Chapter 9 — ILK Chapter 9

Northern Snakehead Tofu Soup and Crispy Grass Carp (2)

Sang Ye returned to the kitchen and held a piece of Jade Marrow up to her eyes.

Within the Jade Marrow swam several Northern Snakehead fish. These were a specialty of Shifang Grotto—the hybrid offspring of spiritual fish from the Jade Pool and common snakeheads. A previous Sect Leader had brought back the fry, and they were raised in the mountain streams behind the sect.

Snakeheads have always been known for promoting wound healing and relieving the itch of scars. Even in the mortal world, those recovering from injuries would often have a bowl of Northern Snakehead soup to nourish their bodies. The version found in the cultivation world was even more potent. Disciples who sustained minor injuries and couldn't afford elixirs would head to the Shifang Grotto restaurants for a bowl of Northern Snakehead Tofu Soup; by the time they finished the meal, their wounds would be fully closed.

Shifang Grotto insisted on absolute freshness. Unlike poultry or livestock, fish rapidly lose their delicate texture after death. Some river and sea specialties even decay or produce toxins shortly after dying, making them inedible. Thus, the sect used precious Jade Marrow to store them, keeping the fish as if they were still living in a flowing stream.

In Sang Ye’s Jade Marrow, the snakeheads had been fed exclusively on broad beans, which turned the meat exceptionally crisp and tender—this was the Crispy Grass Carp she had promised Wu Jianing. Her Master raised these fish beneath the waterfalls of the pocket dimension, forcing them to swim against the current constantly. This non-stop exercise gave the meat a chewiness far superior to stream fish. A Senior Sister had even bred a boneless variety; because they lacked internal support, they had to swim with such effort that their flesh developed the distinct, flakey texture of premium sea fish, devoid of the fibrous feel common in freshwater species.

One couldn't help but admire the heroic sacrifice of the Northern Snakehead.

Sang Ye pulled out a fish weighing about three or four catties. The moment it left the water, it thrashed violently, trying to escape her grasp. Sang Ye wasn't about to let that happen. Since a snakehead’s body is covered in slime, grabbing the torso was useless. With lightning speed, she hooked her fingers into its gills and firmly gripped its head. The fish swung its muscular body with all its might, refusing to yield. Sang Ye swung it into the sink and gave it a few firm slaps with the side of her knife; the fish finally went still.

Using a fruit knife, she scraped away the scales and removed the innards, keeping only the swim bladder and the roe. She poured boiling water over both sides of the fish and then used the knife to scrape the skin; the slime fell away like clumps of mud. After three or four rounds of scraping, she rinsed it under running water, removed the fishy scent line, and used a small brush to clean away blood clots and impurities.

She trimmed the fins, filleted the meat from the spine, and carefully sliced it into "butterfly" pieces—slanting the knife to create perfectly curved, thin slices. She rinsed the slices until the water ran clear and the fish looked translucent.

After tossing the slices with a pinch of salt and pepper, Sang Ye added two egg whites and mixed them in. This gave the fish a milky, tender finish; adding the yolks would ruin the effect. Gourmets value "color, aroma, and taste," and "color" comes first for a reason—if it doesn't look delicious, no one will want to taste it. Finally, she added a little starch and a drop of oil so the slices wouldn't stick together, then set them aside.

She chopped the head and spine into small pieces, meticulously pulling out the inedible teeth. She then pulled out the lard she rendered yesterday. In the ceramic jar, the lard shone like snow, emitting an enchanting fragrance. Sang Ye scooped out a spoonful of oil and wiped it evenly across the hot wok. The white paste melted and slid down the black walls, forming a shallow, pale pond at the bottom.

She sautéed the fish head and bones with scallions and ginger to remove any gaminess. Once the surface was golden, she poured in the high broth and spiritual spring water, finally adding the remaining Dangkang marrow. She hoped Wu Jianing’s Dangkang spiritual form would absorb the essence of its kin and recover quickly.

Normally, one wouldn't go to the trouble of filleting the fish so precisely, but if the meat were simmered with the head, it would lose its crispy texture. Crispy Grass Carp only needs to be blanched for thirty seconds.

For the tofu, she didn't choose the common brine tofu or Huainan tofu. While those are white and delicate, they break far too easily, leaving a child with a bowl of crumbs. Sang Ye chose Shiping Tofu from the Dali region. This tofu, set with well water, has a crispy exterior and a "bursting juice" interior that doesn't fall apart during boiling. It also absorbs the broth beautifully. Each piece was small—no bigger than the circle made by one's thumb and index finger—perfect for eating in one bite.

In another pan over low heat, Sang Ye cracked two eggs and covered them with a lid, using the steam to poach them until the centers were perfectly runny. A gentle poke from a chopstick would send the yolk flowing over the whites—a visual delight. The oil used to fry the eggs became exceptionally fragrant; mixing that with the lard and the fresh egg scent made it the perfect medium for searing the Shiping Tofu.

The tofu pieces sizzled in the pan. She fried them slowly until one side was golden, then flipped them quickly. She didn't cook them fully, as they would be added to the fish soup later; overcooking would ruin the texture. During this process, the thick, unique aroma of the fish soup gradually steamed up to fill the kitchen.

Sang Ye lowered the flame on the fish pot and lifted the lid. The soup had turned a rich, milky white, bubbling and popping. She poked the fish head; a piece of meat from the cheek fell away instantly. Satisfied, she added the tofu, the fried eggs, and the Crispy Grass Carp slices in one-minute intervals. Amidst the rising steam, the Shiping Tofu tumbled in the broth—an adorable sight.

Counting the seconds, Sang Ye turned off the heat and scattered a handful of emerald scallions over the white soup.

Green onions, white broth, crispy fish, and fragrant marrow. Delicate, rich, and mellow.

Considering she had to travel back to the base hospital and that there were many people in the ward, she made extra. Sang Ye wasn't the type to enjoy a feast alone. She added a large handful of egg noodles to the broth, let them rise and fall three times, then packed the noodles and soup separately to prevent them from getting soggy. She used a massive thermal food box for the soup and even prepared bowls, spoons, and forks.

The lack of chopsticks is still too inconvenient, she noted. I have wood in my storage ring; I'll carve a set when I have time.

She didn't need to carry the load herself; a floating heavy-duty robot flew over. It extended mechanical arms to form a small square frame for the food. If there wasn't enough room, the robot could extend more arms to create another layer. This was very convenient, saving labor while ensuring safety.

The atmosphere at the base hospital was even gloomier than the base itself. Its defense level was higher than the prison, with high-voltage electric nets everywhere and rows of quantum weapons on the walls.

For Guides and Sentinels, as long as the spiritual form was alive and the mental landscape was stable, the body could self-repair. Even a Sentinel in a mental riot didn't necessarily need the hospital unless their landscape was crumbling. Those who ended up here were usually in critical condition. Furthermore, Guides were rare on Black Tower; with the privileges they enjoyed in the Empire, why would they waste their lives here?

After Wu Huansheng and her daughter’s accident, Mu An had refused his military transfer and followed them to Black Tower. He spent his remaining strength stabilizing their minds and helping the base's Sentinels who still retained their sanity. In comparison, the amputated Wu Jianing was actually the most "normal" person there.

But when Sang Ye walked in with the food, the surroundings fell silent. The robot’s delivery box was constantly leaking mental energy—the containers had no way to block it. Under this overflow of energy, many people felt their clouded minds clear just by smelling the aroma. Combined with a scent they had never encountered before... evolution hadn't taken away the human instinct for food.

People in the hospital stood up or craned their necks, their gazes fixed on Sang Ye and the robot like physical weight. Sang Ye fled the gazes and ducked into Wu Jianing’s ward.

Inside, Wu Huansheng and Mu An had exited the sterile room. Little Jianing lay on the bed like a pitiful doll. She couldn't scratch herself, however, as her hands were gently bound by green vines. Several other vines were morphing into different shapes within the room to distract her.

This was the first time Sang Ye had seen Wu Huansheng’s spiritual form. The inheritance of spiritual forms was fascinating—a plant-type form had given birth to an animal-type form.

Before Sang Ye even reached the ward, the couple had sensed a massive wave of mental energy approaching. It hit them directly with such presence that they couldn't even think of resisting.

"Sister, you're here!" Jianing cried out the moment she saw Sang Ye’s foot enter the room.

Sang Ye nodded to the couple with a composed face, as if the previous conflict had never happened. She directed the robot to unload the food. After quick sterilization, the food was sent into the sterile room. The vines released Jianing, who eagerly grabbed her utensils and stared at the large food box.

After a few attempts, Sang Ye managed to use her mental power to operate the mechanical arms inside the sterile room. She scooped a bowl of soup for Jianing and placed a large plate beside it with the Dangkang marrow bones.

Wu Huansheng and Mu An stood to the side, watching in shock. As a Guide, Mu An could see the mental energy from the food flowing into his daughter. Even the restrictions he had set in her mental landscape were ignored by this energy—it surged through without any rejection from Jianing’s side!

The aroma made him instinctively swallow. He hadn't realized he was still capable of salivating.

The couple turned to look at Sang Ye. She was focused on scattering scallions over the soup, seemingly indifferent to their stares. Sang Ye hadn't failed to notice them; she just couldn't spare the attention. Controlling mechanical arms for delicate work was like "Lu Zhishen trying to embroider"—a massive effort for a beginner.

But as a master chef, she absolutely refused to serve a dish without proper plating!

"I'm eating now!!" Jianing’s excited voice came from the sterile room. She waved her spoon happily and aimed for the most adorable, round piece of Shiping Tofu.