Chapter 19: The Fragrance of Simplicity and the Weight of Choices

"The simplest joys in life—good food, quiet moments, and a peaceful existence—are often the most fragile. The world may allow us to savor them for a time, but sooner or later, chaos comes knocking."

The tension still lingered in the air as the princess and the empress sat stiffly in their spots, their postures prim and disciplined, not daring to make a single unnecessary movement in my presence. It was an amusing sight—these highborn royals, rulers of an entire dynasty, behaving like well-mannered schoolchildren afraid of offending their strict teacher.

I, however, paid them no mind. The matter had already been discussed, and now it was time for something far more important than politics, dynasties, or scheming ministers—food.

Standing up, I stretched my arms lazily and said, "I'll go make something to eat. Sit tight."

The princess and the empress nodded in unison, still maintaining their perfectly composed expressions, though I noticed Lin Yun sneak a glance toward her mother, as if seeking silent permission to speak. She hesitated but ultimately chose to stay silent.

Stepping into the kitchen, I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands together. Alright, let's see what we have here.

There was meat, fresh and untouched. That was a rare find. Normally, I’d just make some broth or stew—something easy and quick. But today, I felt like making something proper.

Something with history.

I decided to make a classic dish from my past life—one that had originated from the imperial courts of ancient China: Dongpo Pork.

Exile—what a strange state of existence. It is not merely the act of being cast out from a place, but rather, it is the feeling of being abandoned by the world itself. To walk through lands where no one knows your name, where no hands reach out in welcome, and where survival becomes a test of the soul.

But some men do not allow exile to break them. Some men turn suffering into art.

Su Dongpo, a poet and scholar of the Song Dynasty, was once banished to a remote region. But even in exile, he found joy in cooking, creating this dish as a testament to his undying spirit. Slow-cooked in soy sauce, wine, and aromatic spices, the pork became soft, tender, and so rich in flavor that even an emperor would bow before it.

It is said that in those lonely years, with nothing but time and simple ingredients, he created Dongpo Pork—a dish that has lasted through the centuries, not because of its ingredients, but because of its spirit.

It is a dish born of patience.

The pork is not simply cooked; it is slowly transformed. First, it is braised in water to remove impurities. Then, it is marinated in a rich blend of soy sauce, rice wine, ginger, star anise, and rock sugar. Finally, it is left to simmer for hours, the heat working its magic, softening the meat until it becomes so tender that it nearly melts at the touch of a chopstick.

This dish is not just about flavor—it is a philosophy.

To eat Dongpo Pork is to understand that some things in life cannot be rushed. That true excellence requires time, patience, and quiet perseverance.

The legend was amusing, really. A man exiled by politics, yet he turned his suffering into art. I could almost relate.

I, too, was an outsider in this world. A stranger in unfamiliar lands. But just like him, I had found solace in the art of cooking.

And so, as I placed the meat into the clay pot and let it simmer, I was not just preparing food, I was telling story.

The fragrance filled the kitchen almost immediately, rich and deep, seeping into the air like a slow-moving spell. I placed the pork into a clay pot, adding water and more wine, then covered it and let it simmer over low heat.

Some smells can tell stories.

The fragrance of an old book can bring memories of childhood, of afternoons spent lost in stories. The scent of rain on dry earth can remind one of home, of the feeling of stepping barefoot onto the wet ground.

But the scent of slow-cooked, braised pork…

That was the scent of paradise itself.

As the dish slowly cooked, its rich, intoxicating aroma seeped through the kitchen walls, curling like an invisible mist, creeping into the courtyard, where the empress and princess still sat.

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At first, they remained still, their royal training keeping them composed. But then, as the smell grew stronger, deeper, richer, I heard the first signs of weakness.

A soft gasp.

"M-Mother… this smell…"

"Lin Yun… can you feel it?"

"Feel it? Mother… I can see it."

"Yes, Lin Yun. This… this aroma… it's not just mortal food. It carries… spiritual essence!"

The empress sounded like she was on the verge of enlightenment, as if my cooking had revealed to her the mysteries of the Dao itself.

Inside, I chuckled to myself.

"Relax, ladies. It’s just braised pork."

But of course, I didn’t say that out loud. Let them have their dramatic moments.

And indeed, it was not just a fragrance—it was an experience.

The moment the scent reached them, it was as if the entire world shifted.The air around them changed, becoming warm, full of life. The wind carried the scent like an immortal’s whisper, wrapping around them like an embrace.

In that moment, they were no longer in the courtyard.

They were elsewhere.

They saw rolling mountains covered in mist, golden fields stretching into the horizon, clear rivers reflecting the sunlight. They saw mythical birds soaring in the sky, their feathers shining with colors unknown to mortals.

They were not just sitting on wooden benches.

They were floating in the land of immortals.

The empress closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, as if trying to capture the moment forever.

Lin Yun trembled slightly, gripping the edge of her sleeve, as if afraid that if she moved too quickly, the vision would shatter.

And all of this…

Was caused by a single dish.

After a long while, the dish was finally ready. I plated the succulent, glossy pork, the sauce shimmering under the light, its surface like molten amber. Then, I carried it out said, "Enjoy."

There was a moment of absolute silence.

The two royal women simply stared at the dish.

Their eyes wide. Their mouths slightly open. Their fingers twitching ever so slightly.

For all their royal etiquette, for all their training in self-restraint, there was no force in this world that could stop them from what happened next.

They lunged.

Gone was the graceful, dignified aura of nobility. In its place was raw, primal hunger.

Lin Yun grabbed a piece of pork, her chopsticks trembling as she placed it in her mouth. The moment it touched her tongue, her entire body shuddered.

"Mmm—!"

The sound she made was so utterly undignified that she immediately blushed, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

The empress, usually composed and refined, had already abandoned all shame. She took another bite, then another, her eyes slightly wet as she let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

She, the ruler of a dynasty, was stuffing her mouth at a speed that made me fear she might choke. Lin Yun, usually so composed, was letting out small, almost unnoticeable moans of pleasure with each bite.

"Mother… this taste… I… I can’t…"

"This is… this is divine… No, this is beyond divine…"

Seeing them lose all composure, I began wondering if I had made a mistake. Perhaps I should have stuck with something simple.

"If I knew they’d react like this, I would’ve just made congee."

"This… This is beyond divine."

They ate as if they had been starving for years.

And as I stood there, watching them practically worship my cooking, I could only take a step back, feeling…

Terrified, I took a step back.

"I think they’ve liked my cooking probably!?."

After a long, chaotic eating session, the two women finally sat back, looking both satisfied and devastated.

They clearly wanted more. But who was going to ask this terrifying 'expert' to cook another bowl?

Instead, they stood up, bowed deeply, and thanked me profusely before leaving.

The empress muttered under her breath, "Terrifying… This expert is terrifying…"

Lin Yun, meanwhile, looked back at me before leaving, as if she were memorizing my face for future reference.

I sighed and rubbed my temples.

A few days passed.

Business, as usual, was nonexistent. No new customers. No visitors.

I considered relocating, but at the same time, this peaceful, secluded life wasn’t bad. The system before it left it had already provided me with everything I needed to survive, so there was no real urgency to move elsewhere.

Then, one day, Mr. Yan arrived with his son.

He casually drank his herbal tea while his son devoured something eerily similar to a modern burger. I had replicated it, of course.

Lately, Mr. Yan had been coming more often, asking about ways to improve the education system in the village. He was passionate about knowledge, and I found our conversations strangely entertaining.

But today, he was talking about something else.

"Leaving the village, there’s a port city," he said. "And soon, there will be a festival. A grand one—something like a carnival."

I raised an eyebrow. "You seem unusually excited about this."

Then I saw his sparkling eyes.

A chill ran down my spine.

"No. No, no, no. I don’t like that look."

And sure enough, the moment he opened his mouth, my suspicion was confirmed.

"Let’s go together!"

I groaned inwardly.

"Great. Just great."

A normal person in this world wouldn’t dare leave their home unnecessarily. Danger lurked everywhere. But Mr. Yan? No, he wanted to drag me into it.

I tried to refuse. I really did.

But he was persistent.

Eventually, I sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Let’s go. What could happen?"

After Mr. Yan left, I let mei yun eat her meal she was working hard all this time and I walked to the small pond behind the tavern.

Sitting down, I picked up a handful of fish food and scattered it across the water. The koi swam toward it immediately, their scales reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun.

There was something peaceful about this moment.

No noise. No chaos. Just the gentle ripples in the water, the rhythmic movement of the fish, and the distant sound of wind whispering through the trees.

"Perhaps this is all I really need in life."

After seeing them eating a question rippled in my mind,

"If a dish can transport one's soul to heaven, does that mean the body was ever truly here? And if a meal can bring such fleeting joy, is hunger merely the absence of flavor—or the longing for something beyond taste?"

But as I gazed at the horizon, I couldn’t help but pray that this trip to the port city would be fine.

That no trouble would wait somewhere.

But as saying goes trouble always found it's way through mist

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