Cook Chinese delicious food in the space

Standing outside the door of Xiangbei, Cheng Mo stood in silence, the room's lights extinguished, and an eerie quietness suggested that it was time to rest. Strangely, with her inner strength, she couldn't sense even a hint of the sleeping person's breath—multiple attempts to knock on the door hesitated, lifting and lowering her hand. Considering the absolute safety here and the lack of warnings from the hidden guards, she decided against it; the girl was likely still upset. Meanwhile, the head chef brought lamb, soup cakes, and refreshing side dishes into the side hall. Cheng Mo didn't hesitate and returned to her room, lying down on the Luohan bed. The so-called soup cakes were essentially modern noodles of various thicknesses, served with different-flavored broths.

At this moment, Xiangbei was busy in her mental space, planning to create sample dishes for tomorrow, adjusting flavors and expanding the menu. It was her first encounter with the Tong family, unsure of what challenges awaited. Though the selfish man was frustrating, Uncle Zhong was the first person she met in this world, owed her life to him, and found him warm and kind. Despite the simplicity of salt, sugar, iron, and alcohol for a modern polymath, Xiangbei didn't mind taking shortcuts in this era's craftsmanship. Since history had taken a turn, a few more butterfly effects wouldn't alter the original world's development. However, being deceived by the cunning man was intolerable; Aunt couldn't tolerate it either. Groaning about the unreasonable man, Xiangbei's complaints echoed, hoping for more handsome and kind men in this ancient era—a blessing for her time-traveling struggles.

Mumbling to herself, her hands were relentless. The ginger that was sun-dried and salted on the ship was brought in. Using bamboo tubes, she filled them, covered them with large bamboo sections, and sealed them with water before placing them by the shore. The fish roe here was like the ancestor of sashimi; Xiangbei decided to experiment with various methods. First, she planted several large-leaved perilla plants in bamboo tubes, collected some seeds, then chopped down a few large mustard greens from the oasis and collected the mature, yellow ones by the riverbed. Cleaning the mustard greens, she cut them into six-inch strips, sprinkled salt, and set them aside. Collecting seeds, she ground them in a stone pit with clear water, making yellow mustard paste. Yellow mustard paste with sesame oil, draped over fish roe perilla hand rolls, was once her favorite lunchbox standard, reminiscent of her mother's cooking. Unfortunately, she didn't find wasabi or horseradish here; having green mustard paste would have been even better.

Sushi rice balls were an essential part of lunch, and Xiangbei used bamboo tubes to mill various types of rice grains. Thinking about the empty farmland near Peach Blossom Creek, she soaked the unused grains in bamboo tubes. Grateful for the carpenter's gift, a complete set of tools included a crescent-shaped knife, sharp enough for surgery. Now, it was perfect for cutting bamboo strips, and she used hemp rope to weave a small bamboo curtain for the rice balls. Growing up with her father, who loved traditional Chinese medicine, Xiangbei developed excellent hands-on skills, and the magazine-sized bamboo curtain was easily completed. With the rice still steaming, taking advantage of this rare moment of leisure.

Xiangbei stepped out of her mental space,Found the salt shaker, "soybean sauce," and the pastry box on the dining table and brought them in. Cheng Mo, who had been tossing and unable to fall asleep, heard movement and was about to get up, but the next room quieted down again. Could it be that Tai Chi martial arts could actually suppress one's breathing sound? Haha, congratulations to the little brother for creatively finding such a splendid excuse. Xiangbei could now enjoy playing "flash mobs" to her heart's content. The mustard, soaked in saltwater and squeezed dry, was poured with soybean sauce and tightly stuffed into a large bamboo tube. Placed upside down in a larger, short bamboo section and sealed with clear water, it joined the previously sun-drying ginger on the riverbed.

The fruits in the space were more abundant than the hanging fruits in the valley. Xiangbei picked a few wax apples to quench her thirst and plucked dozens of strings of longans from the lowest branches, laying them out to dry on the rocky beach. Taking out the pastry plate from the food box, she arranged a layer of ripe red dates and wolfberries, followed by a layer of spring onions, ginger, and garlic. Glancing at the mountainous valley where the chickens roamed freely, she picked up some eggs and placed them in the food box, considering how to promote them to restaurants. If clay-baked chicken was more suitable for takeout, then lotus leaf chicken, sticky rice chicken, hanging-roasted chicken, white-cut chicken, braised chicken, pig stomach-wrapped chicken, abalone pot chicken... not to mention hundreds, dozens that she could make herself. Thinking of the classic line from the movie "The Mermaid," "We are professionals at doing chicken!" she suddenly laughed out loud. The happy chickens in her mental space were unaware that in the eyes of the person clucking like a mother hen, they had become plump, yellowish rectangles on a cutting board. The life of a chicken is short, and it can't afford to be injured.

Xiangbei's daydreaming was interrupted by the busy buzzing of bees. Some viscous, flowing golden liquid almost blinded Xiangbei's nerves. Yes, how could she forget about it! In an instant, she moved to the bottom of the giant beehive on the cliff edge of the waterfall. Around it, four or five new hives had emerged. The flowing honey under the sunlight emitted a tempting sweet fragrance. Filling an empty ceramic jar with fresh honey, Xiangbei pulled out a few large radishes from the surroundings, piling them on the floor of Fuhai Building's bedroom.

Similarly, all the buildings she had stayed in the mental space could be entered, but they were still empty. Looking outside the window at the calm water of the Echo Bay, occasionally a water bird flew over from the oasis, creating ripples. In the distance, an official road separated the sugarcane fields from the plains on the other side, extending to the thick fog-locked boundary about 20 miles away. No, slow down, 20 miles away? Previously, she could see five miles in the valley, then ten miles in the sugarcane forest huts, and now it was twenty miles. So, does the thick fog boundary double each time she reaches a new geographical territory? Then, these farmlands and open spaces would be endless. Dreams are full, reality is bony; even with all this land, she could only cultivate a small piece with her own hands.

The steamed bamboo tube rice released the pure aroma of freshly harvested rice, each type revealing its unique characteristics. One type was undoubtedly glutinous rice, transparent and soft, glistening with grease. Another type had long and pure white grains, fragrant and refreshing, with the characteristics of Thai fragrant rice. The third type had round and crystal-clear grains, similar to red rice but without the stickiness of glutinous rice, yet more oil-rich than long rice. These two should be excellent ingredients for making sushi! So, carrying the soaked grains, Xiangbei moved to the fields near Peach Blossom Manor, sowing them in rows, following the principle of one variety per column, spreading out over approximately two to three thousand square meters of land, clapping her hands and stepping out of the mental space.