Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 244: Red Broth

Li Shuang stood atop the corner tower, watching the retreating backs of the Li Family members until they vanished, his heart feeling as heavy as stone.

To stay or to flee? At a time like this, either choice could mean life or death, no matter who you were. However, he had already made up his mind to stay.

What surprised him was that Li Zhi, his uncle, had chosen to remain as well instead of slipping out of Dunyu amid the panic.

Master Li was out on bail pending trial. If he leaves Dunyu City, the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-tael bond would be confiscated in full, not a single coin returned to the Li Family.

But that amount did not truly matter to the Li Family, and it likely did not matter to Li Zhi either.

Li Shuang had always considered his elder uncle mediocre and impulsive. Yet this time, his steadiness was unexpected.

The realization left a sour taste in his mouth. If Li Zhi ran, the family would again be headless, and Li Shuang could have stepped up with ease.

Now he would have to wait another month or so.

The situation within Dunyu changed by the day, even by the hour, and patience was wearing thin.

* * *

Night fell, and Ding Zuodong arrived at Hesu Tower.

Shan Youjun came along as an escort. With Dunyu City in turmoil, Ding Zuodong was carrying deeds worth a fortune, so his getting robbed was a genuine concern.

Most restaurants in the city had closed that evening. Hesu Tower was one of the few exceptions.

From the cooks to the waiters, Ding Zuodong had promised generous bonuses. More importantly, the place now belonged to Young Master He. When the employer himself set a calm tone, the staff could, just barely, steady their nerves.

Even so, there were only two tables of patrons tonight, both of whom were regulars and devoted drinkers, the sort who showed up so long as the sky had not literally fallen.

The moment he stepped in, Ding Zuodong sniffed. An indescribably alluring fragrance saturated the air.

As a lifelong lover of fried peanuts, he could pick out the deep, substantial richness of rendered oil. But there was something else muscling in, something bold enough to march straight into a person’s chest.

He flagged a server down and asked, “Where’s Master? And what in the world is the kitchen cooking that smells like this?”

The server answered his two questions with a single sentence, “Master has been in the kitchen for two hours already, and said he won’t see anyone but you.”

Ding Zuodong and Shan Youjun traded startled looks. At such a critical time, their master was holed up in the kitchen and had been there all afternoon?

His heart is certainly big enough. The world outside is nearly flipping over!

They hurried toward the back and, to their surprise, found Mao Tao stationed at the kitchen door with a chair, actually standing guard. Ding Zuodong recognized him as one of He Lingchuan’s men, but he had not expected to see him playing doorkeeper.

Fortunately, Mao Tao recognized Ding Zuodong as well and hollered, “Boss! Steward Ding’s here!”

“Let him in,” He Lingchuan called from within.

Only then did Mao Tao rise and step aside.

Their curiosity now at a boil, Ding Zuodong and Shan Youjun stepped in and saw that aside from He Lingchuan, the kitchen was empty.

“Master, what is all this?”

On the tables sat basin after basin, two or three dozen at a glance. It helped that this was a big establishment; they had more than enough crockery. Every basin brimmed with a glossy red liquid.

Ding Zuodong pointed at one of the basins and asked, “Hold on, is that oil?”

He was sure the fragrance was wafting off those basins. But the liquid shone red with a hint of gold, the sight alone radiating an almost murderous heat.

He Lingchuan came over. “It is. So, any results?”

He could smell himself. He was covered in the scent of oil from head to toe, his hair sticky and clumped.

At the word results, the furrows in Ding’s face smoothed out with delight. “We got it! Master, we successfully acquired Oil Tiger!” After saying that, he pulled a stack of contracts from his robe and handed them over. “I also seized the chance to grab two more storefronts and twenty thousand square meters of irrigated fields. They were simply too cheap to leave on the table.”

By the side, Shan Youjun craned his neck. “You mean that old sesame-oil brand, that Oil Tiger?”

“What other Oil Tiger could I even be referring to?” Ding Zuodong beamed with joy. “They were about to sell to the Shu Family, but I cut in and outbid them by ten taels! Hehe, I just kept on outbidding them by ten taels. You should’ve seen that whelp from the Shu Family’s face. He was livid, and his face turned the color of a pig’s liver.”

Back when the Shu Family had framed him and thrown him out, the bile had stewed in his belly ever since. Today, at last, a little seeped free.

“He tried to bid against you?” He Lingchuan grabbed a ladle, scooping something from a roiling pot.

“Once. I pricked him with two lines, and he flounced off.”

The last time that the steward of the eldest master of the Shu Family had seen Ding Zuodong, he had looked down his nose and tossed a string of coins to shoo him away. Today, fate flipped the script; the same man left red-eared, too incensed to retort.

Oppressing a bully was not exactly exhilarating, but it was deeply, wonderfully satisfying.

Once again, Ding Zuodong felt that he had latched on to the right thigh.

“Congratulations, Master. Oil Tiger’s entire operation of dozens of hectares of fields, five oil mills, and seven oil shops now belongs to you!”

Dunyu’s signature commodity, in the city and its vicinity, was oil.

Whether it be peanut oil, rapeseed oil, or sesame oil, they were sold across the province, and some even presented as tribute to the capital.

Oil Tiger had been a beloved local brand for thirty years. It had its own supply of raw materials, and its products were prized for their consistent quality.

It had been on Ding Zuodong’s shortlist from the start. But until today, its owner had been reluctant to sell, and even the Shu Family failed to pin it down.

“If not for the chaos today, I might still not have managed to close a deal on it.”

“You’ve both worked hard,” He Lingchuan poured what was in the pot into a bowl, then drizzled a vivid red oil over the top. “Come and have a taste.”

The two of them froze. They accepted the chopsticks he offered, hesitating in unison. “Uh...”

Young Master He doesn’t look like a cook. Could it be a hidden talent of his?

Shan Youjun was the braver of the two. He picked up a piece of what looked like tofu, then a pinch of bean sprouts.

He popped them in his mouth, chewed twice, then his jaw slowed, and his eyes went wider and wider.

He Lingchuan asked, “Well?”

Shan Youjun did not answer. Instead, he sneezed twice loudly, turning his head just in time.

“Hot! Cough, cough!” He could not get any words out properly. His face flushed red from the spiciness.

He Lingchuan, unfazed, handed him a cup of water, dropping in two lumps of clean snow from a branch outside, and said, “Drink this. You’ll be fine after.”

Shan Youjun gulped it down in one go and let out a long “Ahhh, much better.”

His reaction was so dramatic that He Lingchuan fetched a pair of chopsticks for himself and tried a bite.

Hmm. It was not the best that he had ever had, but it was not bad either. He was a food lover, not a chef, after all.

“Old Ding, your turn.”

Watching Shan Youjun’s performance made Ding Zuodong nervous. But his master had spoken, so he dutifully lifted his chopsticks.

He picked up a piece as well and bit down. He was not quite sure what he had put in his mouth, but the flavor detonated the moment it entered.

Numbing, spicy, aromatic—all at once, then merging into a single, rich savoriness.

Huh?

Eh?

“Well, how is it?” He Lingchuan asked, smiling.

“I, I can’t describe it,” Ding Zuodong stammered, at a rare loss for words. “What did I just eat?”

“Pig’s blood.”

“I’ll try another,” Ding Zuodong said, already reaching for a second piece of blood curd.

Shan Youjun stared in disbelief. “You don’t think it’s too spicy?”

“The spiciness is what gives it soul.” A line of red oil ran from the corner of Ding Zuodong’s mouth. “You’re not from around here, so you wouldn’t understand.”

The southern region of Xia Province loved spicy food, and He Lingchuan knew that.

Watching Ding Zuodong eat so blissfully, Shan Youjun could not help himself. His chopsticks darted in again.

Even as the burn made him hiss and suck air, the flavor seemed as if it had some perverse magic—the hotter it hurt, the more he wanted another bite.

The bowl emptied fast, leaving only the shimmering red oil behind. When the last sliver of greens was gone, Ding Zuodong still combed the surface with his chopsticks, reluctant to stop.

With his throat on fire, Shan Youjun bolted outside to crunch on snow.

He Lingchuan tossed two sheets of paper over to Ding Zuodong. “Here, wipe your mouth.”

“Ah, how embarrassing!” Ding Zuodong wiped his mouth, staining the paper red. “Forgive me, Master, but this broth is truly delicious.”

He ladled a scoop of cold water from a vat, drank, then reached for another paper.

Spicy as it was, his sinuses had never felt clearer.

Pointing at the red oil, He Lingchuan asked, “Do you think the people of Dunyu will like this?”

“They will!” Ding Zuodong’s thumb shot up. “They absolutely will.”

Dunyu people loved spice, but no one had yet fused oil, spice, salt, and numbing pepper into a single profile. This was the sort of flavor that would make their souls quake.

“Then it’s yours. Have Hesu Tower’s head chef develop dishes around it. I’ll write out the seasonings.”

Ever since acquiring the old restaurant, he had been looking through The Hundred Scents Compendium, which he had brought out of the Panlong Dreamscape. There were indeed formulations there for the numbing kind of spiciness. And in his last life, he had devoured so much malatang, mao-style hot pot, skewers, and red oil hot pot that the taste had branded itself into memory. Once triggered, the craving was unstoppable.

So that afternoon, he had borrowed spices from the apothecary and started tinkering.

Even though it was barely a success, it was a success nevertheless.

As the boss, this was where his work ended. He was not about to invest more time personally. The rest would be up to Ding Zuodong and Hesu Tower.

Ding Zuodong was all but radiant. “We have a pharmacy, and we now own oil mills, so making this will be no problem. We’ll keep the recipe with a designated team for secrecy, and give Hesu Tower a brand-new signature dish.”

He Lingchuan could not help laughing. “No matter how you try to keep it a secret, it will eventually still spread. Even if others don’t know the exact secret recipe, they can still try to make it themselves.”

Red oil was not exactly difficult to make. Its mere existence could already point the way for people on how to make it.

Ding Zuodong nodded. “Then we hold it as long as we can.”

While He Lingchuan rinsed his hands, Ding Zuodong added, “The Zhan Family has already left. I hear their remaining grain and fields were sold to the provincial government, including the reclaimed garrison farms they had absorbed.”

“Before we came to Dunyu, the Zhan Family was already liquidating and moving people south. They had even less reason to stay now,” said He Lingchuan, unsurprised. “Plenty of people will follow in their wake, I expect.”

When a great family migrated, smaller noble families and commoners often followed suit, partly for safety.