Chapter Sixty-Two: The Four-Style Royal Fried Rice (Part Two)

As soon as the gong sounded to signal the start of the competition, Qian Shanduo’s side erupted into a whirlwind of activity. It was no wonder—a team led by three gold-medal chefs, every member skilled and adept, their techniques honed to perfection. Some of the knife masters even displayed their ability to slice vegetables midair, as though performing in a television drama.

On Ming Tian’s side, he gathered all his chefs together. Surveying the twenty-seven pairs of eyes before him, Ming Tian sensed an unprecedented fervor.

“Everyone! Did you see their approach? Their teamwork is flawless, and I dare say their dishes will be nothing short of excellent. But let me ask you—are you afraid?”

“No!” The chefs replied in unison, their voices ringing out.

“That’s right! There’s no need for fear! We don’t need their kind of teamwork, because we possess genuine skill! If our cooking fell short, it was only because we once feared Qian Shanduo would steal our recipes and deliberately held back. But now, things are different!”

Ming Tian picked up a bronze spoon—the very same model Qian Shanduo used to beat people. With determination, Ming Tian slammed it onto the table with all his might. The spoon broke cleanly in two, falling to the ground.

Everyone understood what this act signified.

In that moment, their morale soared.

“Cooking requires heart, not violence. The emperor’s requirements are relaxed; this is your chance to shine. Bring forth the talent you’ve suppressed for so long! No need to seek anyone else’s opinion—make your best dish, and use Qian Shanduo’s dog head to honor Master Zhao Ke’s spirit!”

“To honor Zhao Ke! To honor Zhao Ke! To honor Zhao Ke!” The chefs’ fury finally ignited.

“Begin!”

With that command, Ming Tian needed say no more. Each chef seized their tools and began cooking with all their might.

Watching the fire blaze in their eyes, Ming Tian knew that today, the dishes they created would be the finest of their lives.

“Ming Tian, I never expected you to have such a gift for rallying the troops,” remarked An Luo, a soldier himself. The atmosphere among the chefs was no less stirring than among warriors defending their homeland.

Ming Tian felt the passion rising within him, as if his own spirit had been elevated.

Twenty-seven chefs, twenty-seven hearts—not working as a team, but their wishes now united. Without discussion, they instinctively knew how to complement each other’s dishes and let their own shine in turn.

“What are we doing now?” Yin Chan, seasoned and worldly, was less moved, idly toying with the lid of the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall jar.

Ming Tian glanced at the semi-finished dish representing the Four Delicacies and raised his head.

“I’ve already prepared the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall. Next, follow my instructions to concentrate the soup in order. The menu calls for thirty-two dishes, twenty-seven chefs. Including the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, we have twenty-eight. I’ll handle the remaining four myself!”

Yin Chan was stunned. “Four dishes at once? Can you manage?”

Bang!

Ming Tian slapped a wok from his bundle onto the workbench. “I can make six dishes an hour—four is nothing!”

Without wasting another word, Ming Tian lit the fire and set the wok in place, ready to prepare four stir-fried dishes for the emperor in an era where stir-frying was unheard of.

Yin Chan and An Luo watched Ming Tian begin, exchanging a glance and nodding. They chose to trust him.

Both had seen Ming Tian’s skill firsthand; he had never disappointed, and even for the emperor, Ming Tian would surely prevail.

But as Ming Tian brought out the wok, the opposing chefs were dumbfounded.

The wok, invented in the Song dynasty, had no place in the current era of the Southern and Northern Dynasties. It was unheard of to make stir-fried dishes.

Precisely because it was unfamiliar, such a utensil was ridiculed.

“You there!” Qian Shanduo abandoned his soup and laughed loudly. “What is that thing? So crude! Don’t tell me you plan to cook with that black hunk of metal?”

Ming Tian’s wok, polished clean inside, still had an unpolished, dark exterior. With Qian Shanduo’s mockery, his team of gold-medal chefs and their followers erupted in laughter.

“That’s a cooking utensil? My goodness, I’ll die laughing! Are you making coal briquettes?”

“If that thing can cook, I’ll chop off my head and let you use it as a stool.”

“He must’ve lost his wits! Hahaha!”

With the jeers from the chefs, Qian Shanduo’s face twisted into a fierce scowl, like a fat tiger fixated on Ming Tian.

“You brat! Rest assured, when I win, I’ll ask the emperor for the right to execute you myself. I’ll use slow slicing, cut your flesh paper-thin, and let you suffer for three days and nights before sending you to join Zhao Ke!”

His malice crossed the distance and reached Ming Tian.

Zhao Ke—the name was now Ming Tian’s reverse scale, and hearing it from Qian Shanduo was an insult to the master’s memory.

Bang!

Ming Tian pulled out a plaque from his bundle and slammed it onto the table. It was Zhao Ke’s memorial tablet.

He didn’t argue with Qian Shanduo, nor did he spare him a glance. Ming Tian simply went about preparing the necessary ingredients.

To defeat such an enemy, there was no need for words—Ming Tian’s actions spoke for themselves.

Fish, shrimp, chicken breast, beef fillet, and an endless array of fruits and vegetables.

Ming Tian felt the spirit of Zhao Ke, pouring his whole being into the knife in his hand.

Without realizing it, Ming Tian found himself using Zhao Ke’s four-blade vegetable coring technique.

Even as his hands moved, Ming Tian continued directing Yin Chan, who was preparing the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.

The final step was crucial: every ingredient had to be added at the right time and in the right order, with most of the soup needing to be added repeatedly—not all at once.

The process was simple enough, requiring only verbal guidance, so even if Yin Chan wasn’t a cook, he could manage.

After half an hour of ingredient preparation, Ming Tian took out the last item from his bundle.

A clay jar filled with overnight rice!

Yin Chan was surprised. “Ming Tian, don’t tell me you’re making egg fried rice. Come on, this isn’t a novel—no matter how well you fry it, egg fried rice can’t win over the emperor!”

“Egg fried rice?”

Ming Tian smiled, set the wok on the fire, and poured in pork fat to heat it.

“Why would I make egg fried rice? I’m preparing my own creation, and the dish I’m most confident in: Imperial Four-Style Fried Rice!”

...

As I notified last week, today I have to go get my license plates, tally up the revenue from those who won plates, and so on—time is tight.

Updates are always affected on plate auction days, so I apologize in advance.

Today there will be two chapters; this is the first, and the next will be between 6 and 7 p.m.

Tomorrow, Sunday, there will be three chapters as usual.