Chapter 573: Toward That Remote, Rural Backwater (5)

We were supposed to eat a light breakfast, head out, and hustle up into the Great Snow Range.

So: three bowls of easy-to-digest congee—though congee alone is dull, so a soup... no, wait, a soup with knife-cut noodles? How can the world be this kind! But such plot twists are always welcome.

A meal that’s only “meal-type” dishes never feels like a meal, so we kept it modest—just five side dishes—and wrapped our simple breakfast.

And at last—departure!

Or would have been, if the Tang Family Head, Tang Tujuk, hadn’t come running himself to stop Qing.

“Child, you aren’t planning to cross the range like this, are you? How do you think you’ll push through that trackless, snow-buried land?”

“Uh... don’t we just pick a bearing? A mountain is something you just cross....”

“Oh, heavens. Since you’re not Sichuan-born, you might not know. This isn’t the sort of land foreigners walk by ‘trying it,’ fixing their course by stars. Even a master will struggle without a guide.”

“Mm. We went over the Emperor’s Mountain just fine.”

“But there’s no ice on the Emperor’s Mountain’s summit, is there? If you climb over a thousand jang of sheer, odd-rock cliff and find there’s no descent, will you turn back down the way you came? Do that just a few times and you’ve lost days. And there are more than forty peaks that reach near two thousand jang.”

Qing hadn’t come flippant as when she cut straight through the Emperor’s Mountain, thinking she could just point and go. She’d heard there was a river-line you could ride up into Qinghai.

All that talk of “Shu Road—harder than heaven” and Sichuan as a “heaven-favored fortress” was over a thousand years old—back when the Liu, Cao, and Sun clans packaged the world for Sima’s taking.

These days, there are at least tracks that people (people only) can pass.

They’re rough and risky—by commoners’ standards. To martial folk? Even chicks barely worth calling super-transcendents have footwork.

If the path were truly too dangerous, her master would have barred her first.

“I found a gifted guide, and he’ll arrive by midday.”

“Mm, I appreciate it, but—”

“Good! Since you’re in Sichuan, you must try Sichuan’s famous World’s-Best Chef’s Numbing-Spicy Ultimate Soup!”

The Family Head sounded suspiciously desperate.

But Qing couldn’t catch a whiff of that—

“Gasp.”

No time to sense anything suspicious—she was too busy being stunned.

My heavens! Right. I forgot!

How could I come to Sichuan and not eat the Numbing-Spicy Ultimate Soup? What, then, is the point of coming to Sichuan?

Sichuan means the Ultimate Soup, and the Ultimate Soup means Sichuan; the soup exists, therefore Sichuan exists.

Back home there are cities that sprang up for a bakery. The bread was too good; people wouldn’t leave; they settled around it until it became a city—that was written plain in the Watermelon Atlas.

“But isn’t that chef booked out by the year? Or is it by the season? Even if we go, someone would have to get bumped—they came with expectations; that would be rude.”

Tang Tujuk swallowed his admiration.

He’d felt it before: this child is truly poised and kind—already as good as grown.

Our girl is the cutest in all the world, yes—but still, if she’d take just a pinch after the Heavenly Flower Sword....

How can that mad dog have a disciple like this? Where is that written on the scroll of heaven—no, hm?

Perhaps because she’s this sort of disciple, she’s endured under Yeo Gwanggyeon. Otherwise she’d have smashed her dantian and fled down the mountain long ago.

“In the Tang name we keep one reservation every day, and rotate the Tang compounds through so everyone tries it once. We can push the order back one notch.”

Not a lie.

After the recent commotion, they secured a daily seat so they wouldn’t be forced into shoving others around and picking fights—an extreme kind of fatherly (smotherly) love.

Since the slots were set, they were letting branches apply and taking turns.

“Hehe—then forgive my shamelessness. Sss. Gulp. Ah, I’m already salivating.”

Tang Tujuk smiled.

Not as adorable as our girl, but the child had some charm.

Even after that grand spread at breakfast, to say, I’m drooling already, and smile so winsomely—how pleasant to see.

“Gulp. Ah. Now that I’m thinking about it, I want it sooner. You two haven’t had it, have you? It’s a taste worthy of the name Ultimate.”

Tang Tujuk paused.

...That was charm. Probably.

****

“Mala soup? That’s hardly even a cuisine. Is it worth such fuss?”

“I’m telling you—it’s really good.”

Peng Daesan had to sit through a whole morning of paeans to numbing-spicy soup.

True delicacies need no preamble; you taste them. Whipping up expectations like this is the worst of the bad strategies.

By now he felt as if he’d already eaten a hundred bowls.

He wasn’t picky, but as the eldest son of a Great House his palate was more than trained.

This is what real gourmands are: scions raised on rare foods since childhood, whose taste thresholds pierce the heavens.

Not like a dog-tongue like Qing—anything edible, she’ll scrape the plate clean, then lick it like a dog until it shines. That is... a different philosophy of food.

Thus, the verdict of a true gourmet:

Numbing, from Sichuan pepper, faintly paralyzes the mouth and blurs taste.

You rinse the tongue with tea during a meal to savor more richly; if you dull the palate at the start, how can it be proper cuisine?

They even say the common folk, when ingredients had turned watery and off, boiled them hard and smothered the rot with aggressive seasoning.

Therefore, anything with “numbing-spicy” in the name can never be a proper food.

Peng Daesan’s cold judgment.

Anyway, the Family Head had said:

“We’ve secured a gifted guide; he’ll be in the reservation room already. He’ll lead your route—if you break bread together, so much the better. Ahem.”

Not wrong.

Money passes between employer and hire, yes; but friendship buys favors.

Also not entirely right, since in the Central Plains “guide” too often means a brigand in waiting.

Not that anyone sourced by the Tang Family would fit that bill, but still.

They slid open the private-room door.

And Qing saw why the old Family Head had insisted she stay for lunch.

“Eh? Jayu? Isn’t that Jayu?”

For most people, this would be dizzying.

Open the door to a royal prince—who arrived first and has been waiting who knows how long.

But Qing is not “most people.”

If it’s Jayu and not Prince Deokhyeon, then it’s Jayu. He is not His Highness the Prince.

Truth be told, even aside from Qing’s view, she is his equal in rank as she stands.

“What—no wonder. I felt bad about leaving without showing my face.”

“So you did think of it? When you never even showed your face, I confess I was rather put out.”

“What was I supposed to do? I can’t exactly stroll into a prince’s manor to hang out.”

Jayu nodded, mm, in agreement.

If the Heavenly Flower Sword walked into the royal manor, all you’d birth is scandal. Not good for Qing or Jayu.

“And we’re set on keeping the way of speaking, then?”

“Ah. Right. Of course. Slipped my mind. But—”

He started to say something, then saw Peng Daesan entering a beat late, and closed his mouth.

“Mm.”

Peng Daesan’s brow twitched.

The two men’s eyes met—uncomfortably.

“Ugh.”

Between them, Tang Nana let out a strangled sound.

“Nana, stand up and greet him. This is Jayu, my friend. Jayu, you know Nana. This is Gyeon Pohee—my, mm, older sister—ugh.”

Gyeon Pohee’s smile was radiantly innocent.

If it delights her this much, then offering my limbs as sacrifice to summon this gooseflesh was worth it—but still, physically... ugh.

Qing shook off the shiver and continued.

“Seol Iri—the one they call the Ice Snow Flower. And—oh, you know the world’s most handsome man, the Jade Qilin. This is Peng Daesan.”

“Jayu.”

“Peng Daesan.”

Peng answered with blunt familiarity.

The man at Jayu’s side didn’t take it that way—

“You—how dare—”

“Sit.”

“Yes, sir!”

He planted his rear instantly. As Qing’s memory ticked—what was it? This was that “dog,” wasn’t it? The Kennel Mongrel?

“Since you’re bound for Qinghai—this Kennel Cur here knows the route. I brought him so you can work him. He’s only good at eating anyway.”

“Hehe—young lady, long time no see. Use this lacking cur of a man like a dog; I’ll perform like the hound I am.”

Close. Off by a letter.

Cur and dog—same animal. Close enough. In fact—spot on. I nailed it.

“But—are you well?”

“You know I’m sturdy. And I’m nearly healed.”

“Is it so urgent you must go dragging a wounded body?”

“No? I just hate wasting the time I’d spend lying still, so I plan to recover en route.”

Jayu’s face twisted—what did I just hear.

It was the common expression of those introduced to Qing’s “efficient time management.”

“What monstrous nonsense is that?”

Flustered, his formal speech slipped.

“Why? I can’t train while lying down anyway—better to borrow a friend’s legs and get moving.”

“...?”

“Anyway—have you been well?”

They traded courtesies, while one woman sweated and watched the mood, two women had no thoughts at all, and one man grew visibly more displeased, and time idled by—

“Ah—if it isn’t the Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“Chef—how have you been?”

“Whew. Not easy. I’m pondering an Ultimate-Ultimate Numbing-Spicy Soup to leap past the current Ultimate—but inspiration won’t come.”

“Ohh.”

Already at the summit—and still plotting to leap beyond. That is a mind worthy of “world’s best.” That’s how you earn the title.

I wanted to add a word—but nothing came. How could I offer tips on a soup already at the apex?

And so—lunch.

“Oh—this one’s delicious. Here, this—this is my favorite. Beef? That’s beef, right?”

“If it’s the best, Hee-mae should eat it....”

Gyeon Pohee picked Qing’s favorites and slipped them onto Qing’s plate.

“This. Tastes strange. Astringent.”

It didn’t suit Seol Iri.

I thought she’d like a hot soup, but a faint groove formed between her brows—the numbing tingle wasn’t to her taste.

“Pfft. The soup’s astringent? What are you, a child? Want me to order you candy?”

Tang Nana sniped beside Seol Iri, who was glug-glug rinsing with tea.

What eating numbing-spicy soup has to do with adulthood, I don’t know.

Oh—is that it?

You find it astringent? That’s because you’ve had a smooth life; nothing bit at you. After you’ve had enough astringency, this tastes like clear beef-radish soup.

Of course, Gunyeong has had plenty of astringency—so maybe she doesn’t want to eat any more of it.

In any case, there were plenty of other dishes; Seol Iri bowed out early.

Mm. It’s tasty. If she just got used to it a little....

Not sharing what’s delicious—that’s a bit of a sorrow.

Anyway, the long-missed Ultimate Soup tasted, indeed, ultimate.

“Mm. Stop by again—yes, perhaps put on a face veil as before? The idlers at home clamor to meet you; for their sake, drop in once.”

“Mm. Master told me not to wear the veil. But if I come back to Sichuan, I can throw one on.”

Still—seeing faces in the same town left me oddly warm.

Honestly, I’d had no particular plan. Oh—right! Jayu exists. Right, I had a friend like that. That sort of feeling.

“Should I go along even now?”

“Hey. No.”

“Could you at least say ‘come along’?”

“Then you’ll actually come.”

“Tch.”

We left Tang Nana behind, still dripping regret. We were half a day late—but it had been a richly worthwhile half day.

And we even had a guide—dubious, perhaps, but said to be capable—so maybe that half day wouldn’t be a delay at all, but a net gain that shortened the schedule.