Chapter 107: The Villainess Eats Malatang
You know how people talk about the “prehistoric era”? Turns out, it doesn’t just mean ‘a really long time ago.’
It literally means the era before history—before humans invented writing.
As in, before humans got around to inventing writing.
It signifies the great unknown, the dawn of humankind, shrouded in mystery precisely because no records remain.
Except, surprisingly, there was one singular record allegedly left behind from before the prehistoric era.
Estimates place its creation date at over ten thousand years ago.
The prevailing academic consensus? It’s a record left by an advanced, precursor human civilization that existed long before us.
This record is none other than the Hwandan Gogi [^(A controversial collection of texts compiled in the 20th century, claiming to detail vast, ancient Korean empires and mytho-history, widely considered pseudohistory by mainstream academics.)], which chronicles the history of the Hwan Empire—the supposed first utopia, the earliest empire established by these precursor humans.
And the absolute truth of the Hwandan Gogi? It’s apparently even referenced in the legendary Soo Bahk Do diagrams. [^(Possibly a humorous or mistaken reference; Soo Bahk Do is a traditional Korean martial art.)]
Of course, many people misunderstand or simply fail to grasp the true nature of this majestic Hwan Empire.
We’re talking about a race that transcended the Three Thousand Worlds of Buddhist cosmology, soared past the Nine Heavens of Daoism, and reached the mythical Heaven Above Heavens.
Naturally, if you tried to quantify their intellect, common folk with an IQ below a mere 1500 couldn’t possibly comprehend it.
Only true geniuses—those boasting an IQ of 1501 or higher—can grasp the fundamental truth: the Hwan Empire was omniscient and omnipotent, the progenitor of all current human life across the six continents.
The only intellects capable of challenging these geniuses? Probably those belonging to that other faction of enlightened geniuses who’ve realized the earth is actually flat and are trying to spread the truth.
(As an aside, perhaps extremes really do meet in the end, making it impossible to definitively distinguish between a transcendent genius and a complete fucking moron.)
Anyway, according to the Hwandan Gogi, malatang is actually a traditional food of the Korean people. It supposedly first appeared beneath the shade of the Divine Birch Tree [^(a mythical tree in Korean founding myths)] and has been beloved throughout their long and glorious history.
This original malatang then spread to the Central Plains, eventually developing into a primitive form of street food known as maocai [^(A Sichuan dish similar to Malatang where ingredients are cooked in a spicy broth, often served individually.)].
(Narrator: No, it didn’t.)
Maocai is, in fact, a traditional Sichuan dish.
Vendors would typically carry a pot of simmering hot broth and separate baskets filled with all sorts of ingredients. When a customer ordered, they’d blanch the chosen items in the broth and combine everything into a single bowl.
It was particularly popular with patrons who preferred a wide variety of small bites over a large portion of just one thing.
And then, from maocai, the modern malatang evolved. So, perhaps malatang became maocai, which then became malatang again—a perfect illustration of the cyclical nature of the culinary world, or something.
Regardless of its dubious origins, the undisputed, most excellent, truly Ultimate Malatang in the entire world right now… was located right here.
Restaurant Sign 1: Culinary King Azure Dragon.
Restaurant Sign 2: The Greatest Chef Under Heaven, Jaejung, Is Within.
Yep, two signboards adorned the entrance.
An unusual name for a restaurant, "Changryong," coupled with a second, incredibly boastful proclamation hanging boldly beneath it.
“Okay, but ‘Greatest Chef Under Heaven’?” Qing asked skeptically, turning to Choi Leeong. “Gramps, do you have any idea who actually gets to decide that title? Is this guy just supremely arrogant? Or is there, like, some secret underground chef fight club where they rank each other?”
“I do not know either,” Choi Leeong admitted. “I have never heard of such a custom existing in the Central Plains.”
He seemed equally curious.
Just then, as if summoned, a voice nearby smoothly provided the answer.
“That title belongs solely to the most recent winner of the Heavenly Culinary Competition.”
“Ooh,” Qing breathed, impressed despite herself. “The Heavenly Culinary Competition.”
She then tilted her head.
“Weird, though. Just hearing the name makes my heart pound, but why have I never actually heard of it before?”
“Well,” the stranger replied with a slight smile, “it’s a competition held to determine the greatest chef in Sichuan province. It stands to reason an outsider wouldn’t know about it.”
“Ah. Okay, but then why call it ‘Heavenly Culinary Competition’? Shouldn’t it be the ‘Sichuan Culinary Competition’?”
“Because,” the man stated with unwavering conviction, “Sichuan cuisine is universally acknowledged as the best under heaven. Therefore, the best chef in Sichuan is, by definition, the Greatest Chef Under Heaven.”
“Uh-huh,” Qing said flatly. Pretty sure we’d need to get opinions from the other provinces before declaring that one. “Anyway, who might our eloquent and clearly unbiased friend here be?”
Qing generally disliked describing men and found the whole process tedious, so the finer details were unimportant to her.
The guy standing there was the perfect picture of a sickly young master: pale complexion, seemingly weak and frail, yet possessing an undeniable air of nobility.
“Me?” the young man replied, pausing thoughtfully. “Hmm. Let’s see… Jangryu… perhaps Jang Yu would suit. You may call me Jayu. And the young lady I have the pleasure of addressing is?”
As he spoke, his eyes subtly flickered towards a long, trailing willow branch swaying gently nearby.
The Korean word for a long willow branch is, in fact, jangryu.
He clearly wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that his name was an alias.
“So,” Qing drawled, unimpressed by the clumsy wordplay. “Is it Jangyu or Jayu? Make up your mind, buddy.”
“Let’s go with Jayu,” he decided smoothly. “I find I’m not particularly close with the Jang family name, after all.”
“Alright then. Jayu it is.” Qing gave a curt nod. “I’m Qing. Ximen Qing.”
Jayu’s lips curved into a grin.
“Excellent. Young Lady Ximen, is it? A pleasure. Though, if I may ask, why the informal speech?”
“Because you started it?” Qing shot back instantly, her hand drifting casually towards the hilt of her sword. “What, you got a problem with it?”
The unspoken message was clear:
If you have a problem, let’s settle it with steel, not pointless chatter.
Seeing her gesture, Jayu’s smile only widened, seemingly amused rather than intimidated.
“To be perfectly honest? Yes, I do find it slightly bothersome. However,” he added, holding up a placating hand, “your point regarding my own initial lack of formality is valid. Therefore, I shall not find fault.”
“Right,” Qing said, still wary. “Look, Jayu. I generally make it a rule not to hang out with obviously suspicious people. Thanks for the info dump about the chef title, but shouldn’t we be heading our separate ways now?”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss me,” Jayu countered, his tone smooth as silk. “I perceive you are also heading into Changryong’s establishment for the renowned Ultimate Malatang. Since fate has brought us together thus, why not share a table?”
“Me? Share a table with you? Why?”
“Well,” Jayu leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I happened to secure five liters of premium Wuliangye liquor [^(A famous and highly prized sorghum-based liquor from Yibin, Sichuan)], but that seems rather excessive for one person to consume alone. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be inclined to assist me?”
Now, Wuliangye wasn’t just any liquor. It was one of Sichuan’s most celebrated spirits, so famous it even made an appearance in the classic novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms [^(Classic 14th-century Chinese historical novel)].
The story goes that Meng You, younger brother of the southern barbarian king Meng Huo, attempted a surrender ploy against the famed strategist Zhuge Liang, similar to the Trojan Horse stratagem. Zhuge Liang, seeing through the ruse, supposedly treated Meng You to copious amounts of Wuliangye.
The liquor was apparently so divinely delicious that Meng You completely forgot about his mission, drank himself into a stupor, and utterly botched the entire operation. [^(This anecdote involving Wuliangye specifically might be embellished or apocryphal.)]
Qing happened to love alcohol.
Having diligently researched the famous liquors of Sichuan upon arrival, she knew all about Wuliangye, even though she hadn't read Romance of the Three Kingdoms even once properly, let alone the recommended three times.
“Wait,” her voice sharpened with sudden interest, her eyes gleaming behind her veil. “Is it from Yibin [^(City in Sichuan particularly famous for producing the highest quality Wuliangye)]? It’s the Yibin stuff, right?”
(She was forced to wear the damn veil because old man Choi Leeong nagged relentlessly if she didn't.)
“But of course,” Jayu confirmed with a flourish. “One simply cannot pair inferior spirits with the culinary masterpieces of the Greatest Chef Under Heaven.”
Wuliangye from Yibin was considered the absolute pinnacle, the most precious vintage.
There were even sayings amongst dedicated drinkers that Yibin Wuliangye was worth risking one’s life for a single taste.
Qing herself had tried desperately to acquire some before, but discovered it was an incredibly rare item, unobtainable even if you had heaps of gold.
Qing nodded instantly, her previous suspicion evaporating like morning mist.
“Come to think of it,” she declared solemnly, “true friendship should never be shaken by minor suspicions. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Friend.”
“Friend…” Jayu repeated, his face breaking into a radiant, almost childlike beam. “Good. Yes, very good.”
Seeing that reaction, Qing immediately knew.
Ah. This guy definitely has no friends.
Excellent. Means I can probably fleece him for some hefty ‘friendship fees’ down the line.
“By the way,” Jayu asked, finally noticing the silent figure standing behind Qing, “who might this elderly gentleman be?”
“Ah. Gramps?” Qing glanced back at Choi Leeong. “Gramps is… well. He’s the old man who takes care of my needs. Runs my errands.”
That was about all she could say.
Introducing him as a former Great Protector and notorious Great Demonic Leader of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was obviously out of the question.
“I am called Choi,” Choi Leeong stated curtly.
“A pleasure to meet you as well, Old Man Choi,” Jayu replied smoothly. “May I perhaps call you Elder Choi?”
“…Do as you wish,”
Choi Leeong grunted, still observing Jayu intently.
Clothes made of expensive Shu brocade [^(Luxurious silk fabric originating from Sichuan)], a pale, aristocratic face.
Plus that natural, unconscious air of condescension when speaking… clearly a young master from an extremely powerful family. +3 points.
Palms free of calluses, temples showing no sign of cultivated internal energy… definitely hasn't practiced martial arts.
+3 points.
Casually striking up a conversation with an unknown woman in public… reckless and frivolous. -5 points.
Seems unpretentious, doesn’t care about formal titles. +2 points.
Clearly friendless, therefore likely not an outgoing troublemaker type. +3 points.
Total score: 6 points.
Barely meets the minimum threshold for observation. Pathetic. (Choi Leeong’s personal minimum acceptable score for anyone associating with Qing started at 100.)
As they chatted, they approached the entrance to Changryong’s restaurant.
Just across from the door stood a group of rough-looking individuals, lounging with defiant postures, glaring daggers at the entrance.
They clearly weren't here for friendly reasons. Qing’s curiosity immediately flared.
“Hey, who are those charming folks over there?” she asked Jayu, nodding towards the group.
“Ah. You mean the ‘cancelled ones’?”
“Cancelled ones?”
“People whose reservations got cancelled,” Jayu explained.
“Sometimes, unforeseen circumstances arise, and the restaurant simply can’t accommodate all the bookings for the day. Those with reservations inevitably get cancelled.”
“The problem,” he continued, “is how the restaurant handles it.
Reservations here are booked solid for a month and a half straight. Customers might travel here specifically for their booking, or arrange their entire trip around it.
So, getting cancelled suddenly is infuriating. And when the restaurant just shoves their deposit back at them and tells them to get lost, basically? That makes them doubly pissed off.”
“They just return the deposit and that’s it?” Qing asked, surprised.
“What else can they realistically do?” Jayu shrugged. “Offer them a new reservation 45 days from now? Bump someone else who has a reservation tomorrow? Neither is feasible.”
“Yeah, guess that’s true,”
Qing conceded with a nod.
After all, when it comes to restaurants, amazing food is the ultimate power.
Customers practically grovelled, throwing money just for a chance to eat. That’s why the truly successful, wildly popular places could afford to close twice a week and take every single public holiday off—they simply weren't desperate for the business.
“So, what are they doing just standing over there, then?” Qing asked, still watching the disgruntled group.
“Protesting, I suppose? Making their displeasure known?”
“Seriously? Some people really have nothing better to do with their time,”
Qing scoffed, letting out a derisive hiss of air.
Sure, getting cancelled would suck. But if the restaurant clearly wasn't going to budge, what was the point of standing around glaring like constipated gargoyles?
Wasn't that just wasting time and ruining your own mood?
Definitely people with too much time on their hands.
…Or at least, that’s what Qing had thought, right up until the moment a restaurant employee stepped in front of her.
“Excuse me, Customer,” the employee said curtly, not even making eye contact. “Tonight’s reservations have all been cancelled. An esteemed guest has booked the entire establishment for a private function.”
“What?!” Qing spluttered.
“We will return your deposit, doubled, for the inconvenience.” He thrust a small pouch into her hand.
Qing numbly took the pouch.
The deposit hadn't been insignificant, but it wasn't a fortune either. Even doubled, it hardly felt like a windfall.
My… My Ultimate Malatang… she thought, utterly dumbfounded.
While Qing was still reeling, Jayu stepped forward smoothly.
“Hold on,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “There should be a reservation under the name ‘Xin Hui’. Has that reservation been cancelled as well?”
“What part of ‘esteemed guest rented the entire place’ did you not understand?” the employee retorted rudely.
“And just how ‘esteemed’ is this particular guest?” Jayu pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“It happens to be the ‘Understanding Flower’ (Haeeohwa) of the Tang Clan herself,” the employee replied with a sniff, clearly dropping the name for effect. “She has graced us with her personal presence. Are you satisfied now?”
Jayu’s easygoing expression instantly hardened into a mask of stone.
Meanwhile, Qing felt her internal temperature rapidly approaching boiling point.
Okay, fine! FINE!
Cancellations happen! Esteemed guest, whatever!
I’ve already experienced plenty of this bullshit tiered treatment in this primitive, barbaric society where guests are ranked like cattle!
BUT THE FUCKING ATTITUDE! THAT’S A SEPARATE ISSUE!
This asshole waiter—instead of bowing apologetically for screwing up her reservation—was just stiffly shoving money at her, basically telling her to take it and piss off? How could she possibly just stand here and take that?
Just as Qing’s explosive temper reached its limit, just as she was about to unleash holy hell—
“Hey, you mo—”
“Don’t do it, friend,” Jayu murmured urgently, placing a restraining hand lightly on her arm. “Not here. Not in Sichuan. Getting involved in the Tang Clan’s affairs… it never ends well. Trust me, it's not worth it.”
“Tang Clan?”
“The Sichuan Tang Clan,” Jayu confirmed gravely. “One of the Five Great Families of the Central Plains.”
“Ah.” Recognition flickered. “Right, I’ve heard of them.”
She vaguely recalled Peng Dashan and Namgung Shinjae mentioning them.
Peng had called them something like persistent, petty bastards. And Jian Yu—no, Namgung Shinjae—had said they were the richest family in Sichuan, famous for their mastery of poisons.
Peng was usually an open book; his expression back then had been pure disgust. Must have had a really bad run-in with the Tang Clan himself, Qing guessed.
(Her unique talent seemed to be reading people’s expressions perfectly, but only when it related to things they disliked.)
Anyway, the look on Jayu’s face right now was dead serious, almost funereal.
His palpable urgency managed to puncture her boiling rage, just barely. Thwarted, Qing could only fume silently, letting out frustrated puffs of air as Jayu gently guided her away from the restaurant entrance.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she started walking purposefully towards the small crowd of other ‘cancelled ones’ still loitering nearby.
“Friend,” Jayu asked, sounding wary, “where are you going now?”
“Just want to see how precious this ‘esteemed guest's’ face is, that she gets to just cancel everyone else's reservations whenever she feels like it. Why?” Qing replied defiantly.
“Didn’t you hear the waiter? It’s the ‘Understanding Flower’?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard!” Qing snapped impatiently. “Haeeohwa, ‘Flower that understands speech’ or whatever. So she’s supposed to be, what, incredibly beautiful? All the more reason I should at least get a look at her face, right?”
Jayu stared at her, his expression utterly incredulous.
“You wear a sword at your waist,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “and you travel the martial world, yet you truly don’t know of the Speaking Flower? The Poisonous Flower Haeeohwa, one of the infamous Five Flowers of the Central Plains? Friend… are you absolutely certain you’re even a martial artist?”
