stand on ceremony.

The sound of footsteps and Wu Jianing’s laughter outside pulled Sang Ye from her thoughts.

"I want the bear cup!" Jianing rushed in and lunged at Sang Ye, wanting to be held so she could pick her favorite cup. The child smelled like a puppy that had been playing in the sun—bright and adorable. Sang Ye held her as she picked a brown bear-shaped cup, large enough to hold a lot of iced drink.

Jianing then hopped over to the table, trying to climb onto her chair. Lin Changli, unable to watch her struggle, gave her a boost.

After setting aside portions for Wu Huansheng and Mu An, Sang Ye sat down to eat. The meal was indeed sweet, but except for the picky Lin Changli, the others were happy to eat anything. The Qingjing Rice on its own was slightly astringent, but the enriched version was different; with a little mixing, the mango pulp coated every grain, making it sweet and soft yet chewy. The Meicai Kourou was perfectly balanced; the salty preserved vegetables complemented the sweet rice. Sang Ye thought that next time she could wrap the rice in bamboo leaves to make it denser and use the pork as a filling.

That's a good idea. It could be made into a semi-finished product that only needs a steamer or a microwave to reheat. The only problem was that bamboo leaves didn't stay fresh long. I wonder if I could use vacuum packaging technology to keep them fresh for a month or two.

Sang Ye ate while she planned her next experiments. When she snapped back to the present, she realized there was an eerie silence at the table. She was lost in thought; Lin Changli was naturally quiet. Under the pressure of these two, Rong Cheng and Wu Jianing were eating with exaggerated focus—one chewing rice while staring at her nose, the other drinking soup so quietly she only made the tiniest bubbling sounds.

Poor kids, Sang Ye thought. She decided to break the ice. "Where did the Marshal go this time?"

Lin Changli looked up at her. He looked quite harmless, but his reply was incredibly annoying: "I'm not telling you."

"?" Are you a child? Sang Ye almost blurted it out. She lowered her head and couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"I can see that," Lin Changli added lazily.

"You should just leave," Sang Ye snapped.

"Why?" Lin Changli raised an eyebrow, his sharp features shifting upward. "This is my house."

Are you two children? Rong Cheng shoveled a massive mouthful of rice into her mouth, warning herself: Shut up, Rong Cheng. Don't talk, don't laugh.

Sang Ye knew this man liked to tease when he was normal. To put it nicely, he was sharp-tongued. To put it bluntly... she decided not to put it bluntly. She felt she had "asked for a snub," so she gave up and focused on feeding Jianing. The sauce from the braised pork was excellent for mixing with rice, and the girl's face was covered in oil.

"I had another mental riot," Lin Changli said suddenly. Seeing her slight annoyance, he chose to answer. "I went to soak in the Tide Sea for a few days."

Sang Ye looked puzzled. Can humans survive underwater? What kind of operation is 'soaking in the Tide Sea'?

But this time, Lin Changli didn't have that mischievous look; he was telling the truth.

"When my spiritual form riots, it releases high-temperature flames that stretch for thousands of kilometers. My consciousness enters a wandering state. If I stay on land, it causes massive casualties. So, if I have time, I take my spiritual form into the depths of the Tide Sea, using the extreme cold of the seabed to cool the fire. My mother built a deserted island for me on the Tide Sea; the spiritual form leaves me there," Lin Changli spoke of this life-and-death matter casually. "When it calms down, it comes back for me."

He curled his lips into a smile, showing no self-pity, only a nonchalant frankness laced with his usual malice: "But don't try to get close to me during those times. The flames of my spiritual form will burn any Guide who approaches to ash, along with her own spiritual form."

"..." Well, I didn't say anything, Sang Ye thought, regretting her curiosity.