Tang Dynasty: Slacking off in the Imperial Kitchen, exposed by Si Zi

Chapter 18: Top-Tier Biological Weapon!

Li Shimin slapped his thigh.

"Here you go!"

"I knew he was a hermit practicing Taoism! This 'Niangpi' must mean 'brewing the essence of heaven and earth'!"

"Si Zi was young and his speech was unclear. He pronounced 'niang' as 'niang', which led to this misunderstanding."

The three men, the emperor and his ministers, exchanged a knowing smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment that "great minds think alike."

Now that he understood the principle, Li Shimin's suppressed craving resurfaced.

The tangy and spicy aroma still lingered in his nose, making him itch with desire.

"Wang Dequan!"

Wang Dequan, who has been hiding in the corner pretending to be invisible, should hurry up and come out.

"This servant is here."

"By imperial decree, the Imperial Kitchen is ordered to immediately begin researching and producing this 'Liangpi'!"

Li Shimin waved his hand, displaying an air of commanding the world.

"Tell them this dish is made from flour, which needs to be repeatedly washed to extract its essence and create the dough, then seasoned with chili oil and balsamic vinegar. I want to see this dish on the table tonight!"

"If they can't make it..." Li Shimin sneered, "I'll make them take a bath in the pot themselves!"

Wang Dequan shuddered and accepted the order to leave.

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

Oh, our ancestors!

Can you please just calm down for a bit?

If you wash this flour in water, won't it just turn into a pot of mushy mush?

How are people supposed to do this?

……

The Imperial Kitchen, Front Hall.

The atmosphere was even more scorching than the sun outside.

Two imperial chefs from the Imperial Food Bureau, along with seven or eight head chefs, were fretting over a vat of water.

After delivering the imperial decree, Wang Dequan ran away, leaving a group of people looking at each other in bewilderment.

"Wash your face?"

Chef Zhang held a dough ball in his hand, his hands trembling.

"This stuff dissolves as soon as it gets in water, how do I wash it? Do I have to wash it until the skin comes off?"

"His Majesty said this is a Taoist method, requiring the removal of the dross and the retention of the essence." Another imperial chef, Li, said with a bitter face, "We're just cooks, not Taoist priests. How would we know anything about alchemy?"

"Could it be... that it needs to be steamed?"

"Steam it first, then wash it?"

"Wouldn't that turn into a mushy lump of dough?"

A group of people were talking at once, arguing incessantly.

Someone tried throwing dough into water and kneading it, but all they got was a bowl of white, sticky liquid, and the dough was gone.

"It's all over, it's all over now."

Chef Zhang stared at the basin of plain water, his face filled with despair.

"This isn't some kind of liangpi (cold skin noodles), it's practically insulting our dignity!"

These imperial chefs usually only know how to steam, boil, roast, and stew according to the usual methods. Where have they ever seen such an unconventional approach that completely reconstructs the ingredients?

That so-called expert was simply using a dimensional reduction attack, leaving no way out for them.

……

The backyard, the woodshed.

The sun was setting in the west, and the heat dissipated a little.

Su Mu was lying on the self-made mulberry wood recliner, his face covered by a large palm-leaf fan, fast asleep.

Although there was no air conditioning, the woodshed was in a remote and shady location, and with a bowl of refreshingly cold noodles I had just eaten, it was quite pleasant.

"Achoo!"

Su Mu suddenly sneezed, and the palm-leaf fan slid off his face.

He rubbed his nose, somewhat bewildered.

"Achoo! Achoo!"

Then two more hit him, making tears well up in his eyes.

Who is it?

Su Mu muttered as he sat up, picked up a palm-leaf fan, and fanned himself.

"Who's talking about me behind my back on such a hot day?"

Could it be that the little girl went back and told him about the cold noodles?

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

"Forget it, never mind."

He stretched, listening to his joints cracking.

It's already afternoon, and the cold noodles in my stomach have almost been digested.

What should we eat tonight?

......

......

The midday sun was so scorching it seemed ready to devour you, and the cicadas were chirping so loudly their throats were practically burning.

The dilapidated woodshed in the backyard of the imperial kitchen was even more stuffy than a steamer.

Su Mu squatted in the shady corner of the wall, with a dark ceramic jar in front of him.

This jar is quite old. The mouth of the jar is sealed tightly with layers of oiled paper, but I still feel a little uneasy. So, a large bluestone slab the size of a millstone is placed on top of it.

[Ding! The Food God System has issued an advanced quest: Create "Premium Stinky Tofu" and receive heartfelt praise from at least two diners. Reward: God-level control of cooking temperature]

Su Mu rubbed his hands together.

This mission came at just the right time.

He had prepared this jar of brine three days ago; it was a "biological weapon" fermented from winter bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, fermented black beans, and several secret herbal ingredients.

It's been so hot and humid these past few days, the fermentation process must have been just right.

Su Mu got up, first closing the broken door that had just been fitted with a new bolt tightly, and then securing the bolt firmly.

This thing is too lethal once it's exposed to light; I'm afraid it might accidentally injure friendly forces.

He took a deep breath—

That was the last breath of fresh air. Then I reached out and moved the bluestone slab aside, peeling off the oil paper.

puff--!

At that moment, there was no need for wind at all.

The smell seemed to have grown legs and was rolling around, trying to escape.

How to describe it? It's like stuffing ten pairs of socks that have been worn for half a month without being washed into a jar of rotten pickled vegetables that have been sitting for three years, and then leaving them to dry in the sun for forty-nine days.

Go for it! Awesome!

Su Mu himself squinted from the stench and quickly grabbed a damp cloth that had been prepared to cover his mouth and nose.

He glanced into the jar; the brine was a glossy black with a greenish sheen—it was top-quality!

The smell drifted out through the hole in the skylight.

……

The front courtyard, the main hall of the imperial kitchen.

Wang Dequan stood with his hands behind his back, spitting as he lectured the row of headless imperial chefs.

"You're all blockheads! What exactly is this 'skin' His Majesty wants? It's been so long, hundreds of pounds of flour have been wasted, and all we've made is a paste! Do you have a death wish?"

Chef Zhang, with a pained expression, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his hands covered in dried flour crusts: "Manager, it's really not that we didn't try. The flour dissolves as soon as it's put in water, so where's the crust coming from? We're thinking of adding some glue?"

"Add your head, my foot! That's for His Majesty, how dare you add it..."

Wang Dequan's mouth was halfway open when it suddenly stopped.

His nostrils twitched violently twice, his face instantly turned deathly pale, then bluish, and finally settled on a liverish color that resembled a nausea that he couldn't vomit.

"vomit--!"

Wang Dequan covered his throat and gagged.

The imperial chefs below could smell it too.

The aroma was so overpowering that it ignored the original smells of oil and spices in the imperial kitchen, and even overpowered the muttony smell that was stewing in the pot.

"Who...who blew up the outhouse?" Chef Li pinched his nose, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Wait! This smell... it sounds like someone's taking a dump in the kitchen!"

Wang Dequan was furious. He covered his mouth tightly with a handkerchief and roared in a muffled voice, "Investigate! Investigate immediately! Which blind fool was urinating or defecating in the imperial kitchen... ugh! Or is some meat rotten somewhere? If His Majesty smells this, we'll all lose our heads!"

The group of people no longer cared about studying the "female skin" and scattered in all directions, covering their noses and searching for the source of the stench.

……

The woodshed in the backyard.

Su Mu has already adapted to this rhythm.

Stinky tofu smells really bad; but once it's fried in oil, it's a completely different story.

Heat the oil in a wok!