Chapter 13: The Seasoning

Before setting out on the ninth day, the old village chief, of course, had discussed the pricing of the tofu with Chu Jiu.

If one only considered the cost, ten copper coins’ worth of beans could yield thirty servings of tofu.

The old village chief, being generous, thought that selling ten portions for five copper coins would already earn a decent profit.

However, judging by Marco’s earlier reaction, Chu Jiu estimated that Marco’s psychological price point far exceeded the village chief’s valuation.

After all, this ingredient was a “lost craft,” a “high-class dessert to cut through oiliness and aid digestion after meals”!

If Chu Jiu set the price too low, it might cause Marco to doubt the preciousness of such an ingredient.

So Chu Jiu said nothing at first, silently holding up five fingers.

Marco was taken aback. “Fifty copper coins…?”

Though the tofu was indeed delicious, fifty copper coins for a small portion was outrageously expensive, beyond the reach of most townsfolk.

Chu Jiu nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Marco’s breath hitched slightly.

Chu Jiu added, “Fifty copper coins for ten portions.”

That was to say, five copper coins per serving—a tenfold increase over the village chief’s price.

Yet to Marco, this was only a tenth of what he had initially guessed!

Wasn’t this a huge bargain?

His furrowed brow instantly relaxed, his eyes gleamed with excitement, and a grin spread uncontrollably across his face.

Inwardly, he praised Chu Jiu for his honesty and, fearing Chu Jiu might reconsider, hastily declared, “Alright! I’ll buy it!”

Upon hearing that the village still had plenty of tofu, Marco immediately decided to go to Bean Village to stock up first thing the next morning.

Thus, the deal was sealed.

Marco first bought the remaining nine portions of tofu from Chu Jiu’s backpack, pondering which customers to offer a taste first, and curiously asked, “What exactly is this made from?”

Milk? Flour? Animal fat? Or some plant sap?

Chu Jiu replied solemnly, “It’s made from a specialty of Bean Village.”

Marco paused, thinking: Besides beans and corn, Bean Village had other specialties?

Having been around the block for years, Marco knew better than to ask too many questions—what mattered was making a profit.

*

When Chu Jiu left Marco’s shop, the sky was still bright and other market stalls were open.

In Marco’s shop, Chu Jiu bought a long roll of coarse cloth, two earthenware jars, a kitchen knife, a frying pan, a bottle of wine, a set of spare flint stones, a stack of large plates, and a sack of coarse flour mixed with wheat bran.

Other items he wanted were not in stock and would need to be procured elsewhere.

So Chu Jiu planned to explore the market.

Indeed, the market was bustling with merchants and colorful goods.

After browsing, Chu Jiu successfully purchased onions, tomatoes, celery, and some vegetable and fruit seeds.

He also found a textile shop selling clothing and bedding.

However, a single quilt there cost 200 copper coins and emitted a strong, unpleasant duck-feather smell.

Chu Jiu considered it might be better to sew one himself from linen or simply use a beast-skin sleeping bag for now.

*

Having abandoned the idea of buying a quilt, Chu Jiu persistently searched for an “iron wok.”

He wanted a large iron wok with a curved bottom for stir-frying.

Yet all the vendors, including traveling merchants like Marco, only had flat-bottomed frying pans and stew pots.

When Chu Jiu described wanting an iron pot “that looks like a big spoon from the side,” the merchants looked puzzled and asked, “Isn’t a pot supposed to have a flat bottom? How could it have a pointed bottom?”

Reflecting on their confusion, Chu Jiu understood: much like ancient Europe on Blue Star, where “high-heat stir-frying” was unknown for a long time, this world simply had no culinary technique of slicing vegetables thinly and quickly frying them in oil—thus, no corresponding wok existed.

Finally, Chu Jiu found a blacksmith’s shop tucked away in a market corner. He paid a hefty 350 copper coins and commissioned the blacksmith to forge a custom iron wok, to be completed in two weeks and then delivered to Bean Village by Marco.

There was no other way; although Chu Jiu knew how to make the wok, his small cabin lacked a furnace capable of melting iron ore. Even with the recipe and ore, he couldn’t conjure a pot with spiritual power.

Besides bedding and the iron wok, there was a third item Chu Jiu wanted but couldn’t buy: sauces.

Chu Jiu went directly to the largest spice shop in the market.

When he said he wanted “all sorts of spices and seasonings,” the shopkeeper beamed and declared, “You’ve come to the right place.”

“No one in Emerald Town has a more complete selection of seasonings than me.”

“Do you want sweet, sour, or salty flavors?”

Chu Jiu hesitated, then cautiously said, “Let’s start with salty.”

The shopkeeper eagerly handed over a small jar. “Here, fresh fish sauce!”

“This has been fermenting for a full six months!”

“It’s absolutely salty enough!”

Chu Jiu believed it was indeed salty—just from the strong smell of fermented fish and shrimp wafting out, even without opening the jar.

His mouth twitched; the little canned creature inside seemed about to spew, while the little rabbit weakly growled, “What on earth is this stuff? It’s terrifying, growl growl growl…”

Chu Jiu thought: this was a fermented fish sauce, much like how in Huaxia, beans are fermented into soy sauce or bean paste. The principle was similar, but the raw materials and methods differed greatly, resulting in a very distinct flavor.

He controlled his expression and said to the shopkeeper, “Let me see the sweet and sour sauces as well.”

The sweet sauces were more normal—honey, jam, butter—but astonishingly expensive.

The sour sauce was vinegar made from grapes, reasonably priced.

After surveying the selection, Chu Jiu asked in puzzlement, “Is there no other seasoning? Like pepper or something?”

In fact, in Chu Jiu’s memory, there were illustrated cards for spices like “pepper” and “cinnamon.” But beyond Sichuan pepper and garlic, other spices were not found within the Forgotten Forest.

So before exploring those regions on the map, he intended to buy some ready-made spices and also gauge their prices.

Yet the shopkeeper’s reaction surprised him.

“Pepper? Pepper?”

The shopkeeper repeated the word “pepper” several times with astonishment, then looked at Chu Jiu incredulously and said,

“You actually know about this? That’s the legendary black gold!”

“It’s said that centuries ago, before the monster invasion, some pepper could be transported from distant lands.”

“Besides pepper, also… what was it… right! Cloves! Cinnamon!”

“Tut tut, they say a tiny amount is incredibly fragrant; a small bottle could be traded for dozens of sheep!”

“Nowadays, forget about Emerald Town—even the Sea Moon City doesn’t have such things.”

“Maybe Old Linburg might have some… but that place, well…” The shopkeeper shook his head meaningfully.

As for what Old Linburg actually was, the shopkeeper waved his hand dismissively, unwilling to say another word.

Hearing this, Chu Jiu understood why Marco chose to boil offal plainly—it wasn’t that he forgot spices, but that none were available here.

Chu Jiu didn’t press further about “how much pepper would sell for if he could acquire it,” nor did he ask “how much would freshly dug ginger fetch.”

In such a resource-scarce otherworld, recklessly revealing that he could obtain such costly items might not be wise.

After all, his skills could only protect against monsters, not bandits.

As for urgently needed seasonings like soy sauce or bean paste, he resolved to make them himself.

*

After finishing his shopping, Chu Jiu used his remaining copper coins to book a small inn room.

Lying on the hard mattress, he fashioned comfortable nests for his two little companions from his scarf and clothes.

The little rabbit, having eaten its fill of mutton, now lay in a warm, soft nest and fell asleep instantly, purring softly as it did.

The little canned creature, however, didn’t curl up in the cat bed as usual. Instead, it paced around the small room, even jumping onto the windowsill to look around—its expression resembling that of someone inspecting the safety of the place, searching for any hidden dangers.

Chu Jiu guessed that cats were simply more sensitive to their surroundings.

After its inspection, the little canned creature returned to its nest but, looking displeased, pawed its own cat bed to nudge it away from the snoring rabbit—apparently wanting to keep some distance.

Seeing this, Chu Jiu sat up and moved the cat bed from atop the dresser to beside his own pillow.

“How about you sleep here?” he suggested.

The little canned creature’s ears twitched, as if reluctantly agreeing, “Well, since you’re so earnest, I suppose I will.”

Once it curled into a familiar feline ball, Chu Jiu gently pressed its little forehead with his fingertip and spoke the words he hadn’t said that afternoon:

“Little Can, did you sense ahead of time that it wasn’t a troll, but the little rabbit, and that’s why you ran into the forest?”

Little Can: “Meow!” — “Of course!”

Chu Jiu sighed, “Don’t act so suddenly like that again.”

Little Can: “...Meow?” — “Why?”

Chu Jiu: “I was really worried.”

Chu Jiu wasn’t one for many words or expressing his feelings well.

He only knew that when he saw Little Can’s shadow vanish into the dense woods, he was sweating nervously all over.

Little Can tilted its head: “Meow?”

Chu Jiu sighed again. “If there had really been a troll or some other monster to hurt you, I... I would have been very upset.”

Little Can didn’t meow again.

Instead, it lifted its head and gently rubbed its forehead against Chu Jiu’s cheek.