The Game of Life-Chapter 843 - 842 Grandmaster (Three) (Extra Chapter for

Chapter 843 -842: Grandmaster (Three) (Extra Chapter for Alliance Hierarch JUJUUUU!)

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Chapter 843 -842: Grandmaster (Three) (Extra Chapter for Alliance Hierarch JUJUUUU!)

Making broth is different from stir-frying and chopping vegetables. It is a very lengthy process that requires time and patience.

From the fifteenth day, the young servants who used to line up in the Jiang Family’s small courtyard to collect ingredients each day had disappeared, only coming each morning to deliver fresh ingredients. Only the three little creatures of the Jiang Family remained, as before, braving the elements each day to quietly watch Jiang Chengde in the kitchen from outside the window, merely watching without even daring to speak softly, silently observing every day.

Just like them, Jiang Feng silently watched every day in the kitchen.

He watched Jiang Chengde handle whole chickens, large chunks of pork bones, dried shrimp, scallops, shiitake mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and ham.

He watched him make broth, watched him add firewood.

In an era without gas stoves, preparing a pot of quality broth was far from the convenience and simplicity it later became.

Making broth demanded time, at least six hours and sometimes as much as twenty. For Jiang Feng, making broth merely required adjusting the fire properly, setting an alarm, and waiting until he felt the time was about right to stand watch by the pot. During the long hours in between, he could handle other ingredients or simply rest outside. It wasn’t necessary to continuously stand by the pot and tirelessly watch.

But Jiang Chengde couldn’t do that.

Because he used firewood.

In the era of using firewood, controlling the fire was particularly challenging. A skilled chef couldn’t be merely competent himself. He also needed a skilled firewood tender, preferably one in sync with the cooking chef. This was the way to produce truly perfect dishes.

This was also why in Taifeng Building, it was imperative that Jiang Chengde’s own son tended the fire when he cooked.

Jiang Chengde made broth for a full seven days, using the same ingredients each day, and talking around the same time from morning until it turned completely dark, dedicating several hours to produce a single pot of broth.

Then, this broth wasn’t even used for dishes but for boiling noodles; a large pot of it, which the Jiang Family ate for seven days.’

Eating made Jiang Feng feel that the first thing he would do when he left would be to make a pot of broth and then cook noodles.

Delicious food often requires the simplest cooking methods: a bowl of broth and a handful of noodles are enough, not even needing an egg added.

Jiang Feng could feel that the seven days Jiang Chengde spent making broth were different from the previous fourteen days.

In the previous fourteen days, repeating every seven days, Jiang Chengde was striving to replicate the state of progress from a beginner to a learned status, advancing step by step, gradually becoming stronger. But during these seven days, Jiang Chengde seemed more like he was exploring and attempting.

He gave his all, devotedly making each pot of broth, seven pots across seven days, as if seeking the limits of his current culinary skills.

This made Jiang Feng even more eager to see what Jiang Chengde would do on the twenty-second day.

On the twenty-second day, Jiang Chengde began practicing flipping spoons.

On the twenty-fifth day, Jiang Chengde began practicing thickening sauces.

On the twenty-eighth day, Jiang Chengde began practicing frying.

On the thirty-first day, Jiang Chengde began practicing braising.

On the thirty-fourth day, Jiang Chengde began practicing stewing.

On the thirty-seventh day, Jiang Chengde began practicing steaming.

On the fortieth day, Jiang Chengde began practicing quick frying.

…

On the sixty-first day, Jiang Chengde began practicing caramelizing sugar in oil.

On the sixty-fourth day, Jiang Chengde began practicing large spoon flips.

Unknowingly, Jiang Feng had already spent over two whole months in this memory.

However, he didn’t feel that this time was long; in fact, he felt it was too short. In these two months, he had his eyes widely opened.

He watched as Jiang Chengde, teaching almost like showing off his skills, repeatedly demonstrated all the culinary techniques he could imagine, knew, or understood—both familiar and unfamiliar—performing task after task.

Ordinary, high difficulty, and supreme skills,

Increasing level by level, each day tougher than the last.

Watching made Jiang Feng somewhat alarmed, experiencing for the first time why both Sir and Peng Changping held Jiang Chengde in such high esteem.

He was like an encyclopedia of Chinese cuisine, understanding all techniques and familiar with all of them. This truly combined the strengths of hundreds, only lacking integration and comprehension.

And now, he was integrating and comprehending.

Jiang Chengde was enlightening; Jiang Feng was learning.

Now, he followed behind Jiang Chengde every day, not stopping for a moment, watching him chop vegetables, cook, tend the fire, and even wash dishes. The kitchen was still accessible only to Jiang Chengde—weijin, everyone else had to wait outside, standing silently and not daring to make a noise.

By this point, even if they didn’t understand what Jiang Chengde was doing, they all realized he was engaged in an unprecedented, immensely significant undertaking.

The courtyard was once again lined up with long queues, Jiang Feng felt there were more young servants than at the beginning, growing from one line to two, from early morning until the moon hung over the willow branches, waiting for dish after dish to continually emerge from the kitchen, with people coming and going in an endless stream, yet incredibly quiet.

Large spoon flips were the last technique Jiang Chengde practiced.

Basics cycled every seven days, techniques every three days. When the sixty-sixth day ended, just as Jiang Feng thought Jiang Chengde would begin to integrate and comprehend, or start practicing a new technique he couldn’t imagine, Jiang Chengde chose to stop.

Over these two-plus months, he hadn’t taken a single day’s break, toiling in the kitchen from morning to evening, tirelessly revolving around the stove, like a robot endlessly practicing and cooking dishes, with one exquisite, fragrant dish after another being created by his hands.

Now, he began to stop cooking.

Just as Jiang Feng felt he was about to integrate and comprehend, becoming a grandmaster and truly starting to write his own chapter of culinary arts, Jiang Chengde suddenly stopped.

He still stayed in the kitchen every day, yet no longer picked up a cleaver or a spatula but instead sat quietly on a small stool, seemingly pondering or daydreaming as he stared at the stove.

He sat like this for three days.

During these three days, Jiang Chengde hadn’t cooked at all, not even breakfast, with the Jiang family’s meals all prepared by Jiang Huiqin. As Jiang Huiqin cooked, Jiang Chengde sat in the kitchen watching, observing her cook silently without comment or intervention, even though sometimes the dishes Jiang Huiqin prepared were really not that great.

The young servants in the courtyard had disappeared. Jiang Weijin, Jiang Weiming, and others of that age still went to work at Taifeng Building every day as usual. Although Jiang Chengde was not cooking, everyone still dared not disturb him.

It wasn’t completely without disturbances; Mr. Lu visited on the third day Jiang Chengde stopped cooking in the afternoon. He didn’t mention anything about Jiang Chengde returning to work but brought some supplements like bird’s nest and cordyceps, feigning concern for Jiang Chengde’s health.

Jiang Chengde didn’t meet him and stayed in the kitchen as usual, while Jiang Huiqin dealt with Mr. Lu, telling him her brother was at a critical moment of contemplation and asking Mr. Lu not to disturb him.

Jiang Chengde was like Wang Yangming in the old days, who sat in his courtyard carving bamboo, focusing on the stove daily. Like the Wang family watching Wang Yangming back then, no one could understand what exactly he was doing.

Perhaps Jiang Chengde didn’t quite understand himself.

But Jiang Feng was beginning to understand.

Jiang Chengde’s culinary skills were now fully matured; he had mastered almost all Chinese cooking techniques and had revisited them all in the past two months. He was now searching for a path of his own, one that transcended these techniques and truly integrated them comprehensively.

A master, deeply accomplished.

A grandmaster, establishes his own school.

Jiang Chengde was undergoing the transformation from master to grandmaster.

This transformation took just over a dozen days.

Since Jiang Chengde spent each day sitting in the kitchen in a daze, unlike before when he practiced dishes on a schedule, it became hard for Jiang Feng to keep track of whether he had been in the kitchen for seventeen or eighteen days.

Jiang Chengde was in a daze; Jiang Feng was in a daze too.

He was reminiscing, recalling, contemplating, and experiencing everything Jiang Chengde had demonstrated in the past two months.

This was an unreserved culinary display by a master about to become a grandmaster—Jiang Feng felt he could reminisce for two years, and perhaps even two years wouldn’t be enough to fully digest it.

On the eighteenth or nineteenth day, for the first time, Jiang Chengde got out of bed in the morning and didn’t go straight to the kitchen to sit and stare.

“Huiqin,” Jiang Chengde hadn’t spoken to his family members in so long that suddenly calling Jiang Huiqin’s name might not have elicited any reaction.

“Brother!” Jiang Huiqin exclaimed happily.

Jiang Chengde handed her a note, “Go and buy the ingredients on this note, no need to bother Mr. Lu, just one set.”

“Okay!” Jiang Huiqin took the note and, like an excited rabbit, hopped away with her basket.

Jiang Huiqin was very efficient in shopping; she returned with the ingredients Jiang Chengde wanted in just over half an hour. Jiang Feng was stunned by the ingredients; he knew them too well.

These were the ingredients for Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup.

Jiang Chengde was going to make Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup.

In these two months, Jiang Chengde had cooked many dishes, some easy, some hard, and even made Roasted Pig and Buddhas Jumping Over the Wall, but he hadn’t made Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup. Jiang Feng hadn’t thought much about it, and if he had, he would have assumed the reason was that the time required for Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup wasn’t necessary.

But now, seeing the ingredients Jiang Huiqin had bought, Jiang Feng suddenly understood.

It wasn’t unnecessary; Jiang Chengde had deliberately refrained from making it. He wanted to save Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup for last.

Jiang Feng followed Jiang Chengde into the kitchen, watching him start to prepare the broth, deal with the sea cucumbers, and begin the stewing process.

The steps were so familiar, yet somewhat foreign.

Jiang Chengde’s method differed a bit from Jiang Hengzhong’s and also from what Peng Changping taught Jiang Feng.

They were all different, each person’s Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup was unique.

Not just different in terms of habits, but distinctly noticeable.

Each person’s Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup had something unique about it.

Jiang Feng quietly watched Jiang Chengde cook.

As before, from morning till evening.

Yet not quite as before, for the first time, Jiang Feng found himself drifting off while watching.

If there had been a camera to capture Jiang Feng’s distracted moments and then show him, Jiang Feng would have realized that his distracted state closely resembled Jiang Chengde’s daily kitchen gazes over the past dozen days.

Plus, the fact that the two already looked somewhat alike made it even more akin.

The aroma began to fill the kitchen.

Jiang Feng’s thoughts drifted further with the scent.

The dish was ready, and Jiang Huiqin, unbeknownst to him, had entered the kitchen and stood beside Jiang Chengde.

Jiang Huiqin was as before, not daring to speak or disturb.

“Huiqin, come and taste this,” Jiang Chengde spoke first, despite Jiang Huiqin’s silence.

Jiang Huiqin stepped forward, hesitated for a moment, and scooped up half a spoonful of the sea cucumber soup.

She blew on it gently and took a sip.

Jiang Huiqin’s eyes lit up.

“Is it different from before?” Jiang Chengde asked with a smile. It was the first time in over two months that Jiang Feng had seen Jiang Chengde smile.

Jiang Huiqin nodded frantically, her face filled with surprise and excitement. She swallowed the hot soup eagerly and replied eagerly, “Yes, it’s different, brother! It’s not the same as the ones you made before.”

“Really different!”

“That’s good,” Jiang Chengde appeared very calm.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight. You go to Taifeng Building and tell Mr. Lu that I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jiang Feng emerged from his memories.