Chapter 13 — ILK Chapter 13

Yanduxian

The Parasol Tree rustled loudly, twisting its "waist" in an effort to grab Sang Ye’s attention. It had not yet cultivated the ability to speak to her mind directly.

Sang Ye was indeed drawn over. "Tongtong, what is it?"

As the Parasol Tree grew taller, it had pushed up something originally buried beneath its roots, now partially covered by a thin layer of soil. Sang Ye’s heart leaped. She brushed away the dirt to reveal its true form.

It was a Concentric Vine tied with numerous red threads.

Once planted, a Concentric Vine clings to a nearby great tree and takes decades to fully grow. When planted, one buries the tokens of close kin tied with red thread; over time, they become part of the vine itself. It serves as a "Life Lamp" for those loved ones: a red thread means they are safe, a gray thread warns they are in peril and need help, and a black thread signifies death. More importantly, if one holds a red thread, it will point in the direction of that person.

When Sang Ye had planted her vine, everyone in Shifang Grotto had sent over their tokens tied with red silk. At this moment, only a small section of the vine’s "waist" was visible, but every single red thread encircling it was glowing.

Sang Ye froze for a long time before suddenly laughing. Tears traced paths down her cheeks, leaving her looking quite disheveled.

Everyone is still alive.

That day, Shifang Grotto had met with disaster. Facing the treachery of other sects and their greed for the spiritual veins, her Grandmaster and Masters had triggered the Great Array of Shifang Grotto, draining every drop of spiritual power to perish along with their enemies. Their figures had vanished one by one into the exploding energy of the collapsing veins. Sang Ye had been among them, using her last ounce of strength to face death calmly alongside them—just as they had watched over each other all those years.

But she had been transported to this era. She hadn't died. She had always assumed her elders had protected her at the last second. Now she knew—everyone had survived. She wasn't alone in this world.

Sang Ye clutched the Concentric Vine, tears falling uncontrollably as she cried and laughed like a madwoman. Since transmigrating, almost all her magical tools except for the pocket dimension and storage ring had been useless. If her dimension hadn't just broken through, it might have been a long time before she discovered the vine.

What was the catalyst for the breakthrough?

The sound of the tree "popping" in her dream two nights ago wasn't an illusion; it was the breakthrough process. If she remembered correctly, that was exactly when Wu Jianing’s leg began to grow. The actual completion of the breakthrough happened when the girl’s feet were fully formed.

Does healing a Guide or Sentinel reflect mental power back onto my pocket dimension?

It seemed her breakthrough opportunity was perfectly aligned with her mission on Black Tower. Sang Ye had previously abandoned hope regarding her ten-thousand-year sentence and massive debt, planning to simply live out her life as a salted fish. Curing Lin Changli had been a secondary thought.

But now she knew her sisters were alive somewhere in this world—perhaps not on this planet, or this Empire, or even this galaxy. As long as they lived, there was a day they could meet again. They could rebuild Shifang Grotto in this Interstellar world.

If she remained under her sentence, she couldn't even leave the 0.3 light-year radius of Black Tower, let alone find her sect. According to her research, within that radius, there were only a few artificial satellite supply stations. Planet-to-planet spatial jumps like the one she took were incredibly expensive in terms of both money and energy. Most resource transport relied on supply stations where ships refilled and crews rested.

Will curing Wu Jianing count toward a sentence reduction?

After all, Jianing was a Guide, not a Sentinel in a mental riot. Sang Ye pondered for a moment and decided to go check her terminal status.

When Sang Ye entered the pocket dimension, the artificial sun had just set. When she emerged, it was simulating a sunrise familiar to her, slowly rising from the horizon. Such a sight could only be seen within the base.

She had spent the entire night sitting in the dimension. However, she was no longer a cultivator; if this body weren't so physically robust, her legs would have been stiff enough to need amputation themselves. Sang Ye stood up with a wince, holding onto the wall as her legs buzzed with the "pins and needles" of returning circulation, like a colony of army ants crawling over her.

By the time she recovered, the aroma of the ham had filled the kitchen thanks to the ventilation system, drifting steadily outward. Before even eating, she felt the potent mental energy of the Dangkang beast—aggressive and uncompromising, rushing straight into one's mind. Bathed in this energy, her mental fatigue vanished and the pain in her legs receded.

What Sang Ye didn't know was that the base’s ventilation system was segmented; only high-security zones had independent systems. After a night of the oven’s exhaust fan working tirelessly, the mental energy and scent of the ham had been piped directly into the nearby base hospital. The doctors and Sentinels there had spent an exceptionally peaceful night basking in that mysterious fragrance.

Sang Ye turned off the oven and, once the heat dissipated and the safety lock released, stepped inside after disinfecting. Behind another door was the hanging area. The oven used an overhead crane to deliver the four pieces of ham to her. The mental energy here was even thicker.

With the aid of human technology, the ham had been "cured" in a single night. Even as a Guide, Sang Ye couldn't help but take a deep breath. This was just the "residual" energy from the process; one could only imagine how much power a living Dangkang possessed. She trimmed the green mold from the surface and threw it into the robot's bin to be pulverized.

The ham was a deep syrup-red, like a ruby without impurities, with fat and lean meat marbled together in an oily luster. She found a knife about three fingers wide and sliced a thin piece, chewing it slowly. The oceanic saltiness of the Coral Salt paired with the nutty flavor of the Dangkang pork made her mouth water.

I'll make a bowl of Yanduxian for breakfast. I can suffer anything, but I won't let my stomach suffer.

Yanduxian literally means "Salted-Simmered-Fresh"—referring to "salted ingredients" (ham) stewed with "fresh ingredients" (pork/bamboo), with the word du mimicking the "bubble-bubble" sound of a stewing pot.

She used a larger knife to cut the firmest part of the hind leg into uniform cubes; these were the "salted" part. She didn't slice them thin to ensure they wouldn't fall apart during the stewing. For the "fresh" part, she used spring bamboo shoots and small pork ribs.

She boiled a pot of water to blanch the ribs and shoots, removing the foam. After chopping ginger and garlic, she heated lard in the wok, coating the walls before tossing in the aromatics. Then, she seared the ribs until golden before adding the ham cubes and a splash of cooking wine. Once the ham began to shrink slightly, she added water and the shoots to simmer. This was a dish that sounded complex but was actually easy to make once the ham was ready.

In the spring, this was the best-selling dish at Shifang Grotto. Although they had pocket dimensions and didn't lack seasonal ingredients in winter, some cultivators became more particular the higher their rank, following the rule of "only eating what is in season."

Regarding the broth, some liked it thick and milky, while others preferred it clear. Sang Ye loved both, but for Yanduxian, she preferred it clear. The key to the difference was the flame. A high flame emulsifies the fats with the water to create a milky broth; a low flame simmers slowly to keep the soup clear and highlight the original flavors.

Half an hour later, the Yanduxian was ready. It didn't even need extra seasoning. It was the first time since arriving that she enjoyed a meal without interruption. The soup was exquisite, the bamboo shoots were crunchy and soaked in the salt of the ham and the freshness of the ribs, and the meat fell off the bone with a light chew.

She had just finished a large bowl when her kitchen door was knocked. She didn't want to turn around; she had only been here three days and things were happening one after another.

"Colonel Sang Ye." Mu An’s recognizable voice sounded. He looked into the kitchen with curiosity; it was clear Sang Ye had cooked again, and mental energy was leaking out. As a Guide, he was stunned by her ability. Externalized mental energy was a form of "group healing," which usually meant overdrawing one's own reserves—a massive drain. But Sang Ye was B-rank and looked completely at ease.

However, having been married to Wu Huansheng for years, he was seasoned in his ways and didn't let his curiosity show on the surface. Sang Ye stood up, almost asking "Have you eaten yet?" but she remembered the world she was in and stayed silent.

Beside Mu An stood Wu Huansheng. Her face was calm, with no trace of yesterday’s hostility.

"Morning. How is Wu Jianing?" Asking about the child was always a safe bet.

"Thanks to your treatment, she’s doing very well. The new legs look native. She’s already making a fuss about getting out of bed to learn how to walk," Wu Huansheng said, a look of genuine tenderness appearing on her face, making even her scar look less fierce.