Hearing Gen’s words, a trace of astonishment and bewilderment surfaced on the faces of both Dorai and Chun-Li.
After hesitating for a moment, Dorai asked: “Life energy… food?
What do you mean?” Dorai’s face was full of confusion, and beside him, having just recovered from the ‘flash bomb,’ Chun-Li rubbed her eyes—still teary from being dazzled—and said: “Exactly!
That was basically a flash bomb, wasn’t it?!” Hearing Chun-Li’s words, Gen chuckled twice, evidently quite satisfied with how Dorai and Chun-Li had reacted.
But then, Gen shook his head and said: “No, that kind of art truly exists.” As he spoke, Gen stroked his beard and said with a leisurely air: “It is said that in the late Qing Dynasty, in the Sichuan region, there was once a super-grade chef named Chen Bangling.
The dishes she prepared could, during their making, infuse and awaken her own spiritual power together with the very life energy of the ingredients themselves, allowing those who ate them to feel a heartfelt happiness—and so she was also known as the Shell Fairy.” Saying this, Gen paused and went on, somewhat regretfully: “What a pity that, with the changing of the times, both this art and the restaurant she founded, Juxia Tower, have vanished into the long river of history.
Although I have never truly tasted the dishes of Juxia Tower, there is no doubt that, if the Shell Fairy’s masterful skill ever truly existed, then it must have been exactly like what Yang has mastered.” Having finished speaking, Gen leaned back slightly to dodge the rising trajectory of the pillar of light, then picked up the dish lid, and with a spoon, unhurriedly scooped up a full spoonful of fried rice and brought it to his mouth.
Chewing slowly and delicately, soon a trace of contentment and satisfaction surfaced within those slightly closed, cloudy-white eyes— “Hah—the feeling of vibrant life, of all things striving to grow, lingers still upon my lips and teeth.” Listening to his old friend’s words and watching the expression on Gen’s face, a trace of curiosity surfaced on Dorai’s face as well.
Then, as if of one mind, father and daughter both turned their gaze toward the food before them.
Picking up his spoon, Dorai said: “As for other dishes, I might not be able to say much, but when it comes to Han Court fried rice, well, I do have a few personal insights~” Han Court fried rice wasn’t any famous dish—it was simply the signature dish of this little restaurant.
Back then, once Dorai had truly realized that Gen was not a killer in the conventional sense, and that he was in fact a fairly upright man, he had spent no small amount of time in his company.
Over time, back and forth, the two became friends.
And Gen’s most masterful dish, the fried rice, had for a long stretch been Dorai’s go-to quick lunch.
As for the ingredients and seasonings of the Han Court fried rice, while Dorai wouldn’t say he had them memorized by heart, even compared to Gen’s seasoned craftsmanship, he had enough confidence to fry up something seventy or eighty percent of the way there in flavor.
Thinking this in his heart—but the moment the spoon entered his mouth, Dorai’s eyes very nearly constricted on the spot.
It was a familiar taste, a familiar flavor profile, yet that overbearing aroma seized hold of his entire train of thought in an instant.
Now in middle age, Dorai was at the most mature stage of his life, both psychologically and physically.
And beneath that ever-keen sense of taste, Dorai could clearly feel the rich fragrance sweeping across his mouth.
Beads of lap cheong sausage, pressed by the hot oil, seeped out amber-colored fat, its smoky sweetness boring into his nostrils.
As his teeth ground down, a faint hint of liquor and threads of dense sweetness burst forth alongside the fat fried to a golden-brown.
The diced ham followed close behind, its salty-savory flavor, nurtured by time, solid and mellow, intertwining with the sausage’s subtle sweetness.
The eggs were fried fluffy and tender, wrapping the plump grains of rice, gleaming golden with a sheen of oil.
With each chew, the layers of flavor grew ever more distinct— First the sweet richness of the sausage melted across the tip of his tongue, then the salty fragrance of the ham surged up, and as he chewed, the crisp, scorched aroma of the rice formed a wondrous contrast with the tenderness of the egg.
Occasionally biting into emerald-green scallion, that fresh, pungent fragrance burst forth in an instant, perfectly harmonizing the overall richness, dissolving the greasiness lingering in his mouth, and bringing the final swallow to a flawless close.
He had originally intended to offer a few critiques as a veteran gourmand, but the moment it actually reached his mouth—setting aside the question of technique—merely the layers of flavor displayed together by this taste, this texture, and this wok-breath already attested, from the side, to its astonishingly solid fundamentals.
And after this, Dorai could feel even more clearly that, almost the very instant the food fell into his stomach, it transformed into a stream of pure warmth, pouring into every part of his body, making him feel warm all over, as though his whole being had come back to life.
Reaching middle age, one has no choice but to steep goji berries in one’s thermos.
He could no longer remember how long it had been since he’d felt a technique like this, and for a moment Dorai closed his eyes, silently savoring this technique born of the activation of life energy.
Dorai finally understood just what kind of miraculous ability the ‘life cuisine’ his old friend had mentioned truly was.
After about seven or eight minutes, Dorai, having recovered, reached out with his spoon, ready to have another bite and savor it properly.
And the result— “Where’s my rice?!” Dorai turned his gaze toward Chun-Li beside him, whose face had puffed up like a hamster’s, trembling as she chewed away.
“Uh…” Hearing her father’s words, Chun-Li froze for a moment, then shrank her neck and said: “I… I didn’t even eat breakfast, and the whole journey was so exhausting… right?” Looking at Chun-Li shrinking her neck timidly, Dorai turned his gaze toward the plate before Chun-Li.
Looking at that empty plate, a trace of helplessness surfaced on Dorai’s face, but then, as if realizing something, he said: “You finished it that fast…
Chun-Li, didn’t you feel anything strange?” “Anything strange…” Hearing Dorai’s question, Chun-Li tilted her head, then moved her body a few times and said: “If we’re talking strange… hmm, does feeling really comfortable count?
I feel like my whole body is steaming hot right now, like I’ve got energy I can’t use up!” “Chun-Li isn’t yet at the point where she can understand this feeling.” Beside them, Gen laughed a few times, then, stroking the beard on his chin, looked toward Dorai and said: “The more battles and deaths one experiences, the more one can feel the power of life—of course, even speaking purely of taste, it’s impeccable.” “Right, right, it’s delicious!” Though she didn’t know just what the “power of life” Gen spoke of really was, Chun-Li still gave Yang a thumbs-up, praising him with a grin: “This is absolutely the most delicious meal I’ve ever had!” At her words, Yang smiled and nodded.
And beside them, seeing that there was nothing left to eat, Dorai didn’t take it too much to heart; he merely looked toward Gen and said: “Earlier I was a bit worried—after training under you for just three years, whether Yang heading to the fighting world alone would be safe enough.
But looking at it now, whether in strength or in ability, at Yang’s level there’s no problem at all.” At his words, Gen gave a sly smile, then looked toward Dorai and said: “Mm, a piece of raw jade must, in the end, face true tempering.
But speaking of which, it’s been a while since we last met—I wonder whether Chun-Li’s martial skills have grown rusty?”