Chapter Eight: I Am Ming Tian, the Model Family Man

The atmosphere at the scene grew strange, tinged with awkwardness.

“How dare you!”

After a long silence, the deputy general finally snapped out of his shock, drew a guard’s sword, and prepared to strike. “You have the audacity to suggest that the illustrious Princess of Jiangmen marry a commoner like you? Insolence beyond measure!”

Yet, facing the blade swinging down on him, Ming Tian showed not a trace of fear—in fact, he smiled.

If my guess is correct, this beautiful princess will surely intervene.

“Wait.” Just as Ming Tian anticipated, before the sword could fall, the Princess of Jiangmen stopped the deputy general with a sharp command.

The deputy general’s brow twitched in obvious displeasure, but he dared not disobey the princess’s order. He sheathed his sword with a scowl and stepped aside, his eyes filled with murderous resentment toward Ming Tian.

But the princess hesitated, then asked, “Do you... truly think I’m beautiful?”

As expected.

She was a noble princess, surrounded daily by sycophants. Even if everyone thought her ugly, none would dare to say so. Mere flattery would not sway her; she needed to feel that his admiration was genuine.

That’s why Ming Tian had added a marriage proposal—surely, with her looks so out of step with ancient ideals of beauty, no one else would dare propose. Though, truth be told, he did find her beautiful.

At last, I have a chance to be like the hero in a novel! God, are you watching me? Then watch closely...

It’s time to show off!

“That’s right, Princess. I like you.” Ming Tian gave a gallant knight’s bow and delivered a line that belonged only in the most saccharine romance novels, his tone flamboyant.

A sudden turn of events? No buildup? Who needs buildup! If I, a modern man, can’t win over an ancient beauty, I might as well give up.

Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the princess’s pale face flush faintly, though she quickly regained her composure.

“No, you’re lying. I know all too well what I look like.”

A hint of sorrow flickered across her face, and Ming Tian guessed she had suffered much in the cutthroat royal family because of her albinism.

She waved her hand and barked, “You’re only after my status, trying to curry favor. Don’t think I don’t see through you—I detest base flatterers most of all. Guards! Drag him away and behead him!”

At her command, two soldiers immediately grabbed Ming Tian, one on each side, and began to haul him out for execution.

But...

This, too, was just as I expected!

Ming Tian struggled free from the soldiers and knelt before the princess, crying out, “Princess, I am sincere! Even if you don’t believe me, at least give me a chance to prove myself. I have no other skills but cooking—let me make you a dish. After you’ve tasted it, you can kill me if you still wish.”

Huh? Wait a minute—this sounded so impressive in my head, so why does it sound so awkward and clumsy out loud?

Cooking?

At that moment, the deputy general stepped forward and saluted. “Princess, this scoundrel is mocking you; he’s guilty of deceiving his sovereign. In my opinion, there’s no need for further words—just behead him immediately.”

He glared fiercely at Ming Tian, as if itching to slaughter him on the spot.

What is this deputy general’s obsession with killing? Was he raised in a slaughterhouse? Ming Tian felt his anger rise at the man’s glare.

You fool, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a grand performance here?

The princess’s pale, elegant brows drew together in thought.

“In these circumstances, for him to speak of cooking—it strikes you as odd, doesn’t it? I have heard that the cuisine of the Central Plains is without equal. Let him try, then. I want to see what skill he possesses, that he dares hope to move me with a dish even while facing death.”

Wait, did she say the food of the Central Plains is unrivaled? What a cosmic joke! Pickled vegetables? Boiled cabbage? Those sorry excuses for food are considered the best under heaven? By that logic, even my worst cooking could be called a delicacy from a famous eatery!

“Very well!” The princess smiled with genuine interest. “If you can prepare a dish that moves me, I will spare your life. But if you fail, not only will I have your head, I’ll have you executed by slow dismemberment! Men, take him to the kitchen—give him whatever ingredients he asks for. I want to see just what he can make.”

She was stunning.

Ming Tian was transfixed by the princess’s smile.

True love.

It wasn’t the least bit abrupt; even in modern times, this Princess of Jiangmen would be an unconventional top-tier beauty. After days of seeing women so ugly they nearly rendered him impotent, facing the princess was like a starving wolf catching scent of fresh meat. Ming Tian was, after all, a man in perfect health.

“No problem!” he replied simply. As the soldiers dragged him from the tent, Ming Tian, imitating an idol drama star, flashed a devilish smile and said, “Wait for me—it won’t be long.”

His bold words left the princess blushing furiously, her ears burning as she hurriedly bowed her head, lest the deputy general see her lose composure.

Ming Tian was escorted to the mess area by the soldiers.

Faced with the army’s crude kitchen, Ming Tian felt despair once again.

I thought my own kitchen was shabby, but this is even worse—how is anyone supposed to cook here? Are they cavemen?

The so-called kitchen was nothing more than a campfire.

As for utensils—at home, he’d at least had some jars and bottles. Here? There was only a single bronze pot. Nothing else.

Regardless, at least he could finally cook with a free hand.

Ming Tian was suffering from severe malnutrition—just standing upright was already pushing his limits. He would never make it to tomorrow in this state.

But now, by cooking for the princess, he’d at least have a chance to snatch a few bites for himself in the process.

“The princess has ordered that you be given any ingredient you require. Say what you need, and quickly,” one of the soldiers urged, impatience thick in his voice.

The kitchen was in terrible shape, but Ming Tian, a lifelong bachelor and former administrative assistant who’d mingled with the upper crust, was no stranger to preparing both Chinese and Western cuisine of moderate complexity.

After a moment’s thought, weighing the information he had, Ming Tian made his decision.

“Twenty eggs, one pound of flour, a whole chicken, three taels of oil, one tael each of salt and malt sugar, a ladle, and a flat iron plate—if not iron, then bronze will do. Your Di tribe’s army should have Sichuan peppercorns, right?”

The soldier nodded. “The princess grew up among the Di tribe, and though we’re not as wealthy as others, we do have some Sichuan peppercorns—even if they’re rare.”

“Then bring me half a tael.”

“Understood. But what do you want the malt sugar for? Can you even cook with that?”

“If I fail, I’ll lose my head anyway. Why do you care?”

“Tch.”

With that, the soldier left, grumbling, to arrange for the ingredients Ming Tian requested.

Staring at the battered bronze pot, Ming Tian snapped his fingers and grinned.

He lit the fire, added water to the pot, and began preparing to cook.

Time to make my first grand impression in this era!