When the first batch of pickled vegetable and pork pancakes was ready, Pei Liang called out to the crowd, "Line up."
Usually, with strict military discipline, a single command would have them forming a neat, orderly line in the blink of an eye. But now, eager to secure a spot at the front, the men shoved and jostled, crowding into a chaotic mess.
It wasn’t until Shi Feiyu, finding the scene unbecoming, stepped to the front and cleared his throat that the commotion died down, the men instantly falling silent, too embarrassed to make a further spectacle.
Pei Liang handed him a pancake, which Shi Feiyu broke in half with a crisp, audible crack.
The pancake had been rolled exceptionally thin, ensuring every inch was perfectly crisped. Shi Feiyu took a bite—the outer layer was golden and brittle, releasing a rich, toasty aroma of grain.
The pickled vegetables, savory and deeply infused with flavor, had roasted to a delightful crisp alongside the dough. The minced pork, neither too lean nor too fatty, had been chopped into coarse chunks rather than ground into paste, preserving the wild boar’s natural taste while adding a satisfying chew.
Though the spicy shrimp oil pancakes at noon had been delicious, this pickled vegetable and pork version still managed to astonish Shi Feiyu.
If even a young master from an aristocratic family like him was impressed, the reaction from the soldiers—most of whom came from impoverished backgrounds—was even more profound.
With the first bite, they felt as if every meal they’d eaten before had been fit only for pigs. Childhood memories of eagerly awaiting a rare bite of meat, once considered the pinnacle of flavor, now paled in comparison.
This moment of blissful satisfaction became the new high point of their lives.
Holding the pancakes with unusual care, these usually rough-and-tumble men cradled every crumb that fell, savoring each bite slowly, desperate to prolong the experience and waste not a single morsel.
Pei Liang chuckled. "There’s more where that came from—still cooking. Eat your fill."
Now that was music to their ears!
At her words, the men immediately picked up the pace, those who finished quickly darting back to the line for seconds.
And there was indeed enough to go around. Each man had brought fifteen jin of rations for half a month, with one jin allotted per day. A jin here wasn’t the modern 500 grams but closer to 640 grams.
Since they’d eaten breakfast at camp before setting out, today’s portion was more than sufficient.
Grains like rice and flour were naturally filling, and with the addition of pork and pickled vegetables, only those with unusually large appetites would struggle to feel satisfied.
While baking the first two batches, Pei Liang had personally taught her assistants how to monitor the heat and determine when to remove the pancakes.
Now, she handed off the remaining baking to a few of them and assigned four others to prepare the accompanying dishes.
The pig’s blood, earlier set to cool in a chilly spring, had fully congealed by now. Pei Liang sliced the delicate, jelly-like blood into uniform cubes and combined them with foraged wild mushrooms to make a fragrant mushroom and blood soup.
Each man received a bowl to enjoy alongside the pancakes—the mushrooms silky, the blood cubes bursting with savory juices, the warmth of the broth spreading comfort through every limb.
The crispy pork cracklings left from rendering lard, infused with the aroma of scallions and ginger, were used to stir-fry wild greens.
As for the heart, lungs, and offal, they were blanched with ginger, scallions, and rice wine to remove any gaminess before being flash-fried with dried ginger and pickled peppers.
The bold, pungent aroma was so intense it made noses twitch. By the time the dish was ready, everyone had slowed their pancake-eating, mesmerized.
A small spoonful of this spicy, tangy stir-fried offal tucked inside a pancake—what heavenly bliss that would be.
Shi Feiyu was the first to try it. The crisp, aromatic pickled peppers and tender ginger, paired with the rich flavors of liver and heart, created a perfect harmony—ideal for devouring with bread.
He wasn’t usually one to indulge in cravings, but now he found himself unable to resist. They had only been out of the capital for a single day, and it wasn’t as if they were starving.
So Shi Feiyu asked, "How did you lose?"
Pei Liang paused, then smiled. "I was simply outmatched."
"But that was the last time."
Seeing not a trace of dejection in her, Shi Feiyu noted the light in her eyes—it couldn’t even be called confidence. It was more like she was stating an indisputable fact.
Something stirred in Shi Feiyu’s gaze. That kind of unwavering focus and self-assurance, unshaken by others’ judgments or malice, was rare even among men of high status. Yet this woman, born a commoner, carried it with an unshakable resolve.
To Shi Feiyu, this Pei Liang was not fearless out of ignorance.
Less than an hour later, the soldiers, now well-fed, lounged in small groups on the ground.
The sun hadn’t fully set, casting a warm glow over them.
They smacked their lips, savoring the memory of the meal. The exhaustion of the march had vanished, replaced by the satisfaction of a hard day’s work during harvest season, when the sight of piled grain filled the heart with contentment.
"If I’d known being a soldier meant eating this well, I’d have volunteered instead of waiting for the constables to drag me in."
In recent years, peasant uprisings had erupted across the land, and foreign barbarians threatened the borders. With constant warfare, conscription had become frequent.
"Hey, I remember—you cried so hard you pissed yourself."
"Shut it. We just ate well—don’t ruin it with your filthy mouth."
"I miss my mom. She cooked well too. When I get home, I’ll buy twenty pounds of meat and have her make it just like Pei Liang’s recipe."
"What are we eating tomorrow?"
"I want those flatbreads again. Never thought dried vegetables could taste this good. I won’t complain about carrying them anymore."
"Then why don’t we go hunt a pig later? Damn it, just thinking about tomorrow’s meal makes me hungry again."
In the end, they didn’t go. The terrain was unfamiliar, and while daylight was manageable, getting lost at night would be a serious offense, delaying the march.
After finishing her meal, Pei Liang borrowed a machete from Ying Siji to carve bamboo. Ying Siji and Qiu Sanxiang wouldn’t dream of letting their cook exhaust herself, so they snatched the machete and puffed out their chests, telling her to just give the orders.
Pei Liang had them cut several bamboo tubes to her specifications, varying in length and size. Then she turned to Shi Feiyu, who sat on a nearby rock watching them with an inscrutable expression, and asked, "Can we remove the wheel?"
Shi Feiyu scoffed. "And if it doesn’t hold when you put it back, delaying the march—what then?"
Pei Liang replied, "The only concern is the wheel coming loose. The current axle is rudimentary—I can make a sturdier one. And there are far better ways to prevent slippage than stuffing it with coarse cloth. Why wouldn’t I take responsibility?"
Qiu Sanxiang cut in, "Did you forget you nearly got executed as a spy this morning?"
Pei Liang glanced back at him. "Now that I serve under the general, we’re on the same side. Why shouldn’t I use my skills to their fullest?"
"I’m sure the general wouldn’t want capable people holding back out of fear."
Shi Feiyu let out a light chuckle. "The scout who previously investigated your background mentioned that although you suffered a crushing defeat in the culinary competition and lost your family's legacy, you turned the tables with just a few words. You made your enemy's spoils of war into a hot potato, ruining their reputation and making it difficult for them to operate in the future—forcing them to swallow their pride and publicly vow to support all the workers of the Pei family."
As for how you swiftly shed your burdensome troubles and joined the march, there’s no need to elaborate further.
Shi Feiyu lowered his gaze, meeting Pei Liang’s eyes directly. "The young master of Tianxiang Lou has always been known as dull-witted and honest, poor with words. Clearly, the rumors were unfounded."
Pei Liang was vastly different from the original "Little Chef Pei"—one could say they shared not a single similarity.
Her tracks were clean, and her crossing into this world had happened in front of a crowd. Even if her behavior seemed unusual, no one would suspect a thing.
Shi Feiyu’s words were dangerous. As someone seeking refuge, any hint of suspicion could mean the difference between gaining trust and inviting fatal consequences.
But Pei Liang knew that in front of someone like Shi Feiyu, pretense was worthless. Rather than deliberately playing the fool like the original owner, it was better to demonstrate her true worth.
After all, he was the founding emperor of the next dynasty, his brilliance and ability to recognize talent already evident. In the original story, he’d even dared to employ spies from enemy nations.
Pei Liang had done charity work in the past—not just as a front, but because she genuinely enjoyed watching talented, handsome men achieve their ambitions step by step.
It was like a raising simulation game, except while most women could only nurture pre-programmed paper figures, she played with real lives.
The dreams of those men in the past—whether becoming movie stars or business tycoons—paled in comparison to the thrill of raising an emperor.
Pei Liang averted her gaze, afraid the predatory intensity in her eyes might be noticed too soon.
Given her identity and circumstances, now was not the right time.
Even though all she wanted at this moment was to pin him down on the boulder beneath him and tear his clothes apart.
In the end, Shi Feiyu still agreed to Pei Liang’s request, ordering his men to remove the wagon wheels. Pei Liang took some rope and secured the split bamboo tubes with sturdy knots, quickly assembling a bamboo waterwheel.
With a teasing smirk, she added, "Honestly, crafting a new rotating wheel wouldn’t be hard, but I’m too tired to bother with the effort now."
After finishing the waterwheel, she took out a knife and began whittling a block of wood, soon carving two gears of different sizes.
"What’s the waterwheel for?" Ying Siji asked.
"Making soy milk tomorrow morning."
"Soy… soy milk?" Though they found it troublesome, the two still said, "Fine, we’ll have a few men grind the beans."
No wonder she’d had people soak dozens of pounds of beans as soon as they set up camp earlier—they’d be ready soon. But grinding that many beans was no easy task.
Since they weren’t traveling at night, a little extra effort for good food wasn’t too much to ask.
Pei Liang, however, assembled the waterwheel with a smile. "No need. If it were that troublesome, I wouldn’t have bothered."
After setting up the waterwheel, she cleaned a stone mill she’d found by the river—it was spotting this that had inspired her soy milk idea in the first place.
Pei Liang preferred soy milk over soup in the mornings.
She fixed one gear to the upper millstone and the other to the waterwheel’s axle. As the current turned the wheel, the gears set the millstone in motion.
Pei Liang scooped a small spoonful of beans and added water. Without any manual effort, a white, milky liquid soon flowed out.
The onlookers widened their eyes in amazement, while Qiu Sanxiang and Ying Siji eagerly snatched the iron ladle to try it themselves.
Delighted, they exclaimed, "The night watch can sit right here, keeping guard while casually adding more beans. This way, by morning, we’ll have steaming hot soy milk without any extra effort."
"I love soy milk so much—I thought we wouldn’t get any until we reached the next town free of bandits."
Pei Liang chuckled at their childlike enthusiasm. "It’s just a simple waterwheel mechanism, right? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one before."
They had, of course—but aside from carpenters, who paid attention to its structure? And who besides her would think of using it not just for irrigation but also for making soy milk?
Amidst the usual chaos of meal preparations, how did this woman even have the time to devise such ideas?
The crowd marveled at her ingenuity, and even Shi Feiyu couldn’t help but remark, "If you were a man, you’d surpass the vast majority in this world."
Without hesitation, Pei Liang replied, "I already do."
