Chapter 10: This Chicken Soup Is Delicious~

“What happened? What happened?”

The commotion earlier had finally drawn the attention of some servants in the Ximen residence.

Now, people inside the Ximen residence were already carrying torches, searching everywhere.

“It’s time to leave.”

Zhang Jie glanced at the growing glow of torches outside the side chamber.

He knew it was time to end tonight’s revenge.

“This jade pendant…”

Zhang Jie’s gaze returned to the sheep-fat white jade Guanyin pendant still clutched in his hand.

“Forget it. Let it bury with Master Ximen.”

Zhang Jie casually tossed the priceless jade pendant onto the lifeless body of Ximen Qing.

Although he was deeply intrigued by this jade pendant—carved from aged sheep-fat white jade by a master artisan—

it was ultimately something Ximen Qing had carried with him for years,

and many in the Ximen household, as well as outsiders like Ximen Qing’s cronies such as Huazixu, knew it well; keeping it risked exposure.

Moreover, purely from a financial standpoint, his late father,

Master Zhang, had already left him more than enough inheritance; there was no need to add unnecessary risk.

With a firm decision, Zhang Jie flashed away, vanishing instantly from the chaotic side chamber.

Not long after Zhang Jie left, a servant carrying a torch discovered the shattered window,

entered the chamber, and found the corpses of Master Ximen and Dai’an inside.

“Master Ximen! Master Ximen is dead!”

A shrill, nearly broken scream pierced through the entire Ximen residence.

At that moment, the servant had so panicked he completely forgot Master Ximen’s longstanding order

that every servant in the Ximen household must call him “Father.”

“What?”

“Master Ximen is dead?”

“Who killed Master Ximen?”

The entire Ximen residence was jolted awake by this explosive news,

and in an instant, the vast Ximen estate descended into chaos.

When Ximen Qing’s wife Wu Yueniang and concubine Li Ping’er entered the chamber

and saw his severed arms and blood streaming from all seven orifices, they fainted on the spot.

With Master Ximen, the family’s pillar, gone, and the mistress unconscious,

the Ximen household—with dozens of servants and great wealth—suddenly found itself leaderless.

A few sharp servants had already glimpsed the inevitable decline of the Ximen family; their eyes began to dart nervously…

Zhang Jie knew nothing of this, nor did he care.

He had already returned home silently.

First, he put away his nightclothes—spotless despite having killed two men—

then removed the dummy used to deceive others from the bed, lay down comfortably,

pulled his beloved little quilt over himself, and fell peacefully asleep.

Will you be unable to sleep after killing someone?

Zhang Jie: I only killed two men who sought wealth by taking lives. Where’s the problem?

…

“Ah!

Today is another beautiful day, truly a wonderful day.”

In the morning, Zhang Jie’s decades-old biological clock woke him on time.

He rose leisurely, stretching out with a long, satisfying yawn.

Pan Jinlian, who came to attend to Zhang Jie’s morning ablutions, glanced at the sky

and silently rolled her eyes: the heavens were thick with dark clouds,

as if the city were about to collapse under the weight of storm clouds and a tempest was imminent—where was the “beautiful day”?

Hmm, under Zhang Jie’s influence, Pan Jinlian was no longer some illiterate maid.

Zhang Jie himself did not subscribe to the notion that “a woman’s virtue lies in her lack of talent.”

For someone who once aspired to the imperial examinations, a talented and virtuous wife was essential.

…

Yet Pan Jinlian did not directly expose Zhang Jie. After all these years,

this was the first time she had seen him so cheerful.

After washing up, Zhang Jie went to the main hall for breakfast.

“Young Master, the ginseng chicken soup is here~”

As soon as Zhang Jie sat down, the Zhang family’s cook brought his daily staple—ginseng chicken soup.

This soup was made by simmering a many-year-old hen with aged Mount Zhangbai ginseng,

richly nourishing and delicious,

and had been the essential medicinal dish for the formerly frail Zhang Jie to strengthen his Qi.

“Young Master, drink your soup.”

Pan Jinlian, seated beside Zhang Jie, ladled him half a bowl of soup.

First, Zhang Jie’s parents, Master and Mistress Zhang, had already passed away;

Zhang Jie was now the sole direct heir of the Zhang household.

Second, as a transmigrator, Zhang Jie held little regard for rigid social hierarchies,

so although Pan Jinlian was nominally his maid,

in practice she had always eaten and lived with him.

When she first sat at the table, she had been terrified, insisting it violated propriety.

But Zhang Jie declared that in the Zhang household, he could do whatever he pleased.

Since then, Pan Jinlian had become utterly devoted and obedient to Zhang Jie.

Had Zhang Jie’s body not been so weak before, he would surely have unlocked more knowledge by now.

…

Holding the soup bowl, Zhang Jie’s thoughts drifted far away.

He couldn’t help recalling the internet-famous soup from before his transmigration:

Reporter: “Is your chicken soup pre-made?”

Xibei employee: “No, it’s freshly boiled this morning, fresh.”

Reporter: “Can we see the chicken meat used to make it?”

Employee: “There’s no chicken meat.”

Reporter: “If there’s no chicken meat, how do you make chicken soup?”

Employee: “Well… we just add water to a seasoning packet.”

Reporter: “So your chicken soup has no chicken? It’s pre-made food?”

Employee: “No, the soup was boiled fresh this morning, fresh.”

…

Zhang Jie, long immersed in the internet, instantly understood:

Freshly boiled, fresh chicken soup made from a seasoning packet—prepared in the morning,

the packet is pre-made, but my chicken soup is made by mixing the packet with fresh water today.

Zhang Jie had originally thought the central kitchen prepared it overnight and delivered it to local stores,

but then realized the packets might sit unused for one or two years—wasn’t that pure semantic trickery?

Perhaps when the reporter asked where the chicken went after boiling, the Xibei employee should have replied:

“After boiling the soup, the chicken was too tired—it went home to sleep~”

This trick Zhang Jie knew well:

One spoon of three-flower egg milk, one spoon of disodium inosinate,

one spoon of chicken-flavor paste (flavor added as needed)—fresh, fragrant chicken soup ready to serve…

Zhang Jie once read a comment that nearly made him laugh himself to death:

A customer brought her child to Xibei and always made the child eat the broccoli.

But after the news broke, the world collapsed—the broccoli was older than the child.

The child was only one year old, yet the broccoli the customer ordered was already two.

When the broccoli was packed, the child hadn’t even been conceived yet!

One day, a family of three dined at Xibei.

The male customer took a bite of the broccoli, sensed something off, and asked:

“Is this dish pre-made?”

The attendant hastily shook his head and protested: “No! We are all freshly cooked!”

The guest took another sip and found the flavor still off; he went to the kitchen and saw the chef cutting open a package.

The guest flew into a rage and shouted: “Isn’t this just pre-made food?”

The chef retorted: “This is pre-processed—hardly qualifies as pre-made food!”

With that, he turned on the microwave to heat it.

The guest fell silent, glanced at the bag, and returned to his seat.

His wife asked: “How is it? Is it freshly made?”

The guest pointed at his son and laughed: “When he sees this broccoli, he’ll call it ‘brother’!”

The son: “Ugh!”

It turned out the broccoli was from Korea; the neighboring table had cabbage from Qin.

The chef roared: “Bring me the scissors!”

In an instant, wind and clouds churned, spiritual energy converged from all directions, the sun and moon inverted, and the Milky Way flickered into view.

In the void, countless light points coalesced into chains descending from the heavens, binding the scissors to the packet.

A thousand golden rays surged from the refrigerator, intertwining with the microwave to form a vast, floating book.

On its cover were written the words: “Organic Broccoli.”

Above the clouds, celestial music drifted; immortal cranes carried talismans, and fairy children floated in with the Celestial Artisan’s compass.

The chef, having grasped this great Dao’s truth, was wreathed in holy light; henceforth, his name echoed across the world, opening a new chapter in the Culinary Dao.

Thus it is said: A single pair of scissors falls to mortal earth, blending chicken broth to settle heaven and earth;

A thousand-year mystery solved in one dawn—pre-made packets span past and future!

…

Lao Luo took off Jia’s coat, only for Jia to strip his underwear and show everyone, shouting through a loudspeaker for all to come see.

Lao Luo was utterly baffled:

“I don’t even know—he suddenly slashed himself…”

I told him to provide evidence, not to mutilate himself!

Who is Luo Yonghao?

He is the legendary figure of the martial world, who in decades of duels had only ever lost to a Starbucks barista.

His act of slapping himself repeatedly over the distinctions between medium, large, and extra-large cups still lingers vividly in Zhang Jie’s memory.

Zhang Jie had watched Jia’s livestream and thought the boss of Xibei was a quiet, honest man.

He spent an entire night poring over The Art of War but still couldn’t figure out which strategy Xibei was using.

Could this be the legendary self-sacrifice into Luo’s net—clumsily, unknowingly, checking oneself to death?

As he wandered through Xibei Restaurant, he realized only the customers were freshly slaughtered…

At Xi Bei Restaurant, he walked around and found that only the customers were freshly slaughtered…

“Young master, young master, what are you thinking about?”

Seeing Zhang Jie holding the chicken soup, motionless, Pan Jinlian waved her slender jade hand before his eyes, puzzled.

Seeing Zhang Jie holding the chicken soup but not moving, Pan Jinlian waved her slender jade hand in front of his face, puzzled.

I’m fine—I was just thinking this chicken soup is incredibly delicious~

Jinlian, you should drink more too.”

Zhang Jie replied absentmindedly, snapping back to reality.

“Is the chicken soup really this good today?”

Confused, Pan Jinlian scooped up a spoonful and tasted it; she frowned:

“It’s the same as always! Why is my young master acting so strange today?”

Yet seeing the smile Zhang Jie had worn since waking,

Pan Jinlian instantly cast the thought aside:

Her world was simple—Zhang Jie was her entire universe; as long as he was happy, she was happy~

“Jinlian, any big news today?”

Zhang Jie asked, sipping his soup.

In the past, he had been absorbed in reading; aside from the steward’s weekly seven-day report,

all news came from Pan Jinlian, who would relay it to him over tea and meals.

All of it was told to him by Pan Jinlian after she had tidied up, over tea and meals.

Pan Jinlian, cheeks puffed like a hamster, swallowed a pastry and replied:

“Young master, there’s truly great news today—

that despicable Ximen Qing has been killed!”

Pan Jinlian gestured wildly as she spoke:

Heaven knew how much she despised that Ximen the Official.

On several occasions when he visited the Zhang household,

his gaze toward her brimmed with revolting desire.

“What? Ximen Qing was murdered? Who dared do this?”

Zhang Jie, who had personally sent Ximen Qing and his personal servant Dai’an to their deaths, set his bowl down on the table,

face filled with shock—as if he were truly stunned by the news.

Zhang Jie: Life is a play—reliant entirely on acting!

“Yes, they say Ximen Qing died a terrible death. The patrol soldiers, yamen runners,

and constables have sealed off several streets, hunting for the murderer!”

Pan Jinlian’s tone brimmed with glee.

“Do you think they’ll catch the killer?”

Zhang Jie asked casually, picking up a pastry with his chopsticks.

Zhang Jie picked up a piece of pastry with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth, asking casually.

Not only do those constables and yamen runners lack the will or ability,

but by common sense, whoever committed such a crime must be a seasoned bandit,

highly experienced. He’s surely fled Yanggu County by now.”

Having lived in Yanggu County for over a decade—especially after the Zhang family’s caravan was robbed

and the yamen did nothing after accepting five hundred taels—

Pan Jinlian had grave doubts about the yamen’s competence and integrity.

Zhang Jie, calmly savoring his soup, smiled faintly:

“I, humble as I am, am precisely that seasoned bandit who has already fled to distant lands.”

"I am but an unworthy fellow, yet I am precisely the seasoned outlaw who should already have fled to another land~"