Chapter 6 — ILK Chapter 6

Pork Marrow and Bubble Wontons 

Although this world differed from the era she grew up in, Sang Ye could judge by common sense that a child appearing in a place like this only meant two things: either she was the child of a Sentinel at the base, or she had been found and taken in by the base.

Observing the little girl's fine clothes and her curious, fearless expression, Sang Ye concluded it was likely the former. Furthermore, at least one of her parents had to hold a significant military rank. Sang Ye glanced around; the little girl had found her way here alone, with no one following.

She was somewhat thin and her face was pale. Upon closer inspection, the gauze-like material wrapped around her knees was freshly changed. Sang Ye’s sharp nose caught the scent of medicinal ointment wafting from the girl.

"Why are you here all by yourself?" Sang Ye knelt down and asked gently. Because she was so tall, even kneeling, she was a head taller than the child.

The little girl looked up slightly. "I came out to play. I smelled something really good, so I followed it here."

Sang Ye patted the girl’s head with pity. "I'm making Bubble Wontons. Would you like to have some with me?"

The girl tilted her head. "Bubbles? Like the kind you blow? What are 'wontons'?"

Sang Ye stood up. Without needing help, the girl steered her wheelchair inside.

With the help of the pressure cooker, the high broth was ready quickly. Sang Ye, operating a pressure cooker for the first time, carefully released the steam and waited before lifting the lid. A rich, mellow aroma rushed out—a mix of the freshness of mushrooms, the thickness of fish, and the density of animal fats. One could only brew a high broth of this caliber by being generous with the ingredients.

A torrent of spiritual energy surged out shamelessly, acting as if it intended to fill the entire kitchen.

"Wow!" The little girl let out an unadulterated exclamation of praise. She drove her wheelchair forward, her residual limbs swinging with excitement like a fish trying to jump. She took a deep breath. "Sister, it smells so good! What is it?" The milkiness in the five-year-old's voice made Sang Ye’s heart soften.

"This is freshly brewed high broth. I'll use it later for the wontons," Sang Ye said with a smile, her hands never stopping. "Have a bowl of soup first."

"Okay!" Children are always the most accepting of new things.

The broth was very thick, so Sang Ye added a bit of boiled spiritual spring water and seasoned it simply. Considering the child's delicate palate, she didn't even use much salt. When Sang Ye tried to strain out the residue from the bottom, she found that—except for the large pork bones—the chicken, duck, fish, and mushrooms had all turned to mush, mostly dissolving into the soup.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. Human technology had actually reached this level. Back in Shifang Grotto, brewing a high broth like this required Fire-element disciples to select the finest red maple wood and simmer the pot for over ten hours to achieve the same result.

She fished out a large marrow bone. The marrow inside was milky white and springy—the perfect state. Simmer it a minute less and it wouldn't be flavorful; a minute more and it would disintegrate. She served the girl a bowl of soup and two large bones. After rummaging through the utensil cabinet, she actually found a long-handled spoon thin enough to reach the very bottom of the bone.

She placed it before the girl, who had already excitedly propped herself up to peek at this novel treat. Eating is a human instinct; without needing instruction, the girl took the long spoon, gripped it a few inches from the bottom, dug out a small spoonful of marrow, and—ignoring Sang Ye’s warning to be careful of the heat—hurriedly put it in her mouth.

With just one bite, she let out another long exclamation. "Whoa!! This is so good! I've never eaten anything this yummy before." The next second, she dug out a massive spoonful of marrow, her thin cheeks bulging as she ate.

Her praise was so sincere and flawless that Sang Ye showed her first truly heartfelt smile since transmigrating. No master chef is indifferent to a diner's reaction. Sang Ye placed a shallow spoon into the soup bowl, gently skimming away the oil film to let the heat escape. "Be careful of the heat when you drink the soup. If you burn your mouth, you'll get blisters," she said, her voice softer than ever before. The little girl nodded vigorously, her eyes crinkling with joy.

Sang Ye returned to her dough and poked it. It wasn't soft enough; it could ferment a bit longer. She began making the filling. Mincing the pork into fine meat paste was purely a matter of patience rather than knife skills. However, the knives here were becoming more awkward to use. Sang Ye wondered where she could forge a new set. Her old knives were made of Tengshe bone fused with cold iron; they felt cool to the touch and absorbed hand oil and sweat to prevent slipping. She had left them behind at the restaurant during her hurried departure.

The little girl watched Sang Ye's movements with beautiful, blinking eyes. The meat filling needed more than just mincing; she had to add a secret seasoning juice made from spices, white sesame, cumin powder, sweet vinegar, oyster sauce, minced ginger, and garlic. Only the juice could be added; any solid residue would create an unpleasant texture.

Once the filling was mixed, Sang Ye checked the dough again. This time, it had fermented to her satisfaction. The next moment, a scene appeared that left the little girl dumbfounded. Sang Ye pulled a long wooden rod—as long as her entire arm—from her storage ring. She wanted to use local materials, but the metal rods here were too smooth to roll dough thin as a cicada’s wing.

Under the girl's amazed gaze, Sang Ye rolled the dough into a circular disk, wrapped it around the wooden rod, and rolled it while applying pressure. When she unfurled it, the disk was larger. She sprinkled flour to increase friction and repeated the process several times. Just as the girl thought she was done, Sang Ye cut the thin skin into sections and continued rolling one piece. This was the moment that tested a master's delicate touch and control; any lapse in strength would result in a hole, forcing a restart.

Sang Ye’s hands were steady. The thin skin was incredibly obedient; it didn't tear, nor did it have a single wrinkle. As it grew thinner, Sang Ye could clearly see the fine hairs on her own hand through the dough. She nodded in satisfaction and cut the skin into palm-sized squares. The wrappers for the Bubble Wontons were finally ready.

"Want to help me pinch the wontons?" Sang Ye brought the wrappers and filling over to the girl. The girl’s face was oily from eating, her little mouth bulging as she scraped the last of the soup from the bowl.

"Yes! I want to play too." She didn't know what "pinching wontons" meant, but if it was fun, she wanted in. Sang Ye helped her wash her hands and face, then gave her a wrapper and a small metal spoon, sitting opposite her to demonstrate.

She spread the weightless wrapper in her palm, scooped a tiny amount of filling—no bigger than a fingernail—into the center, and closed her five fingers with a gentle squeeze. As her thumb pressed inward, an air pocket formed. This was the "bubble" in Bubble Wontons. The essence of this dish lay in using very little meat, controlled pressure, speed, and the ability to create that air pocket. If pinched too tight, the meat would become dense, making it no different from a regular wonton.

Sang Ye did it with ease, but the girl struggled. She watched Sang Ye "magically" assemble one after another until a shallow layer piled up in the tray. When the girl tried to imitate her, despite the "Master's" guidance, she either burst the wrapper—mixing meat and dough on her hands—or failed to create the bubble.

Sang Ye smiled as she watched the girl's stubborn efforts and began chatting. "My name is Sang Ye. What's yours?"

"My name is Wu Jianing. You can call me Jianing or Ningning," the girl replied with an adorable voice.

"Did you sneak out alone?"

"..." Wu Jianing suddenly fell silent, looking away with guilt in her eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't tell on you. Look, I just got here too, and I don't know anyone," Sang Ye reassured her.

"Mom and Dad went on a mission. The people at home thought I was asleep, so I snuck out the back door!" Wu Jianing shook her head proudly.

"What happened to your legs?" Sang Ye asked, genuinely curious. The girl's legs looked intentionally amputated; natural defects didn't require gauze and medicine. For a high official's child living on this base, what kind of accident could have led to this? Was this base truly safe? Sang Ye felt a pang of unease about her new surroundings and tried to probe the little girl further.

"Mom and Dad said my legs were already gone before we came to this base. Mom had a mental riot because of my legs, so we moved here."

Sang Ye nodded. The girl was a child; her family wouldn't have told her everything. Leaving the remaining wrappers and filling for Wu Jianing to play with, Sang Ye scooped high broth into another pot, brought it to a boil with spiritual spring water, and quickly tossed in the floured wontons. They only needed to cook for 37 seconds—they were incredibly fast.

She placed them into bowls she had prepared with dried shrimp, lard, scallions, and white pepper. She also set out sweet vinegar and a bit of chili oil for seasoning. The Bubble Wontons floated in the oily soup, their air pockets making them look oddly cute. The emerald scallions and tiny bits of pork crackling drifted with the ripples.

Wu Jianing had never seen anything like it. After Sang Ye’s third warning about the heat, the girl tentatively took a sip of the soup. It tasted entirely different from the broth she had just drunk. When she added a bit of sweet vinegar at Sang Ye’s suggestion, the flavor changed again. This sweet vinegar was a seasoning Sang Ye used for medicinal chicken hotpot; it contained essence of chicken, oyster sauce, sugar, soy sauce, and rice vinegar—sweet, sour, and perfectly balanced. Sang Ye had discovered it also gave wonton soup a unique flavor.

All the ingredients came from the pocket dimensions of the Shifang Grotto disciples. Each person's dimension was different—some were like tropical rainforests, others like high-altitude deserts with sweet fruit. Sharing food from their dimensions was a staple of their gatherings. As the youngest disciple, Sang Ye’s dimension wasn't well-developed, so she was pampered by her seniors and given the most. Her supply of sweet vinegar was low, but fortunately, it was easy to make, though it required time to ferment.

Delicious, springy, fragrant. That was all Wu Jianing could think. When she bit into a bubble, the broth trapped inside burst in her mouth—a bit of soup, but exceptionally tasty. The girl ended up with an oily face again, looking like a little calico cat.

Sang Ye ate them one by one, savoring the long-lost flavor. When she was first picked up by her Master, her Master would tirelessly make these troublesome delicacies for her, raising the little beggar girl like a delicate wonton bubble. Thinking back now, it felt like a lifetime ago. She would never have the chance to see her Master again.