Chapter 30: Noodles

Huang Wei woke up naturally — no “You’re awake? Time to wake up!” wake-up call service from players this time. She saw the somewhat familiar ceiling and the two fuzzy heads nestled in the crook of her arms, and her anxious heart immediately settled.

The only thing puzzling her was: Wang Ling’s team still hadn’t all died yet?

Today was the third day of the instance. After waking, Huang Wei was still a bit groggy. Seeing both Huang Chengcheng and Cheng Luyun pretending to be asleep, she gently pushed the two heads aside, got up, changed clothes, and washed up. She was now firmly convinced that Cheng Luyun retained memories from the previous instance; otherwise, she wouldn’t treat her this way.

While brushing her teeth and washing her face in the bathroom, she paid special attention to her neck. It was perfectly clean, with no trace of the small cut from yesterday — as if it had been an illusion. Her fingers touched her neck, but Huang Wei was certain it had really happened. It was just that Cheng Luyun’s healing methods were so advanced, it had vanished overnight.

After washing up, Huang Wei went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Today she didn’t feel like porridge; she’d make noodles instead.

She’d noticed sesame oil in the kitchen a couple of days ago. Without even opening it, just by leaning close, she could catch that rich, intense sesame fragrance. This was the kind of sesame oil rural families pressed themselves. Besides that, there was home-pressed rapeseed oil and peanut oil.

When Huang Wei was little, she used to help collect and deliver rapeseed to the village oil station. Every family’s oil was stored there, and when they needed it, they’d bring their own containers to fetch some. She’d spotted an oil station in Huang Family Village too; it probably worked the same way. If nothing else, rural oil was undeniably aromatic.

Huang Wei planned to make mushroom-and-sesame-oil noodles. She gathered shiitake mushrooms, dried shiitake, and cordyceps flower. First she soaked the dried shiitake and cordyceps. Ideally, this should’ve been done last night, but she’d risen early; there was plenty of time to spare. After soaking, she began making the dough.

She was a pro at handmade noodles — springy and chewy, the skill picked up from her adoptive mother. Today, she made the noodles especially thin, aiming for something like dragon beard noodles. Huang Wei’s skill wasn’t quite at master level; she couldn’t pull them as fine as true dragon beard, but they were still excellent.

Once the noodles were done, the dried ingredients had been soaking for about an hour. Huang Wei set the shiitake and cordyceps aside but kept the soaking water — that stuff was useful. She cleaned the fresh shiitake and sliced them thin. When it came to food, Huang Wei was a meticulous researcher. She sliced the mushrooms wafer-thin; a single mushroom yielded fifteen or sixteen slices. The dried ones she sliced thicker, but still about ten slices each. In a flash, both were prepped.

Next, she julienned ginger, chopped scallions, and cilantro — all set aside. She’d never used cilantro in dishes before because she herself didn’t eat it. But since it was in the house, Cheng Luyun must like it. As for Huang Chengcheng, she didn’t know. The cilantro didn’t need to be cooked with the noodles anyway — it could be sprinkled on top at the end, letting them add it as they pleased. She also washed a big bunch of baby bok choy.

With prep done, Huang Wei started cooking. She didn’t fire up the big earth stove this time; for just noodles, lighting the coal stove was enough.

Once the coal stove was hot, she placed a small pot on it to start the broth. A drizzle of the sesame oil she’d been eyeing — no need to let it heat — then in went the ginger to sizzle until fragrant. The moment the aroma bloomed, she added the dried shiitake and cordyceps, stir-frying them with chopsticks until they toasted fragrant. Then she added the fresh shiitake and stir-fried everything together briefly.

After a short while, a spoonful of light soy sauce for color and flavor. The soaking water from the dried mushrooms went into the pot, along with some fresh water and a pinch of salt. She let it all bubble away on the coal stove.

While Huang Wei was cooking the mushrooms, Huang Chengcheng poked her head in and pattered inside on her tiny legs. She stared at the small pot, mouth watering. “Daddy, what are you making?”

Huang Wei answered honestly, “Mushroom noodles.”

Huang Chengcheng nodded, then dragged a little stool over and sat at the kitchen entrance, keeping Huang Wei company as she cooked. After a while, Cheng Luyun came by too. Seeing Huang Chengcheng at the door, she reached down and tied up her hair with a ribbon, glanced inside at Huang Wei and the pot, then turned and left.

Huang Wei didn’t ask where Cheng Luyun had gone, nor did she mind.

This scene was exactly like the life she’d always dreamed of.

After simmering a few more minutes, Huang Wei judged the broth was ready, removed the pot from the heat, and set it aside. She fetched a clean pot, boiled fresh water, and cooked the noodles along with a quick blanch of the baby bok choy. Her noodles were thin, so they cooked fast — in no time, they were ready to be scooped out.

She asked Huang Chengcheng’s preference, adding scallions but no cilantro, plus a dash of vinegar. Then she prepared two larger bowls — one with cilantro and scallions, one with scallions only. She carried them on a tray to the main hall.

Huang Wei knew Huang Chengcheng was much stronger than her, but the thought of making a little girl carry the tray was something Huang Wei simply couldn’t do. Though speaking of little girls, she suddenly recalled the one who’d held a dagger to her throat.

Tch — her neck was throbbing again.

But since the instance hadn’t reset, that meant the players weren’t all dead. That little girl might still be around.

Huang Wei carried the noodles to the main hall, Huang Chengcheng trailing behind like a little tail. As soon as she sat down, Huang Chengcheng climbed onto her own stool, chopsticks in hand, ready for breakfast. Cheng Luyun soon joined them, sitting down and reaching for her bowl.

She seemed pleased about the cilantro, but when she noticed Huang Chengcheng’s bowl had vinegar, her hand paused mid-bite. Huang Wei, ever observant, caught it. “I’ll get the vinegar,” she said, starting to rise, but Cheng Luyun stopped her. “No need — there’s some in the living room.”

Huang Wei watched as Cheng Luyun entered the living room and emerged moments later holding a bottle of vinegar. Huang Wei fell silent.

— Who keeps a bottle of vinegar in the living room?

And Huang Wei, with her keen observational skills, had been in and out of that living room countless times. She’d never seen a vinegar bottle sitting out in plain sight. It couldn’t have been stuffed sideways into a drawer, could it?

Huang Wei stared at the vinegar, suspecting Cheng Luyun had simply conjured it from thin air. Still, she poured a little for herself before passing the bottle over.

Only then did Cheng Luyun resume eating, satisfied.

Huang Wei’s cooking truly had some serious skill. This bowl of mushroom noodles left both Huang Chengcheng and Cheng Luyun beaming. Only Huang Wei felt a little unsatisfied.

It was missing chili sauce. The store-bought chili sauces these days were quite good, and Huang Wei never bothered making her own. But a spoonful in the noodles would’ve brought the whole dish to life. Huang Wei wasn’t a hardcore spice fiend, but she did enjoy a bit of heat. Without the chili sauce, the noodles were missing a certain something.

Maybe she should just make some chili sauce? But if the instance reset, would the chili sauce reset too? If so, she’d have wasted all that effort. But a life without chili sauce — a day or two was tolerable, but if it went on too long, how would Huang Wei bear it?

Now that she’d confirmed Cheng Luyun and Huang Chengcheng had no immediate plans to kill her — and after that humiliating cry in Cheng Luyun’s arms — Huang Wei’s courage had grown a bit. She decided to hell with it; she’d make a small jar of chili sauce. If it reset, it was only a small jar, so the loss was acceptable. She wouldn’t be too upset.

Once she decided, she acted. After eating, Cheng Luyun went to wash the dishes, and Huang Wei headed to the kitchen to find chilies.

Their kitchen was like a treasure chest — you could always find unusual things if you looked. She found some string peppers and carried a basketful to the well to wash. Cheng Luyun was by the well doing dishes and asked what she was up to.

“Chili sauce.”

Three words — and Cheng Luyun’s mouth watered.

She remembered the taste of chili sauce. At least, she had a memory of it in her mind. But after becoming a ghost, everything had lost its flavor; no one bothered making chili sauce anymore. Now Huang Wei saying she’d make it — the salty, spicy, stimulating sensation immediately flooded her mouth, secretly teasing her taste buds.

Cheng Luyun said nothing, just watched as Huang Wei washed the chilies.

After washing, she spread them on a bamboo tray to dry. Chili sauce was quick to make; it could be eaten the next day. For better flavor, it needed time to ferment. The best time to eat chili sauce was either the next day or after a month.

As a foodie, Huang Wei obviously preferred the thirty-day version. But she wasn’t sure when the instance would reset — there might not even be a chance to taste the day-old sauce.

That morning was rare — nothing happened, carrying a sense of serene, peaceful time. But by noon, things turned a little unpleasant. According to Huang Family Village tradition, funerals meant three days of feasts. Huang Wei didn’t know what the banquet food would be like, but she still held a sliver of hope — after all, Cheng Luyun wouldn’t get to cook the main dishes.

A young wife taking charge of the cooking at a funeral banquet would be far too weird.

Huang Wei now had high expectations for the aunties and matrons in charge of the kitchen. She hoped to eat a meal that was delicious in both color and flavor — but mainly the flavor. At this point, she no longer cared about presentation or aroma. At the very worst, could it really be worse than Cheng Luyun’s cooking?

At noon, Huang Wei carried Huang Chengcheng and followed Cheng Luyun to Huang Wu’s house. Passing Sister Cui’s home, she emerged leading her two children. Both were little girls. The older one looked about the same age as the girl who’d held the dagger to Huang Wei’s throat — eleven or twelve. The younger one was around Huang Chengcheng’s age.

Seeing Huang Wei and Cheng Luyun, Sister Cui had the girls greet them. Country girls these days all had proper nicknames now, unlike the old days when they gave them unpleasant names. But Sister Cui’s daughters were Big Ya and Little Ya — nicknames that showed zero effort.

Under Sister Cui’s urging, Big Ya and Little Ya greeted Huang Wei and Cheng Luyun. Hearing the two girls call her “Uncle,” Huang Wei felt a wave of gloom wash over her.

Here she was, a young woman in her prime, not only being called “Daddy” but now also “Uncle.”

Huang Wei’s heart was a tangled mess. Under Big Ya and Little Ya’s expectant gazes, she still managed a response. “Hey.”