Chapter Six: The Princess Said, "I Simply Adore Those Who Can Cook"

“Ugh... Mother, I... ugh...”

Early in the morning, Ming Tian had just gotten up, only to vomit out everything he’d eaten the night before. Gazing into the spittoon, he could tell that only half of the food had been digested.

Today marked the sixth day. Aside from three biscuits the night before last, he had eaten nothing. Most of last night’s meal now lay in the spittoon—about sixty percent of it. Ming Tian could feel his body succumbing to severe malnutrition.

His hands and feet trembled, his muscles ached, and everything he saw seemed to ripple as though viewed through water.

To avoid arousing his parents’ suspicion, Ming Tian had forced himself to eat last night.

During the Jin Dynasty, people invented flour, and with it, the technology to hull rice. It was the first major innovation to staple foods in China. However, this innovation was only completed in the Tang Dynasty. In today’s Southern and Northern Dynasties, rice yields remained low, so the habit persisted of boiling rice and millet together. While rice could be hulled, millet could not.

The rice was mixed not only with wheat husks but also with stones and insect corpses. As for the dishes, there were only boiled greens, pickled vegetables made by those suffering from beriberi, and mutton stew that hadn't been sautéed, nor had ginger or wine been used to remove its rankness.

This meal, for someone from a wealthy household like Ming Tian, was considered a banquet reserved for entertaining distinguished guests or for festive occasions—a luxury so absurd it bordered on farce.

Staring at his increasingly gaunt reflection in the murky bronze mirror, Ming Tian realized the gravity of his situation. He abandoned his usual playful demeanor, his face solemn and grave.

Psychogenic anorexia.

If he didn’t start cooking for himself soon, he feared that this ironic illness would put an end to his ludicrous journey through time.

But there were more pressing matters to attend to.

After a simple wash, Ming Tian awkwardly dressed himself. Following his parents’ instructions, he styled himself according to the era’s aesthetic, then stepped outside. Zhuge Fang and Lady Fang were already waiting.

Looking at his parents in this life, Ming Tian felt none of the sympathy he’d had for them the day he tried to hang himself. All he felt now was disgust. The poison of feudalism was manifest in them with unsettling clarity.

“Truly my son—how handsome you look after dressing up.”

“My husband is right. Bu Liang, today you’re meeting Princess Jiangmen. You must bring honor to your father. If you’re chosen as the princess’s consort, our Zhuge family will be half-related to the imperial clan.”

“Hurry up, Father, Mother.”

He didn’t bother with pleasantries, his aloofness not born of mood, but simply the dullness caused by malnutrition.

Sugar, salt, starch, protein, vitamins A, B, C, D, E, F, G—he lacked them all. He needed to find an opportunity to cook for himself.

An hour later, Su Men Town.

The blazing sun shone down on a dense throng of people, their heads clustered like locusts. Ming Tian, clad in stifling, threadbare clothes, stood at the front, feeling as if he might faint from the heat.

The townsfolk had heard that Princess Jiangmen would be coming to Su Men Town to select her consort. They rose early, waiting at the town gate, eager to catch a glimpse of the woman renowned as the most beautiful in all the land.

Sure enough, on the dusty horizon, banners fluttered as hundreds of soldiers clad in silver armor appeared, dazzling as if a second sun had risen beyond the horizon.

“Ah, there she is—Princess Jiangmen!”

“Where?”

“Look, in the center of the army, riding a black horse, clad in silver armor!”

“Oh? Now that you mention it... Wait, why isn’t the princess in a sedan chair? Why is she riding a horse and wearing men’s armor, wrapped up so tightly?”

“You don’t know? Princess Jiangmen is the daughter of the Sixth Prince and a Di woman—she’s bold by nature, doesn’t bind her feet, and refuses to ride in sedan chairs. As for the armor, rumor has it she suffers from a strange illness and cannot endure sunlight, so this special armor was made for her travels.”

The crowd was growing restless. Ming Tian squinted, unable to make out any black horse or silver armor—the army was still a mile and a half away. Did ancient people have telescopic eyes? How could they see so far?

“Bu Liang, my friend, it’s been a while.”

Suddenly, a young gentleman beside him struck up a conversation.

Turning, Ming Tian saw a youth with an olive complexion and shifty eyes, dressed in luxurious silk—obviously wealthy and about his own age.

“What do you want, Gongsun Yuan?” Ming Tian replied lazily.

This was Gongsun Yuan, heir to the second most prominent family in Su Men Town, second only to Ming Tian’s Zhuge clan.

Before Ming Tian had taken over this body, its original owner had been a complete coward—eighteen years old and so timid he’d wet himself at the sight of a cricket. He’d suffered much at Gongsun Yuan’s hands.

Hearing that Princess Jiangmen was coming to see Zhuge Bu Liang, Gongsun Yuan felt jealous and insisted on competing with Ming Tian, surprisingly receiving approval.

Although Gongsun Yuan was far less attractive than Ming Tian, he held the rank of scholar-official—essentially a position between a licentiate and a tribute student.

The imperial examination system hadn’t yet appeared, so there were no titles like “juren” or “jinshi.” The current system was known as “civil selection,” but Ming Tian wasn’t a history professor; what modern person would know the difference without looking it up?

All he knew was that a scholar-official equaled a licentiate, though licentiates could hold office while scholar-officials could not. If civil selection was the precursor to the imperial exam, then scholar-officials were the precursors to licentiates.

“I just wanted to see how an idle pretty boy like you would embarrass yourself before the most beautiful woman in the land.” With a flick of his fan, Gongsun Yuan flashed a mocking smile.

Even though Gongsun Yuan had bullied the original owner of his body, Ming Tian didn’t plan to hold a grudge. But now, the guy was pushing his luck. How could Ming Tian not have a temper?

Ming Tian snorted, shaking his head in ridicule. “Listening to you, it’s almost as if Princess Jiangmen is coming for you. What’s wrong? Too much ink in your stomach? Gone sour? So jealous.”

Gongsun Yuan laughed instead of taking offense. “Hmph, the princess isn’t coming for me, true. But I am well-read and already a scholar-official at a young age—better than you, an idle pretty boy. You’ll see how I win the beauty’s favor.”

“Idiot,” Ming Tian muttered under his breath, lamenting how foolish these scholars were. He didn’t bother arguing further.

Soon, the army reached the city gate and quickly set up camp. In just an hour, they’d erected a base sufficient for their eight hundred cavalry.

Such efficiency rivaled even modern armies.

“Summon Zhuge Bu Liang and Gongsun Yuan,” came the command from the camp, bypassing the county magistrate entirely.

This left the waiting magistrate embarrassed—his rank was too low for the princess to waste time on formalities.

“Hmph, Master Zhuge, after you,” Gongsun Yuan said, snapping his fan shut with a calm smile.

“Idiot,” Ming Tian ignored him, following the deputy general toward the main tent. Behind him, his parents kept shouting for him to put on a good show, prompting a centurion nearby to scold them.

Inside the tent, the princess sat upright in silver armor, motionless as a crafted statue.

Please, heavens, let the million-to-one chance happen—may this Princess Jiangmen have a warped sense of beauty and fall for Gongsun Yuan, so I may leave. I can’t bear any more surprises.

Ming Tian prayed silently.

“Greetings, Princess. I have long admired your reputation as a bold woman of the Di people. Seeing you today, your fame is well deserved,” Gongsun Yuan said, closing his fan and bowing politely.

Well deserved? She hasn’t even removed her helmet! What fame?

Ming Tian rolled his eyes, bowed silently without uttering a word.

“Enough with the pleasantries.”

From within the armor, a voice as cold and clear as moonlight rang out, but the question posed was utterly unexpected.

“Do either of you know how to cook?”

...

To the reader “Asia Ling”: The use of "beep" isn’t for censorship—after all, Chinese has plenty of homophones. If I really wanted the protagonist to curse, nothing would be censored. The purpose of "beep" is for the protagonist to test whether someone else is a fellow time traveler. Plus, the "beep" sound has many memes attached, so I can use it when I’m low on inspiration.