The Kitchen

This was Tang Feiliu's fault—he was a foodie, after all. What child from the Great Foodie Nation doesn't have a passion and standards for cuisine?

Just look at how many students studying abroad in Europe evolve from barely being able to cook a proper meal into masters of braised dishes, experts at stewing pork knuckles, queens of stir-fried liver; just look at how many parents accompanying their children overseas secretly smuggle vegetable seeds, transforming gardens into vegetable patches; just look at how many foreigners arriving in China, after eating a simple dish like chili pork, feel moved to tears and recite sonnets in praise... And these are all things happening in modern society.

So after days of eating roasted swan, steak, lamb chops—all loaded with cinnamon, fennel, pepper, herbs, garlic, lemon juice, and even saffron-dyed to a sickly yellow—it's perfectly understandable that Tang Feiliu finally craved something normal.

Honestly, Tang Feiliu felt downright indignant for the chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep that perished in this timeline. Seriously, their deaths were utterly pointless. Every single cut of meat was smothered in fennel, garlic, and lemon juice. Every single cut was drowned in heavy spices that masked the natural flavor of the ingredients, then dyed a bizarre color with saffron. Not only did it look like an eyesore, but the taste was beyond words. Even the red wine had to have cinnamon powder and pepper added to it. What kind of insane recipe is this?!

While I understand this stems from local customs—where people think expensive spices are a sign of prestige and go overboard with them—it's still awful. Expensive and awful is downright heartbreaking!

Tang Feiliu was utterly perplexed. While other parts of the Lotte Empire differed from Europe, why did the food and backward habits—like everyone relieving themselves in public—mirror it so perfectly?

At first, Tang Feiliu could tolerate it. Dark cuisine? No big deal—he was used to it. That's why whenever he had an emergency, he kept homemade jams, pickles, and beef sauce right beside his medicine.

He'd typically grab some plain white bread, spread it with jam from his small suitcase, add a sliced hard-boiled egg snatched from the kitchen, and happily eat his meal.

Other times, he'd have someone bring him wheat and corn porridge, then add his homemade pickles and braised beef chunks to eat with it. He'd clean every last drop of oil from his plate afterward, making absolutely sure no one noticed anything amiss.

However, his stay at Black Swan Castle this time far exceeded his usual stays elsewhere. The pickles and jams Tang Feiliu had casually packed when he left were delicious, but even a normal person couldn't endure eating like this day after day. Especially with his current delicate stomach and constitution, he couldn't take it anymore after half a month. Thus, one day when he was starving, seeing that red roasted swan—a dish even a swan's mother wouldn't recognize—placed before him once more, and smelling that nauseating aniseed scent... Tang Feiliu could endure no longer. To hell with it, he resolved instantly. If he had to keep eating like this, he might as well die!

He sprang to his feet, thinking: "I'm a premature baby with poor innate development. I'm a sixteen-year-old growing boy... Starving myself like this is worse than hanging myself with a noodle right now!"

So Tang Feiliu told the concerned butler, Dave, that he couldn't stomach the castle's overly elaborate cuisine. He wanted something simple, familiar food.

Old Dave tried to dissuade him but failed. He could only escort Tang Feiliu to the kitchen. After a lengthy exchange with the cook, who claimed complete confusion, Tang Feiliu—his stomach aching from hunger—decisively pushed past her. Under everyone's horrified stares, he stir-fried young ginger with chicken himself, then made a scallion omelet. Since plain wheat tasted too coarse, he swapped it for bread, finally savoring a long-awaited hot meal.

The cook nearby caught the aroma. While outsiders watched for the spectacle, professionals spotted the skill. Her gaze toward Tang Feiliu instantly grew fiery, more intense than the look she gave her own lover. From that day on, she prepared special meals for Tang Feiliu three times a day, following his instructions. The Duke's castle was truly splendid— where ingredients and seasonings were plentiful. That evening, Tang Feiliu sipped his chicken soup—enhanced with half a spoonful of pepper for aroma, its flavor matching his modern-day creations—and nearly hummed with delight.

It was at this very moment that Duke Edward entered the small dining room.

Even at the doorway, Edward caught a whiff of an utterly intoxicating aroma. He struggled to name the scent. In his twenty-six years, never once had the mere scent of food made his mouth water like this—and God knew he'd been eating blandly for two months!

A man who could devour half a lamb and a dozen fist-sized loaves of bread per meal now subsisted on vegetables and lean meats day after day. For two months, Edward had avoided dining in the restaurant, opting instead to have meals delivered to his upstairs sitting room—all to stave off the temptation of watching his physician feast.

His quiet arrival tonight stemmed from a sudden, intense hunger after over two months of recurring episodes. Edward felt a surge of energy returning to his body. Heaven knew how he'd endured those meager meals before—not because the doctor's advice had worked. To Edward, Tang Feiliu was merely sixteen, still a child. Frail and weak, with those wide, blinking eyes that looked at him like a bewildered kitten, the boy held no persuasive power whatsoever.

Edward harbored an obsession with food. Though not as hedonistic as other nobles, his childhood experiences had ingrained in him a deep regard for sustenance. He had heeded the young doctor's advice only because, during his bouts of illness, he'd discovered that light meals did indeed bring him relief. Moreover, his illness had genuinely diminished his appetite, which was why he'd persevered.

That evening, feeling considerably better, the Duke of Edward suddenly felt hungry. Too lazy to ring for service, he took his valet, Evans, into the dining room and instructed him to summon the kitchen to prepare something appetizing... It was then that the hook-like scent appeared.

Edward followed the scent, stopping outside the kitchen, at the door to the small pantry where the servants ate. By candlelight, he saw his diligent little doctor from earlier that day. Now, the doctor's blond hair glowed in the bright flames, His pale face bore cat-like eyes sparkling with delight, the tiny mole beneath his right eye illuminated in sharp detail. His lips, reddened like cherries from the steaming food, sipped the fragrant, deep yellow broth from his spoon, eliciting a satisfied sigh...

"What is this?" Edward approached and asked. The sudden voice startled Tang Feiliu. He turned his head and jumped up in fright. Standing up, he stammered, "It's... it's... it's chicken soup!"

"Chicken soup?" Edward sat down and calmly instructed Ivans behind him, "Bring me a bowl."

"Yes, sir." Ivans bowed respectfully and departed. Moments later, he returned with a bowl of rich, savory chicken soup. Beside it lay Tang Feiliu’s specially modified recipe: finely ground wheat flour sifted multiple times, mixed with eggs, minced meat, scallions, and salt, then carefully pan-fried into fragrant little meat patties!

Damn it!

Tang Feiliu nearly wept over the meat patties and chicken soup he'd worked so hard to prepare. Still a growing child, the kitchen staff's three daily meals clearly couldn't satisfy him. So every night, Tang Feiliu would sneak into the kitchen for extra snacks. Butler Dave and the servants knew about it and had long grown accustomed to it.

Though nobles lived extravagantly in those days, this did not apply to Duke Edward. Many of the castle's luxurious items were secondhand. Duke Edward still preferred simple, modern suits for banquets. While nobles might dine five times a day, Edward valued food yet prioritized quantity—plentiful meat and filling meals—until tonight. Tang Feiliu had to admit, though Duke Edward was practically a caveman in his lifestyle, this restraint did spare him the diabetes and hypertension common among nobility.

Precisely because of this, Edward was often mocked by his peers for not behaving like a true aristocrat.

Now, newly recovered from serious illness, the Duke of Edward suddenly felt a burning hunger in the night for the first time. The food before him was so fresh and fragrant, and he was seeing it for the very first time. So, ignoring the young doctor standing by, the Duke scooped up a spoonful of the rich, golden chicken broth that had simmered for hours, its aroma filling the air. Then, his dark eyes narrowed slightly, like a big cat being scratched behind the ears.

Meanwhile, Tang Feiliu grew increasingly anxious. He rubbed his hands together, watching helplessly as the small, meat-filled pancakes he’d fried were devoured bite by bite. Only after the last morsel was gone did the Duke of Edward finally begin sipping the chicken soup.

Tang Feiliu felt both hungry and aggrieved. He resolved to use the chicken broth to cook noodles once Edward left—there was plenty of it, and he didn't believe this man could finish it all!

Duke Edward leisurely finished three bowls of chicken soup. The obsequious Ivanis even scooped out all the chicken meat from the soup for him to eat. Only then did Edward wipe his mouth and ask Tang Feiliu, who had been watching the entire scene with drool practically dripping from his mouth, "Did you make this yourself?"

"Yes." Tang Feiliu stared despairingly at the table piled with bones. His hunger made a look of grievance slip onto his face almost involuntarily. Edward saw the ripples in the young doctor's watery blue eyes, almost as if he were about to cry. Suddenly, he wondered if he'd been too harsh, devouring this child's entire midnight snack.

He felt a twinge of embarrassment, but then remembered that this little fellow could cook such delicious food, yet he made him drink wheat porridge every day. Suddenly, he felt that leaving him the leftover chicken soup was actually quite considerate of a gentleman. So he suppressed that slight pang of guilt. Looking at Tang Feiliu, he continued, "From what I understand, your father is the owner of a small estate."

"Yes," Tang Feiliu answered obediently, having guessed what Edward wanted to ask.

Sure enough, Edward asked with puzzlement, "It seems that before your father passed away, a gentleman like you had no opportunity to approach the kitchen."

"Yes." " Tang Feiliu continued. Since he dared to indulge freely, he had naturally prepared himself. With youthful pride and a touch of smugness—which was genuinely authentic—he smiled, revealing his small fangs. "Among my father's collection of books was one by a traveler who visited many places, documenting numerous foods and local specialties. I was frail as a child, and my family doctor told me I couldn't ride horses or hunt, nor exert myself too much. so I loved reading. I devoured that entire book, yet never had the chance to try the recipes until I left home..."

At this point, the little tail that had perked up seemed to droop sadly once more.

"Besides these, what else can you do?" Duke Edward found himself intrigued.

Tang Feiliu couldn't stomach the empire's filthy habits and coarse cuisine. His weaker constitution compared to most people meant he couldn't follow the crowd—otherwise, Lance's fate would be his next step. So naturally, Tang Feiliu had prepared his excuses. Now that Duke Edward asked, he rattled them off: I know how to treat the sick with medicinal herbs, how to cook tasty food with simple spices, and how to make soap for daily cleansing. There's so much more..."

Edward's gaze was piercingly intense. Just as Tang Feiliu began to feel uneasy under his scrutiny, the duke finally murmured softly, "Good night, young physician. I feel my health has improved considerably. Perhaps tomorrow morning, I won't have to endure that pitiful oatmeal gruel. Might I receive a meal as delicious as tonight's?"

Though phrased as a question, Tang Feiliu sensed no tolerance for refusal. And whether it was his imagination or not, when mentioning the oatmeal porridge, the duke’s tone carried a hint of gnashing teeth. Tang Feiliu could only shift awkwardly, lifting his eyes and blinking as he replied, "As you wish, Your Grace."

"Then... good night, Doctor." Having assigned his task, Duke Edward tilted his chin slightly toward Tang Feiliu, who looked utterly heartbroken, gave a nod, and departed, his belly full and his thirst quenched.

That night, Tang Feiliu couldn't bring himself to eat much either. He'd originally planned to make noodles from scratch with flour, but after their conversation, the night had grown late. Too weary to bother, he resignedly sipped a small bowl of soup, drifting off to sleep with a pang of regret over the wasted meat patties.

At seven o'clock the next morning, Tang Feiliu was personally roused by the butler, Old Dave. The elderly gentleman looked somewhat awkward. As a gentleman of the old school, serving the Duke was his natural duty since Tang Feiliu belonged to the Duke's domain. However, Duke Edward differed from other nobles. He treated the freeholders and gentlemen of his domain with genuine kindness, unlike other nobles who viewed them as little more than slightly better-treated serfs. Moreover, Tang Feiliu had, after all, saved the Duke's life. That the Duke would issue such an order struck the old gentleman as rather discourteous.

He said awkwardly, "My apologies for disturbing you so early. I heard His Grace instructed Ivans last night that his breakfast must be personally supervised by you."

Tang Feiliu breathed a sigh of relief that the duke hadn't demanded it himself. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he murmured softly, "Alright, I'll be right there."

Old Dave looked at the young boy, his voice soft and sleepy, and felt his heart soften slightly. He chuckled gently and said, "No need to rush. If you truly can't get up, I'll have the cook come to your room to await your instructions."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Tang Feiliu replied, yawning as he climbed out of bed. He shuffled toward the living room in his silk slippers. A servant entered behind Old Dave carrying a basin of hot water. Tang Feiliu washed his face and brushed his teeth, his sleepy blue eyes finally clearing.

The servant, who had initially been startled by this routine, had long since grown accustomed to the doctor's hygiene habits. With so many seafarers now traveling the world, diverse customs had inevitably spread. It must be said, this had greatly facilitated Tang Feiliu's efforts to improve his daily life.

Chang Feiliu changed into a fresh shirt and jacket before finally descending the stairs. He instructed the cook to warm the chicken broth, then personally kneaded flour to make thin, hand-pulled noodles. He placed them in the broth, mindful of Edward's formidable appetite. Chang Feiliu had no choice but to serve this chicken noodle soup in a large tureen, garnished with chopped scallions. He had it brought to Edward's bedroom with small bowls and chopsticks.

Excellent. Now that he'd sent off that gluttonous duke—who'd risen unusually early—he might as well treat himself to something delicious!

Tang Feiliu was completely unaware that her secret indulgences in tasty treats had earned her this early morning breakfast duty, arranged by the resentful Duke Edward. In truth, he thoroughly enjoyed cooking. Back in his modern life, he'd regularly host friends who'd show up with ingredients, ravenous and ready to pig out. Now, seeing the duke look utterly blissful over a bowl of chicken soup and a few meat patties, Tang Feiliu felt no stirrings within—even a hint of sympathy. Thus, he didn't find the whole business of cooking for the duke particularly unusual.

Now, recalling the meat patties he'd missed out on last night, his mouth watered. He swiftly kneaded the dough and set it aside to rise. This batch was unusually large—unlike the late-night snacks. Whatever delicious dishes Tang Feiliu prepared during the day, he always shared portions with the old butler and the kitchen staff. Consequently, the entire kitchen eagerly anticipated his arrival.

Seeing him kneading dough again, everyone's eyes lit up.

Tang Feiliu didn't disappoint. He swiftly kneaded and rolled out dough while instructing the cook to mince meat nearby. Aunt Lai Li, the kitchen supervisor who always personally assisted Tang Feiliu, wielded her cleaver with lightning speed as she chopped the meat.

The kitchen bustled with activity. Upstairs, Edward finished a bowl of chicken noodle soup, wiped his mouth, and asked Old Dave beside him, "How long has this youngster been tinkering in my kitchen?"

"Over a month now," Old Dave replied with a smile. "Sir, the doctor saved you—you're the castle's honored guest. Don't blame him. When I asked if you could eat these things while ill, the doctor said to wait until your condition improved. Greasy foods and medicine cancel each other out."

That was indeed true, but it was also because Tang Feiliu was still growing and had been craving food for half a month, so he'd been eating nothing but fried dishes and braised pork belly.

Lately, that gut-wrenching craving seemed to have subsided somewhat, so Tang Feiliu had made chicken soup. But logically speaking, Edward shouldn't have eaten too many fried meat patties while still recovering. After all, he was now taking traditional Chinese medicine, which differed from modern drugs, requiring greater caution with many dietary restrictions.

Of course, despite all this talk, it couldn't be denied that Tang Feiliu hadn't given the slightest thought to improving the poor Duke's diet.

And Old Dave, concerned for the health of the child he'd watched grow up, wisely chose to keep quiet.

Besides... meat pies and tender braised pork were truly delicious, but also incredibly greasy, Old Dave mused with a smile.

Meanwhile, Tang Feiliu, bustling busily in the kitchen, remained unaware that he was about to be caught red-handed for the second time.