Chapter 18: Top-Tier Biochemical Weapon!

Li Shimin slapped his thigh.

“Exactly!”

“I knew he had to be a Daoist recluse! This ‘niangpi’ must come from the idea of ‘brewing the essence of heaven and earth’!”

“Sizi is still young and her speech isn’t clear yet. She must have mispronounced the word for ‘brewed’ as ‘mother’, leading to this misunderstanding.”

The ruler and his two ministers looked at each other and smiled, sharing a sense of accomplishment that great minds think alike.

Now that he understood the reasoning behind it, the craving Li Shimin had suppressed flared up once more.

That sour, spicy aroma still lingered at the tip of his nose, tormenting him with intense craving.

“Wang Dequan!”

Wang Dequan, who had been shrinking into the corner trying to be invisible, scrambled out at once.

“This servant is here.”

“Pass on my imperial decree: order the Bureau of Culinary Service to immediately begin researching and making this ‘niangpi’!”

Li Shimin waved his hand grandly, full of commanding presence.

“Tell them it uses flour as the raw ingredient and must be repeatedly washed in water to extract its essence and form noodle skins, seasoned with chili oil and fragrant vinegar. I want to see this dish on my dinner table tonight!”

“If they fail to make it…” Li Shimin snorted coldly. “I’ll have them take a bath in the boiling pots themselves!”

Wang Dequan shuddered all over, accepted the decree, and withdrew.

In his heart, however, he cursed that unknown master a hundred times over.

Dear ancestor!

Could you please give it a rest?

If you wash flour in water, doesn’t it just turn into a pot of batter?

How on earth is anyone supposed to make that?

…

Imperial Kitchen, front hall.

The atmosphere was even more stifling than the scorching sun outside.

Two stewards from the Bureau of Culinary Service and seven or eight head imperial chefs were gathered around a vat of water, fretting.

Wang Dequan had fled as soon as he delivered the decree, leaving the group staring at one another in dismay.

“Wash dough?”

Imperial Chef Zhang held a lump of dough, his hands trembling.

“Dough dissolves the moment it hits water. How are we supposed to wash it? And wash it into skins, no less?”

“His Majesty said this is a Daoist technique to discard the dross and keep the essence.” Another chef, Imperial Chef Li, had a bitter look on his face. “We’re cooks, not Daoist priests. How are we supposed to know alchemy methods?”

“Could it be… it needs to be steamed?”

“Steam it first, then wash it?”

“Wouldn’t that just turn into soggy lumps?”

Everyone chimed in at once, bickering endlessly.

Someone tried throwing a lump of dough into the water and scrubbing it, only to produce a basin of milky white slurry while the dough vanished completely.

“It’s over, it’s completely over.”

Imperial Chef Zhang stared at the basin of white water with despair written across his face.

“This isn’t making niangpi, it’s taking the skin right off our faces!”

These imperial chefs only knew how to steam, boil, roast, and stew by the book. When had they ever seen such an unconventional method that completely reconstructed an ingredient?

That so-called master was practically launching a dimensional strike against them, leaving them no way out.

…

Backyard, firewood shed.

The sun was dipping west, and the heat had dissipated slightly.

Su Mu was lying on his homemade mulberry-wood recliner, a large cattail fan over his face, fast asleep.

Although there was no air conditioning, the firewood shed was remote and in the shade. Having just eaten a bowl of refreshingly chilled washed-flour liangpi, he felt quite comfortable.

“Achoo!”

Su Mu sneezed suddenly, and the cattail fan slipped from his face.

He rubbed his nose, looking a bit dazed.

“Achoo! Achoo!”

Two more sneezes followed in quick succession, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Who is it?”

Su Mu muttered as he sat up, picking up his palm-leaf fan to cool himself.

“In this heat, who’s talking about me behind my back?”

Could that little girl have gone back and said something about the liangpi?

Su Mu glanced at the empty vinegar jar by the base of the wall.

“Whatever, forget it.”

He stretched, listening to his joints crack and pop.

It was already afternoon, and the liangpi in his stomach was mostly digested.

What should he eat for dinner?

…

…

The midday sun was vicious enough to devour people, and the cicadas buzzed as if their throats were smoking.

Inside the dilapidated woodshed in the backyard of the Imperial Kitchen, it was even stuffier than a steamer.

Su Mu squatted in the shade of the corner, a pitch-black clay jar sitting before him.

The jar had some years on it. Its opening was sealed tight with layer upon layer of oiled paper, but still feeling uneasy, he had weighed it down with a slab of bluestone the size of a millstone.

【Ding! The Food God System has issued an advanced quest: Craft “Exquisite Stinky Tofu” and receive heartfelt praise from two or more diners. Reward: god-level heat control】

Su Mu rubbed his hands together.

This quest came at just the right time.

He had prepared this jar of brine three days ago. It was a “biochemical weapon” fermented from winter bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, fermented black beans, and several secret medicinal herbs.

With how sweltering it had been these past few days, the fermentation was probably just right.

Su Mu stood up and first shut the rickety door that had just been fitted with a new latch, sliding the bolt firmly into place.

Once this stuff saw the light of day, its destructive power would be immense, and he feared catching friendly forces in the crossfire.

He took a deep breath…

That was his last breath of fresh air. Then he reached out, moved the bluestone slab, and peeled away the oiled paper.

Pfft!

In that instant, no wind was needed at all.

The stench was as if it had grown legs, tumbling and surging outward.

How could one describe it? It was like ten pairs of socks worn for half a month without washing, stuffed into a vat of rotten pickled vegetables aged for three years, and then baked under the blazing sun for seven times seven, forty-nine days^[1].

Pungent! Overpowering!

Even Su Mu was choked to the point of squinting, hurriedly grabbing a prepared damp cloth to cover his nose and mouth.

He peered into the jar. The brine was glossy black with a faint greenish sheen, truly top quality!

Following the hole in the skylight, the smell drifted leisurely out.

…

In the front courtyard, inside the main hall of the Imperial Kitchen.

Wang Dequan had his hands clasped behind his back, spit flying as he berated the row of drooping imperial chefs.

“Every last one of you is a blockhead! What kind of skin is the ‘niangpi’ His Majesty wants? How long has it been? You’ve wasted several hundred jin of flour, and all you made was paste! Are you tired of living?”

Imperial Chef Zhang wore a bitter expression, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his hands coated in dried flour crusts. “Chief Steward, it really isn’t that we aren’t trying our best. Flour dissolves the moment it hits water. Where would a skin come from? We were wondering if we ought to add some glue?”

“Add your head! That is for His Majesty to eat! How dare you add…”

Wang Dequan’s mouth froze half-open.

His nostrils twitched violently twice. His face went deathly pale in an instant, turned green right after, and finally settled into the purplish hue of pork liver, looking like he wanted to vomit but couldn’t.

“Urgh!”

Clutching his throat, Wang Dequan dry-heaved.

The imperial chefs below caught the smell too.

The stench was overwhelmingly potent, cutting straight through the smoke and spices of the Imperial Kitchen and even drowning out the gamey aroma of the mutton stewing on the stove.

“Th-This… who blew up the latrine?” Imperial Chef Li pinched his nose, tears welling in his eyes.

“No! This smell… it’s like someone relieved themselves right in the kitchen!”

Wang Dequan was beside himself with fury. Clamping a handkerchief tightly over his mouth, he bellowed in a muffled voice, “Investigate! Investigate this for me at once! Which blind fool relieved themselves in the Imperial Kitchen… urgh! Or has some meat completely rotted away? If His Majesty catches wind of this, we’ll all lose our heads!”

The crowd had no time to puzzle over what “niangpi” was anymore. Covering their noses, they scattered in all directions to track down the source of the foul stench.

…

The woodshed in the back courtyard.

By now, Su Mu had already gotten used to the rhythm.

When it came to stinky tofu, it truly smelled foul, but once it hit the hot oil, that was an entirely different story.

Wok on the fire, heat the oil!