Chapter 27: The Perils of Pickled Fish

The moment the word ‘dinner’ reached his ears, Bai Chen felt a wave of dread wash over him.

A single meal of duck leg stewed with sweet potato vermicelli had nearly claimed his life; how could he possibly be expected to stay for dinner?

The mere thought of Mo Qiu preparing a table laden with her horrifying culinary creations sent shivers down his spine, making his teeth involuntarily chatter.

Bai Chen had often contemplated the potential endings to his life, with the absolute worst scenario being a demise at the hands of a demonic beast, much like his parents.

To perish because a young woman, in a gesture of gratitude, cooked a feast so lethal that he succumbed before any rescue could be attempted—that would surely cement his legacy as an eternal laughingstock within the Demon Hunter Guild.

He would go down in history as the first demon hunter in the world to be poisoned to death by unpalatable food.

“What’s wrong, are you unwilling?” Mo Qiu tilted her head, a wisp of her flowing hair cascading gracefully beside her cheek.

“Ah, no, not at all, it’s just that… well, it’s getting quite late now. Since we’re having dinner, how about I go out and pick up some groceries for you?”

Desperate to find an excuse to escape, Bai Chen maintained unwavering eye contact as he spun his lie.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, whenever he faced Mo Qiu’s unchanging expression, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his deception would be effortlessly seen through.

“There’s no need,” she replied. “I’ve already prepared all the ingredients.”

“Ah?”

Mo Qiu led a bewildered Bai Chen into the kitchen, and as she opened the refrigerator, the sheer volume of food reserves displayed within nearly made his jaw hit the floor.

‘This is far too much,’ he thought.

Meats, fish, and an assortment of vegetables—everything imaginable was present, packed so tightly the refrigerator seemed ready to burst.

“Bai Chen,” Mo Qiu stated, “you haven’t actually tried my cooking, have you?”

Completely oblivious to the desperate, almost dying gaze fixed upon her, Mo Qiu squatted down, retrieving the ingredients she intended to use shortly from the fridge.

Bai Chen’s eyes followed her slender hand, and what he saw her retrieve sent a fresh wave of alarm through him: an array of chili peppers.

Red chilies, green chilies, yellow chilies, both pointed and round—was she planning a chili pepper feast?

Unable to contain himself, Bai Chen finally spoke, “Mo Qiu, are all these actually going to be used?”

“Yes,” the young woman replied, looking up at him.

Due to the difference in their heights and the loose cut of her dress, Bai Chen’s gaze nearly strayed to the subtle peaks visible within the depths of her neckline.

“So many chilies,” he pressed, “what are you going to make with them?”

“Peerless Twin Peppers.”

“Ah?”

“The red chilies, and the yellow chilies, both go into the pot…”

Before she could finish her explanation, Bai Chen understood perfectly: it was simply chili fried with more chili.

“Mo Qiu, will frying them like this truly taste good? It feels like there won’t be any flavor beyond sheer spiciness.”

“Wouldn’t it be fine if I just added seasonings?” Mo Qiu blinked innocently. “Bai Chen, do you prefer things a little sweeter or a little sourer?”

*Slap!* Bai Chen slapped his forehead with a resounding thud.

‘Why on earth does she enjoy such things?’ he despaired.

Glancing at the myriad of seasonings adorning the shelf, Bai Chen took a deep, fortifying breath, a profound sense of mission blossoming within his chest.

‘I must correct her culinary preferences,’ he vowed. ‘I cannot allow her to continue living such an unhealthy lifestyle.’

While he had no idea if Mo Qiu had eaten well when she lived with her parents, he absolutely would not permit this young woman to consume such preposterous concoctions under his roof.

At sixteen, still in her formative years, how could she constantly subsist on food so heavily laden with seasonings?

“Mo Qiu,” he proposed, “how about we try something different? Let’s skip the chilies and all the extra seasonings this time.”

Bai Chen’s suggestion left Mo Qiu momentarily stunned.

No chilies, perhaps, but no seasonings at all? Could such a thing even be considered edible?

Noticing her apparent confusion, Bai Chen cleared his throat and adopted a serious expression.

“Always eating the same flavor can become tiresome,” he lectured. “Tonight, we’ll experiment with something entirely different…”

“Who said the flavors are the same?” Mo Qiu interjected, cutting him off.

“The chicken leg with rice was salty, and the duck leg stewed with sweet potato vermicelli was sour. I try different flavors every day, so I never get bored.”

“Can’t we just try *not* adding any seasonings?”

“No,” she stated firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because… the taste would be too bland.”

‘Have your taste buds truly been so utterly ravaged that even salt and soy sauce can no longer satisfy them?’

Bai Chen let out a heavy sigh, utterly exasperated by the young woman’s stubbornness.

‘You, who are so willing to accommodate others in every other aspect, why must you be as stubborn as an ox when it comes to this?’

Hearing the gentle rush of water, he looked up, watching Mo Qiu’s back as she washed the ingredients.

Her soft, long hair completely obscured her neck, while her slender shoulders rose and fell subtly with the movements of her hands.

From behind, she appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary, nimble-fingered girl; no one would ever suspect she possessed eyes utterly devoid of highlights.

Bai Chen, in truth, wished he could look into her eyes more often.

‘It seems there’s only one way,’ he concluded.

“Mo Qiu, let me take over.”

He stepped forward, gently taking the ingredients she was washing from her hands, and as he anticipated, their eyes met.

Her eyes, as profound as the deepest ocean, seemed capable of drawing one’s very soul into their depths, and he almost found himself entranced.

Bai Chen, however, quickly regained his composure, smiling as he spoke.

“I can’t let you do all the work alone. You’ve already treated me to two meals; this time, allow me to cook for you.”

“Cook? You, Bai Chen?”

Mo Qiu actually recoiled two steps, her lifeless eyes narrowing slightly, as if to ascertain whether he was speaking utter nonsense.

“Hey, hey, don’t you dare underestimate me,” Bai Chen scoffed proudly. “I happen to know a thing or two about cooking.”

Initially, he had held no interest in cooking whatsoever.

However, after his parents’ passing, he had lived alone for a period, forcing him to learn.

For a junior high student reeling from such a devastating blow, that had been a particularly difficult and uncomfortable time.

Bai Chen vividly recalled how his early attempts at cooking invariably resulted in burnt, inedible messes—each bite felt like swallowing half the periodic table.

With practice, however, he had eventually mastered the art, capable of preparing meals that earned genuine praise.

“Don’t look so disbelieving,” he urged. “Not only can I cook well, but I can also teach you.”

With that, Bai Chen strode towards the refrigerator, pulling out a fish.

“Mo Qiu, do you know how to make pickled fish (TL Note: A popular Sichuan dish, ‘suancaiyu’, featuring fish cooked with pickled mustard greens and chili)?”

The young woman shook her head.

“Then this time, I’ll teach you how to make pickled fish.”

This particular dish, a classic blend of spicy and sour, stood a much higher chance of winning Mo Qiu’s approval.

‘Pickled fish…’

Mo Qiu’s eyes widened ever so slightly, a genuine flicker of anticipation stirring within her.

She had attempted it before, but every effort had ended in failure.

While the sour and spicy notes were always overwhelmingly present, the overall texture and flavor consistently fell short.

Since Bai Chen was willing to teach, she was naturally eager to learn, viewing it as an opportune moment to bridge the distance between them.

“So, what should I do?”

“Just listen to my instructions.”

Mo Qiu stood centrally, while Bai Chen took up a position beside her, issuing instructions.

First, they had to prepare the fish: sever the head, chop the bones into manageable pieces, slice the flesh, then thoroughly clean and marinate it with cornstarch.

Mo Qiu’s small hands moved with surprising dexterity, a level of skill that secretly astonished Bai Chen.

While the fish marinated, Bai Chen instructed Mo Qiu to prepare the equally crucial pickled mustard greens.

When he saw her retrieve the pickled mustard greens, give them a perfunctory rinse, and prepare to chop, Bai Chen quickly intervened.

“Have the pickled mustard greens been soaked?”

“No,” she replied.

“How many times have you washed them?”

“Once.”

“Wash them two more times,” Bai Chen instructed, letting out a relieved sigh. He truly couldn’t fathom how she managed to consume unsoaked pickled mustard greens.

Mo Qiu shot him a brief, almost imperceptible glare, yet she dutifully washed the pickled mustard greens twice before chopping them into small segments.

Next came the preparation of the aromatics—mountain peppers, garlic, ginger, and the like—all handled strictly under Bai Chen’s watchful eye, with no unauthorized additions permitted.

With all the ingredients prepped, it was time to light the stove and begin pan-frying the fish slices.

This step seemed straightforward enough, yet Mo Qiu failed to control the heat, causing the oil in the pan to splatter wildly, as if injected with pure adrenaline.

Bai Chen, who had instinctively retreated to a safe distance, quickly rushed forward upon seeing Mo Qiu stand utterly motionless amidst the flying oil.

“Your arm,” he asked, a flicker of concern in his voice, “doesn’t it hurt?”

The tiny red spots dotting her fair skin stung Bai Chen’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “What do we do next?”

“Pan-fry the fish slices.”

Once the fish slices were perfectly seared, the remaining steps were straightforward: stir-fry the pickled mustard greens, add water to boil a broth, then carefully place the fish slices and bones into the pot, followed by any remaining ingredients.

Bai Chen had intended to oversee her completion of the dish, but a sudden, violent twist in his stomach forced him to speak.

“Mo Qiu, where’s your bathroom?”

“Over there,” she pointed.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

With only the final step remaining, Mo Qiu gazed at the seasonings in her hand, her lips pressing into a faint, thoughtful line.

‘Pepper, add!’

‘White sugar, add!’

‘White vinegar, add!’

The young woman stared intently at the bubbling fish soup, her wrist trembling as she continuously poured in the seasonings.

When Bai Chen emerged from his three-hundred-round battle in the bathroom, he was immediately greeted by the aromatic scent of pickled fish.

“Is it ready?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Have you tasted it?”

“It’s alright.”

“I knew it!”

Bai Chen cheerfully served himself a bowl, picked up a tender, white slice of fish, and put it into his mouth.

The next moment, his expression froze.

In a mere two or three seconds, Bai Chen’s face underwent a rich tapestry of emotions, as if he had experienced the full spectrum of life’s joys and sorrows, only to be tripped just before reaching the peak, plummeting back into the abyss.

“It’s so…”

“So?” Mo Qiu blinked, her eyes wide.

“It’s so disgusting!” Bai Chen exploded, unable to bear it any longer. “It’s so spicy, so sour… no, this doesn’t taste like pickled fish at all!”

The acidity of the vinegar completely overwhelmed the pickled mustard greens, while the spiciness and saltiness joined hands, performing a full-body broadcast calisthenics routine in his mouth.

‘How could pickled fish be *this* awful?!’

“How much seasoning did you put in?” Bai Chen demanded, looking at the innocent-faced young woman.

“Just the normal amount.”

“Your ‘normal’ is the most abnormal! Water, I need water!”

After gulping down a large glass of plain water, Bai Chen finally felt his tongue had been saved.

He had truly underestimated Mo Qiu; he should never have left her alone, for the moment he did, she started ‘doing her thing’.

Having consumed the pickled fish, Bai Chen lay sprawled on the sofa like a salted fish himself.

The sky outside had grown dim, and Mo Qiu switched on the living room light, speaking with a hint of hesitation.

“Did it fail?”

“Mm…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” Bai Chen declared, springing to his feet. “Let’s try again. This time, I’ll guide you every step of the way.”

“Okay.”

‘I refuse to believe it! Tonight, we *will* succeed!’

Bai Chen rolled up his sleeves, re-entered the kitchen, and together with Mo Qiu, cleared the countertop, starting everything anew.

Fortunately, Mo Qiu had bought more than one fish; every time he saw the overflowing refrigerator, Bai Chen was reminded of a little hamster.

‘Is she hoarding food for winter?’ he wondered.

Combining the image of a lively hamster with Mo Qiu, he couldn’t help but chuckle aloud.

‘She’s kind of cute,’ he mused.

“What are you laughing about?”

‘Hamster… ah, no, Mo Qiu’s face suddenly appeared before him, startling Bai Chen.

“I just remembered something amusing.”

Mo Qiu merely nodded, perhaps not understanding his playful jab, and did not press further.

Just as the two were preparing ingredients together, the surroundings suddenly plunged into darkness.

The abrupt blackout caused Mo Qiu’s entire body to tense, and she almost reached for a kitchen knife to defend herself.

“Tsk, a power outage, huh?”

Hearing Bai Chen’s voice, she finally looked out the window; the streetlights were already on, and the illuminated signs of the tall buildings opposite shone with an almost blinding intensity.