Chapter Forty-Three: Searching for Mapo

Drunken Taoist plotted against Fierce Ghost Taoist, and the two battled for three to four hours, the vital energy within dozens of miles around them surging without rest. Afterwards, a streak of black light escaped from the sword formation, followed closely by a green light in pursuit—one fleeing, one chasing, the two traversing a thousand miles in an instant. Meanwhile, Zhou Qian had long since bid farewell to the villagers of Yang Family Village, taking with him the ashes of Sister Zhao’s brother and hastening back to Tiandu Prefecture. Just as he entered the city gates, he heard the surrounding crowds discussing the celestial phenomena that had occurred hours earlier, and couldn’t help but mutter, “Why are there so many strange omens lately? Could it truly be a sign that immortals are about to appear?”

When he returned to his inn, he found Zhang Fu enjoying his lunch. Without ceremony, Zhou Qian helped himself to a bowl of rice and began to eat heartily. Zhang Fu watched him with disdain, saying, “You actually find this plain fare delicious? In the future, don’t tell anyone you learned your craft at the Fragrant Serenity Pavilion!”

Zhou Qian ate five bowls of rice, then wiped his mouth and said, “Food is meant to fill the belly. If it tastes good, great; if not, it’s still better than having nothing to eat!”

“Then why learn to cook at all? You’d eat anything,” Zhang Fu retorted.

“Naturally, for enjoyment. If life lacks fine food and good wine, isn’t it devoid of pleasure?”

“Hmph! I suppose you have a point,” Zhang Fu said, for once not engaging in banter. Instead, he frowned and asked, “Where did you go? Did you find any trace of the legendary Granny Mapo?”

Zhou Qian shook his head. Zhang Fu continued, “I just went to ask around nearby. Granny Mapo’s name is widespread, but she’s always elusive, never showing her face unless some exquisite dish has made its mark. Otherwise, it’s hard to find her.”

“What should we do, then?” Zhou Qian asked.

“I think since Granny Mapo is the founder of the Sichuan cuisine school, if someone were to challenge every Sichuan restaurant and defeat them all, proclaiming that Sichuan cuisine is nothing special, wouldn’t Granny Mapo be compelled to appear?” Zhang Fu’s eyes shone with excitement and madness.

“You mean to challenge all the Sichuan restaurants?” Zhou Qian was shocked. The idea was truly outrageous.

“What, you don’t dare?” Zhang Fu said proudly. Despite his many faults, the title of ‘Little Kitchen God’ was well earned and universally acknowledged in the culinary world.

“This method…” Zhou Qian thought it over carefully. Though the plan was wild, it was not without feasibility. The prospect of challenging all of Sichuan cuisine stirred a rare passion in his heart.

“So what if we challenge them! Years ago, Master Hei and Chef Yi battled all across the Central Plains. Are we any less than those who came before us?” They exchanged smiles, their previous estrangement dissolved.

“Sichuan is surrounded by mountains and rivers, perfect for producing fresh produce and wild delicacies. Sichuan cuisine is divided mainly into the Upper River and Lower River schools. If we want to challenge them, we must defeat both factions…” Zhang Fu slowly laid out his plan.

The next day, the two arrived at ‘Renhe Residence,’ a renowned restaurant in Tiandu Prefecture. They were immediately ushered in by a waiter, who bowed and asked what dishes they wished to order. Zhang Fu began his first step in challenging the establishment.

“What dishes do you offer?”

“Renhe Residence is one of the seventeen most famous restaurants in Tiandu Prefecture, and we have everything you could wish for!” the waiter replied.

“I want boiled cabbage in broth, salt-roasted pork, Sichuan-style steamed pork with rice flour, Qingcheng Mountain ginkgo stew with chicken, garlic pork slices, hibiscus chicken fillet, crispy meat slices, tofu in white sauce, roasted pork, mudfish, salt-fried pork, dry-fried eel slices, eel with vermicelli, sour and spicy duck snow, steamed Jiangtuan fish, lifted beef, Xiba tofu, snow konjac, konjac duck, Jianyang lamb soup, dry-braised rock carp, dry-braised mandarin fish, Yaan fish banquet, pickled pepper squid, Shiqu white mushrooms stewed with chicken, dragon dumplings, Zhong dumplings, Wu dumplings, old spicy dumplings, Jiang ribs, Han buns, Wen’s bean soup rice, mother’s trotter stew, Qingcheng Mountain cured meat.” Zhang Fu finished his long list and added, “If any dish is not made properly, lacking the authentic seven flavors and eight tastes of Sichuan cuisine, I’ll report your establishment to the authorities and charge you with deceiving customers!”

The waiter wiped his sweat and said, “Please wait, please wait!” Zhang Fu had spoken loudly, immediately attracting a crowd of diners.

“Is this young man here to challenge the restaurant? How arrogant! Which chef could make all these Sichuan classics, and make them truly authentic?”

“Could he be a troublemaker sent by another restaurant? I don’t think so.”

“We locals haven’t even tried all these dishes ourselves. How can he list so many in one breath?”

As the crowd debated, a burly head chef, accompanied by several imposing assistants, strode up to the two. The chef barked, “Are you two here to cause trouble? If you don’t give me a proper explanation, I’ll tie you up and hand you over to the authorities!”

Zhou Qian interjected, “How is it causing trouble? You claim to make all these dishes, so what’s wrong with us ordering seventy or eighty of them? If we can’t pay, you have reason to hand us over to the authorities, but if you’re upset because you can’t make them, then your restaurant isn’t worth eating at!”

He and Zhang Fu turned to leave, but the burly chef could not let them go. Reputation was everything; if word got out, his restaurant’s name would be ruined.

“Wait, gentlemen!” the chef said gruffly. “Our waiter exaggerated. To be honest, we can only make…” He listed a dozen famous Sichuan dishes. “If you’d like any of these, I’ll have them prepared for you, how about it?”

Zhou Qian shook his head and sighed deliberately, “It’s not that I want to make things difficult, but your restaurant’s words don’t match its deeds. It makes us doubt whether you can really produce the delicacies of Sichuan.”

“How about this!” Zhang Fu interjected, “My brother and I happen to know a bit about cooking. Let’s compete. If you win, we’ll give you a thousand taels of silver. If we lose, we ask nothing, only admit we chose the wrong restaurant. Does that sound fair?”

“A thousand taels of silver?” The chef’s eyes bulged. He gritted his teeth. “Are you serious?”

“Of course!” both replied.

“How shall we compete?”

“We’ll each make a dish, and let the diners present judge. Whoever gets more votes wins.”

“Which dish?” Clearly the chef was worried they’d pick one he couldn’t make.

“Let’s do boiled cabbage in broth. You said you’re skilled at it, and it’s one of Sichuan’s signature dishes.”

“Good! Let’s compete!” The chef was secretly pleased. “These two are courting death. Never mind the taste; I’ve made this dish for twenty years and know the local palate well. With time, place, and people on my side, I have a three or four point advantage!”

In the kitchen, Zhang Fu quietly said to Zhou Qian, “Boiled cabbage in broth is a clear soup dish. The key lies in preparing the broth. Renhe Residence is famous, so they must have a secret broth recipe. I’m not afraid of their broth technique. As for selecting the cabbage heart, I’ll leave that to you.”

Zhou Qian knew that ninety-nine percent of the dish depended on the broth, and picking the cabbage was a rough job. But with such a master chef, the ‘Little Kitchen God’ title was not for nothing. His own Master Hei had taught him only the basics—knife work, seasoning, stir-frying, soup, vegetable selection, roasting—when would he ever be able to boast like Zhang Fu: ‘Just supply the firewood, the rest is up to me…’

Grumbling aside, the cabbage still had to be picked. Zhou Qian saw Zhang Fu choosing quality ingredients—hen, duck, ham, dried scallops, pork shank—for the broth, so he knew there would be time. He went to the pile of cabbages and began selecting.

“Tender yellow hearts, cabbage just ripened, that’s the best,” Zhou Qian muttered, picking out three crisp, fresh cabbages and carrying them over, his eyes glued to Zhang Fu preparing the broth.

Zhang Fu felt uneasy under Zhou Qian’s stare and said, “Help me remove the veins from the cabbage, wash it clean, extract the heart without damaging the tender yellow center, then blanch it quickly in boiling water, cool it in cold water. Can you manage?”

Zhou Qian responded cheerfully and got to work. For him, anything related to cooking was a source of joy.

“Can making a dish really make you so happy?” Zhang Fu shook his head, muttering to himself, a complex light in his eyes. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

Zhou Qian quickly finished his task, turning to see Zhang Fu still focused on the broth. An idea struck him.

With practiced skill, Zhang Fu skimmed the broth, removing all impurities and fat. The soup was now crystal clear and fragrant. Using another pot of prepared broth, he signaled Zhou Qian, who didn’t respond.

“Can’t you even handle this simple task?” Zhang Fu complained. The timing of the broth was crucial—too much or too little heat would ruin it. Zhou Qian was making things difficult!

“The cabbage is ready!” Zhou Qian hurried over with the cabbage hearts. Zhang Fu took one look and was stunned.

On the surface of the cabbage, Zhou Qian had carved a landscape depicting the rivers and mountains of Sichuan—Mount Emei, Qingcheng, Min River of the Four Heavenly Rivers, Floating Cloud Mountain, Tiandu Prefecture, Chengdu Prefecture…

The carving was flowing and majestic. Zhang Fu could only think of the words: ‘fluid as clouds and water, grand as the earth.’ “Your knife work, your artistry…”

“Is it not good enough?” Zhou Qian asked nervously.

Zhang Fu’s mouth twitched. “It’s fine, just a bit too showy.”

Judging the broth ready, Zhang Fu took the cabbage and began pouring the soup, pretending not to care as he asked, “How did you carve the Sichuan landscape?”

“Oh, I have the map at home,” Zhou Qian replied, sitting on the floor and watching Zhang Fu’s technique with indifference. The map was something his master and Steward Sun had consulted when calculating the location of the First Emperor’s tomb; as for the carving technique, Zhou Qian had only mastered it after battling the ghost child, when he achieved a subtle understanding akin to swordsmanship.

“And your knife work?”

“Learned from Master Hei!” Zhou Qian replied, unable to tell the truth.

Hearing this, Zhang Fu suddenly felt a strong urge to rush back and become Master Hei Han Tiemu’s disciple…