The Game of Life

The kitchen was spacious, at least larger than the one in Taifeng Building in Beiping. Perhaps it was because this Taifeng Building itself had a larger footprint than the ones in Beiping. The kitchen was roomy and clean, complete with an array of kitchen utensils.

Mr. Lu had anticipated that Jiang Hengzhong would surely teach Jiang Chengde cooking and had prepared superior fresh ingredients in the kitchen in advance.

Jiang Feng glanced around, and on display were Spiny Sea Cucumbers, bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, pork, and live chickens. There were other ingredients and seasonings in the corners and cabinets. Given this setup, the dish Mr. Lu mentioned must involve sea cucumber.

After all this time learning sea cucumber dishes, Jiang Feng had become extremely familiar with sea cucumbers, capable of recognizing the various kinds at a glance, and adept at various processing methods and techniques. He was no longer a greenhorn, unable to discern the intricacies while watching others cook sea cucumber dishes.

After washing his hands and face, Jiang Hengzhong realized his robe was also stained with dirt and simply took off his long coat, standing in his underclothes, and went straight to cutting the meat with a knife.

These past few years, opium had hollowed out his body; although he was in his prime, his strength was no greater than that of a frail woman. Using the vegetable knife, his lack of strength made him look like a child wielding a blade. Yet his movements were proficient, and his technique mature, mockingly awkward and laughable to an outsider’s eyes.

Jiang Chengde watched silently from the side, standing at the kitchen door, about two to three meters away from Jiang Hengzhong. Jiang Feng, on the other hand, didn’t possess such distant observing abilities and stood right by Jiang Hengzhong’s side, almost wishing he could lean his head in to watch the movements of his hands.

Jiang Hengzhong was an extremely seasoned chef, also a skilled one.

Perhaps in recent years, he had come across as a brain-damaged prodigal son or a deadbeat father dragging his son down. But earlier on, before he got addicted to opium, he was the head chef at Taifeng Building, having wielded the kitchen knife for over 20 years.

Jiang Hengzhong cut the pork—fatty and lean intertwined—into large chunks, then set down the knife to start a fire, likely due to many years of disuse. It took him only two minutes to cut the meat but five minutes to get the fire going without success.

Jiang Chengde, who had been standing at the kitchen entrance, watched Jiang Hengzhong struggle and walked over silently, taking the iron tongs from his hand, and said, “Let me.”

Once the fire was lit, Jiang Hengzhong continued to process the pork, while Jiang Chengde crouched at the stove without moving, only occasionally glancing up to see what Jiang Hengzhong was doing, helping him control the fire’s intensity.

Jiang Hengzhong was making pork soup.

He started by simmering on low heat to remove the residual blood and lymph from the pork to rid it of any gamey taste, then covered the pot so the large chunks of pork could slowly stew inside. The longer the simmering time, the more fragrant the pork soup would become. To truly create a rich soup for stewing ingredients with the current conditions, it would be impossible without several hours of simmering.

After dealing with the pork, Jiang Hengzhong proceeded to process the chicken, aiming for the same goal—to stew chicken soup.

If both the pork and chicken soups had to be stewed from scratch, Jiang Feng suspected that the dish wouldn’t be finished even by the next morning.

The Spiny Sea Cucumbers were soaking in water to remove sand, while the pork and chicken soups were simmering on the stove. Jiang Chengde focused on the fire inside the stove, and Jiang Hengzhong watched the Spiny Sea Cucumbers in the basin, alongside two other basins soaking shiitake mushrooms and wood ears. Both had been silent since entering the kitchen, silent while busy, and silent even when idling.

“Liaodong produces sea cucumbers, with a dark brown body, tender flesh, and many thorns. Our local sea cucumbers are of good quality; your grandfather and great-grandfather loved using sea cucumbers for cooking,” Jiang Hengzhong suddenly spoke up.

“This ingredient, sea cucumber, is full of sand and has a strong fishy smell. Like bird’s nest, it is tasteless on its own and relies entirely on other ingredients for flavor. It can’t be stewed in clear broth; it must be cooked slowly in beef or chicken stock,” he continued.

“Our family isn’t good at naming things, not like other restaurants that give their dishes attractive names like ‘Snow-Seeking Plum Blossoms,’ ‘Jadeite in White and Green,’ and ‘Pearl and Jade Lotus Root Balls.’ When your grandfather was alive, this dish was his specialty, but unfortunately, the name wasn’t chosen well. It was called ‘Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup,’ a signature dish of our restaurant that never gained much fame.”

“The flavor must be rich but not greasy, light yet not thin…” Jiang Hengzhong suddenly began mumbling some irrelevant phrases, sounding mad.

“A miss is as good as a mile.”

“A thousand-li dike is destroyed by an ant’s nest.”

The chicken and beef broths simmered gently on the low heat of the stove. As time gradually passed, the outside world turned pitch black. Mr. Lu had entered the kitchen at some point, and seeing the two standing far apart, which was not what he had expected, he was somewhat surprised.

“Bohe, it’s late, and the night is deep. Why don’t you go back first? I can arrange to send Jingxuan back to the hospital,” Mr. Lu suggested.

“There’s no need. Just send my apologies to Wan and tell her I won’t be coming home tonight,” Jiang Chengde replied as he added another log to the stove, “This dish will likely take until tomorrow to finish.”

Mr. Lu was taken aback, then realized what was happening. He glanced at the stove and smiled with delight, “Alright, I won’t disturb you then. I’ll let Qin Wan know.”

Sea cucumber is a luxurious dish; everything used must be of the best quality, even the most ordinary beef and chicken broths must be the best of their kind.

Without a clock, it was difficult for Jiang Feng to gauge exactly how much time had passed, but it was at least three hours before Jiang Hengzhong finally approached the stove to lift the lid. He removed the meat, leaving only the broth, placed the sea cucumber in for three quick boils, then poured the chicken stock into the beef broth to combine them, and covered the pot to simmer.

Stewing sea cucumber to perfect tenderness without a pressure cooker required at least an entire night.

As time continued to slip by, and night deepened, even Jiang Chengde couldn’t help but feel sleepy and began to nod off, his hand holding the iron tongs drooping, having long forgotten the fire in the stove.

Yet Jiang Hengzhong was very awake, his eyes fixed on the pot lid. Even with it covered, he could still smell the aroma within.

Jiang Chengde fell asleep, and Jiang Hengzhong picked up another pair of iron tongs and carefully added wood to the stove without touching or waking him. Thus, Jiang Hengzhong moved back and forth between the mouth of the stove and the side of the pot until dawn.

After hours of simmering, the fragrance could escape through the gaps of the covered pot, while Jiang Hengzhong, having stayed awake the entire night, watched the pot with a face full of exhaustion.

Not until daylight shone through and Jiang Chengde, who might have stiffened his neck sleeping this way, finally woke up from a doze that had turned into deep sleep.

“You’re awake?” asked Jiang Hengzhong.

Jiang Chengde had just woken up and was still somewhat groggy, barely registering what was happening when Jiang Hengzhong walked over to the pot and lifted the lid.

In an instant, the fragrance filled the air.

The big pot of soup from before had been reduced to a shallow layer at the bottom, with the sea cucumbers inside stewed thoroughly, swollen with the absorbed soup, resembling small grenades.

Jiang Hengzhong lifted the sea cucumber onto a chopping board and sliced it into pieces, then diced it. With every slice, soup oozed out, the exterior black and the interior orange, plump and juicy—a fine spiny sea cucumber slowly stewed to perfection overnight.

Afterward, Jiang Hengzhong mixed the diced sea cucumber with diced bamboo shoots and shiitake mushrooms, pouring them into the remaining chicken soup. Just like before, he simmered them over low heat, then thickened the broth to make a soup.

What had once been a large pot, after long stewing, was now reduced to a small serving.

This dish required immense patience and incredible judgment of fire control.

Just as Jiang Hengzhong had muttered earlier, the flavor had to be rich but not greasy, light but not bland. Since sea cucumber itself doesn’t have much taste and is a notoriously difficult ingredient to handle, too strong a flavor would overpower, too light would be vapid and tasteless.

This slow stewing infused the chef’s hard work, experience, and skill through time into the small pieces of sea cucumber—each bite soft and tender, each sip of soup, every hint of flavor represented a deep understanding of the dish.

The dish was ready.

Jiang Hengzhong brought the finished dish out.

“Want to try it?” Jiang Hengzhong looked at Jiang Chengde, full of hope.

Jiang Chengde fetched a spoon, cleaned it, and scooped up a spoonful of the soup.

Thick and smooth.

There was a piece of sea cucumber in the spoon, plump, juicy, and appetizing.

It was a dish that dazzled the senses.

Upon entry, a delicacy of the mortal world.

Jiang Feng began to be enveloped by a thick fog, while Jiang Chengde chewed expressionlessly. The small piece of sea cucumber was so tender from stewing that it could slide directly down his throat, yet he kept chewing, and chewing, as if trying to crush it, pulverize it, grind it to bits.

Until Jiang Feng could no longer see Jiang Chengde’s face.

From beginning to end, he chewed without expression, never swallowing.

Jiang Feng returned to the kitchen.

On the chef’s counter lay his familiar sea cucumber, the spiny sea cucumber.

Thinking of the sea cucumber dish he made compared to the one Jiang Hengzhong had just made, Jiang Feng deeply realized the truth behind the saying, “The Jiang Family’s skill declines with each generation.”

The gap was indeed large.

With that thought, Jiang Feng very deliberately opened his attribute panel.

A new name lit up in the recipe section.

Jiang Hengzhong (1/1)

[Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup S-class]

Creator: Jiang Hengzhong

Dish Details: This pinnacle of sea cucumber cuisine is replete with a father’s guilt and repentance for his family in the last moments of his life, yet never garnered forgiveness. Owing to the complex emotions of the consumer while eating this dish, Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup became an unforgettable meal for Jiang Chengde, with no attribute benefits.

This recipe has no limit on the number of times it can be made.

Friendly Reminder: The difficulty of this dish is far beyond the player’s current culinary skill level, with a 100% chance of failure.

Jiang Feng: …

S….

S-class???