Chapter 104: The Most Powerful Duel in History

“This preserved meat lettuce wrap was traditionally made with a type of glass lettuce—a large, loose head with broad, thin, emerald-green leaves. Each leaf was carefully picked and washed, then briefly soaked in water mixed with potassium permanganate to cleanse it, before drying the droplets off with a towel,” Jiang Hongyi recalled. “I remember when I was young, the whole family would sit down in order, wrapping and eating immediately. During wrapping, everyone had a small plate in front of them. First, the leaf was laid on the plate, then a layer of seafood sauce was spread on it, followed by a scoop of steaming white rice.”

“Next came the clams meat filling, sometimes with added shredded radish and cooked dace fish floss. The edges of the leaf were gathered and held with both hands to eat.”

“There was also a dish called ‘Taishi He Sparrow.’ Every year, when sparrows were in season, street vendors would carry large cages of fresh, tender sparrows, calling out door to door. The sparrows were marinated, stuffed with a piece of duck liver sausage inside the cavity, wrapped externally with a small piece of pork caul fat, then fried in a clay pot until fragrant and crispy.”

“One bite would release the sparrow’s brain in the mouth, rich and luscious. Even a tiny morsel left a lingering aftertaste!”

“The sparrow meat was tender and juicy, even the bones could be eaten. Nowadays, sparrows are becoming increasingly rare and protected, so this delicacy has become nothing but a legend.”

“There’s also this ‘Liyunzi’ fried rice. My grandmother said that when the ancestors were alive, the family chef would make this dish, and after one bite, they would say: ‘The eggs are too tender, and there’s too much oil—make another plate.’”

“Who knew the chef got too nervous and overcorrected? The second time, the ‘Liyunzi’ was overcooked. The old historian said: ‘This time it’s too dry—again!’”

“The third time barely passed muster. The rice was dyed a deep red from the ‘Liyunzi,’ sprinkled with scallions; the yellow of the egg and green of the scallions mixed with the red of the ‘Liyunzi’ formed a dazzling patchwork.”

“This fried rice was fragrant when hot, but if left to cool slightly until the rice hardened a bit, it revealed more of the ‘Liyunzi’s’ granular texture and fresh flavor.”

Zhuang Chen listened with great interest, realizing this was the essence of fine cuisine. The so-called ‘Liyunzi’ was actually crab roe—the eggs of a tiny crab called the mudflat crab, found in the streams of Shunde County. It was an extremely rare ingredient. According to folklore, the mudflat crab habitually moved sideways, but sometimes moved forward, clasping its two front claws together and nodding step by step in a wobbly manner, resembling an ancient gentleman’s respectful bow, hence the name ‘courteous cloud.’ When it laid eggs, they were called ‘Liyunzi.’ They were only in season between the Awakening of Insects and Qingming Festival, also known as ‘spring water courteous cloud.’ The raw roe was dark brown, but after repeated filtering and washing, cooking over high heat turned it into a brilliant scarlet, like a glowing sunset, combining the sea’s salty, fresh, sweet, and savory flavors with a delicate granular chew that was never coarse or hard to swallow.”

“The freshness period was extremely short. Once removed, it had to be eaten immediately, never kept overnight. Nowadays refrigerators allow for a few extra days, but after several days, both color and taste would change.”

“This rare ingredient was used here only for fried rice...”

One could not help but sigh: poverty limits imagination!

Jiang Hongyi stood and said, “I’ll keep an eye on the last two dishes, the Dragon-Tiger Duel and the Five Snakes Soup. Rinse your mouth with chrysanthemum tea and wait!”

After the elder left, Zhuang Chen stood, loosened his belt, and felt utterly full. He rinsed his mouth carefully with chrysanthemum tea, eagerly anticipating the final two masterpieces.

After more than half an hour, the dishes finally arrived. Jiang Hongyi personally served them, wiping his hands clean before speaking: “The Dragon-Tiger Duel is a famous snake dish, also called Leopard Cat Braised Three Snakes. It mainly uses venomous snakes: cobra, banded krait, and king cobra, locally known as the ‘rice shovel head,’ ‘golden-footed band,’ and ‘mountain wind.’ These are braised together with old cat and hen, reputed to be a tonic of great potency.”

“The snake represents the dragon, the cat the tiger, and the chicken the phoenix, all meticulously prepared and arranged on the plate in shapes resembling a coiled dragon, a leaping tiger, and a dancing phoenix.”

“Golden dragon coils, fierce tiger roars, phoenix spreading wings, garnished with vibrant reds and greens—it looks like a living work of art, deserving of applause.”

Scooping a cup of wine from a glass bottle, he smiled: “The freshness of snake, the tenderness of cat, and the beauty of chicken combined in one dish tame the wild flavors of this delicacy, winning over diners in Yangcheng. Paired with snake gall wine, sipping and tasting it is a life’s worthy experience!”

Zhuang Chen stood, accepted the cup with both hands, rinsed his mouth again, picked up his chopsticks, and tasted it...

Indescribably delicious!

Seeing Zhuang Chen’s face full of enjoyment, Jiang Hongyi laughed heartily and pointed to the last dish, introducing: “Our Taishi family’s Five Snakes Soup is unparalleled in its meticulousness. The snakes used are banded krait, silver-banded krait, cobra, water snake, and beauty snake.”

“After being soaked or steamed, the snake meat is shredded into very fine threads, mixed with shredded chicken, civet cat meat, abalone, dried fish maw, shiitake mushrooms, wood ear fungus, starch, and chrysanthemum to make the soup.”

“Every ingredient demands exquisite knife skills to fully release its flavor. This soup is a harmonious combination where all ingredients complement and enhance each other.”

“Each ingredient loses its individual identity yet releases its essence. A bowl of this soup weaves countless threads that flow continuously from the spoon, delivering a complex and lingering taste.”

“In those days, the manor hired four flower experts year-round, two of whom specialized in growing chrysanthemums. The chrysanthemum used in the snake soup was mostly homegrown large white chrysanthemums. There was also a rare variety called ‘Crane Dance in the Clouds,’ resembling the large white chrysanthemum but with a faint purple hue, a precious treasure.”

“When needed, the maid would pluck the large flowers, immerse them upside down in a large basin of clear water, shaking the stems to remove bugs and dust, then snip each petal with scissors for use. When cooked, the flowers were pure white and soft like snow, with a delicate fragrance that did not dissipate.”

Zhuang Chen straightened, face solemn, took a deep breath, and tasted the soup properly. Putting it into his mouth, he closed his eyes, murmuring after a long moment: “What elevates the Five Snakes Soup’s flavor to its peak is the final garnish of thin crispy crackers and shredded lemon leaves—truly the finishing touch!”

“The lemon leaves bring a fresh citrus aroma and a natural bitterness that removes any fishiness, adding a refreshing quality to the rich soup.”

“Hahaha, well said!” the elder laughed heartily, clearly pleased. “Harvesting lemon leaves requires care—the young ones lack flavor, and the old ones are too tough. You must choose leaves that are neither too old nor too young, tear off the veins, fold them in half, roll into thin tubes, and slice them finely like silkworm threads for the freshest aroma.”

“The thin crackers must not be careless either: roll the dough thin, sprinkle with flour, roll it up with a stick, then pull out the stick to flatten the roll. Unroll the dough, roll and flatten again, sprinkle flour each time, until the dough is thin enough. Then cut into small olive-shaped pieces and deep-fry until crisp—delicious beyond words.”

Zhuang Chen took another bite, savoring carefully: “Normally, the delicate snake soup and the oily fried crackers might seem mismatched, but adding the crackers to the soup creates a refreshing new sensation.”

“The crispness and aroma of the oil uplift the mood and appetite, and when coated with the soup, they become even more flavorful. Since they are added just before serving, they do not fully dissolve and thus do not diminish the soup’s original light taste. It’s like eating fried dough sticks with congee—an exquisite culinary experience.”

The elder threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Well done, young man! You’ve got it!”