Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chef Jima
There happened to be green beans.
Jima, with her pair of pure white hands, snapped the green beans into sections, removed the strings, and washed them again. She refused to use spices, only crushing a garlic clove. Then, with a kitchen knife, she easily separated the fatty and lean pork, cutting the plump white fat into cube-shaped pieces almost identical in size.
Once all the ingredients were ready, Jima said:
“Let’s heat up the pot first.”
After saying that, she put on a clean white apron around her slender waist, with a circle of white flowers embroidered on the edge.
Saintess Jena floated over, bringing a jar of water, and gently poured it onto the alchemical heated stone in the stove. She accidentally spilled too much. The water splashed onto the alchemical stone, hissing as steam rose up, warmly hitting Jima’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
A voice from outside called out to George.
Jima stepped back a few paces, walked to the kitchen door, the edge of her apron swaying between her black stockings and slender legs. She replied, “I’m cooking.”
Seeing Jima dressed as a cook, George obviously froze for a moment, asking, “You can cook?”
Jima smiled, her hands softly folded over her belly, tilting her head with a smile and saying, “Just wait for delicious food.”
In the air, there was a faint scent of peach blossoms.
Jima sniffed and coldly laughed.
Hmph, men. Even if they are genius heroes, they like beautiful women who can cook.
She added, “I’m helping Miss Jena continue cooking; a birthday party can’t just serve cake, right?”
George glanced at the cake, which resembled a slime, and unconsciously swallowed, feeling a twinge of retreat.
Jima smirked mischievously, lightly hummed, and returned to the kitchen, passing the spatula into Saintess Jena’s hands. She held onto the spatula tightly but looked confused and bewildered at Jima.
“It’s simple, just stir-fry a bit.”
As Jima spoke, after the water in the pot boiled away, she threw a small piece of butter into the pot—the saintess had brought a whole bunch of ingredients but forgot to buy vegetable oil.
When the butter began to smoke slightly, Jima tossed in the cubes of fatty pork, instructing Saintess Jena to stir-fry.
She was afraid of the sizzling pot but nonetheless managed to stir-fry a few times with the spatula.
Saintess Jena stared at the pot, watching the gradually yellowing, shriveled pieces of fat, nervously asking, “What next?”
Jima picked up a bamboo basket, with water dripping from the green beans through the bottom. Holding a small bowl of chopped garlic in her right hand, she said, “First, sauté the garlic for flavor, then add the green beans; you just stir-fry, I’ll watch the timing.”
Although stir-frying fatty pork with green beans is quite simple, if the timing is off, it can turn out poorly. If the oil temperature is too high, the minced garlic will turn black from being overcooked, and if accidentally bitten into, it would have a bitter taste. If cooked too long, the green beans would become charred and tough; if cooked too quickly, they would be undercooked.
However, the difficulty lies in the timing, which is a piece of cake for the skilled chef Jima. The remaining tasks were simple; Saintess Jena just needed to stir-fry.
Saintess Jena nodded, saying, “Thank you.”
Jima poured the minced garlic into the hot oil, and the pot immediately began to sizzle. She said, “Stir!”
The saintess quickly scattered the garlic, and Jima seized the moment, dumping all the green beans into the pot. This time, the entire kitchen was filled with crackling sounds, and a cloud of green smoke rose up, splattering water and oil around.
Saintess Jena was startled, and for some reason, thought of a previous failed alchemical experiment—an apprentice mistakenly mixed up the reagents and burned his own face; the scene was almost identical to that time. But she mustered her courage, took a step back, glanced away, extended her right hand, clutched the spatula, and stirred wildly a few times.
Jima stepped forward to check on the stir-frying effect.
The green bean strips stuck at the bottom had failed to come up several times.
Jima, a bit anxious, said, “Hurry and flip the green beans at the bottom, or they’ll burn.”
Saintess Jena stirred vigorously a few times, but the result was unimpressive. She pushed the pile of green beans to one side, revealing the hot bubbling oil underneath, which was boiling, and a splatter of hot oil landed on her hand. She cried out in surprise, shrinking back, and the spatula fell to the floor.
Jima skillfully caught the spatula. Rushing over to “put out the fire,” she grabbed the pot handle with one hand and used the spatula to stir, effortlessly flipping the piles of green beans to the side.
“When stir-frying, don’t be afraid of the hot oil,” Jima said, deftly stirring and patiently explaining, “Press down the spatula against the hot oil, and it won’t splash on your hands.”
“Sorry.”
If it weren’t for my desire for you, I wouldn’t be this patient.
Jima stirred for a moment, and the green beans underneath absorbed a distinctly vibrant green.
“You seem to have a fear of cooking.”
“I.. I remembered something bad from my childhood.”
A corner dug up, starting from childhood anecdotes.
Jima hurriedly asked, “Would you mind sharing?”
“I had an alchemical laboratory at home,” Saintess Jena said. “I was curious, and my father let me learn from the alchemist at home, along with several kids my age. One of the more mischievous ones sat right in front of me. He had smiled at me before and wanted to pull my braid to get my attention; many people do this. But I told my father, and after that, no one dared to lay a hand on me, even if he was a noble son.”
The troubles of a pretty young girl.
Jima recalled the beautiful girls in her elementary school who were always teased by a few boys asking:
“And then?”
“The boy sitting in front of me told me he was going to do a big experiment. I ignored him; I knew that the more I paid attention, the more annoying they would get.”
Jima had an inkling of what was coming.
A trace of fear appeared on Saintess Jena’s face as she said:
“I lowered my head and carefully conducted the experiment when suddenly, there was a loud bang, and a burst of flames shot up. I looked up and saw his head leaning back, revealing his scorched skin. He showed me his white teeth and said, ‘Look, is it loud?’ I screamed in fright, fell to the ground, and lay in bed sick for three days. Later, I heard he had a disfigured face due to the burns. My father said he had sneakily taken some alchemical materials and added five times the quantity to make a big firework.”
Jima quickly consoled her, “It’s a miracle he didn’t die.”
“I always felt I did something wrong; in my dreams, I keep dreaming of the boy without a face, laughing and saying to me: ‘Look, is it loud?’”
“It has nothing to do with you; people must pay the price for their own foolishness,” Jima said, evenly sprinkling white salt over the green beans. “If people seek death, they will die; this is a principle.”
Saintess Jena shook her head slightly, saying, “It would be better if I could do something.”
Jima poured the steaming stir-fried green beans onto a plate.
Suddenly, Saintess Jena realized that she was supposed to be the one cooking, but unknowingly, it had turned into Jima doing the cooking.
Jima also recognized this: “Oh dear, it’s become a habit.”
She looked at the ingredients and seemed to find no simpler way to cook.
“How about making a vegetable soup?”
Saintess Jena replied, “Forget it, you do it; I won’t inflict further harm on George’s stomach.”
“He will definitely be touched to hear that.”
“Did he say anything earlier?”
“He wouldn’t dare lie.” Jima deliberately piqued her curiosity, “When I heard, I was quite shocked.”
Saintess Jena bit her lip lightly and asked, “What did you say?”
“It was like a slime stuffed with troll feces in the belly.”
Saintess Jena, feeling uncomfortable, landed on her feet and said, “Well, it’s my fault for having delusional hopes, thinking I could ask a master to make a good cake instead of serving him the terrible one I made out of selfishness. I’ve been wrong from the start.”
Such a great girl, but why isn’t it me?
Jima felt a surge of jealousy, her determination to dig the corner deepening, and she planned to treat Saintess Jena well, saying, “You know I’m a succubus, right?”
“Yes.”
“Succubi excel at seducing men; it’s in our nature.” Jima said, “I can come over to cook for you sometimes; maybe I can give you some tips.”
Saintess Jena became a bit wary, asking, “What kind of tips?”
“Do you think I’m as dull as Lord George?” Jima, while preparing other ingredients, continued, “You must like George and want to confess and marry him, right?”
Saintess Jena’s face flushed, she turned her head away, opened her mouth but fell silent, and finally asked, “How did you know?”
Jima smiled, “Don’t underestimate a succubus.”
Saintess Jena appeared slightly excited, asking, “Would you really.. teach me?”
Jima’s smile was like a devil tempting the ignorant, signing a pact to sell one’s soul, and she replied, “Of course, you know, as a demon, being friends with someone of your status, a kind and beautiful young lady like you, would make my life much better. Please don’t mind my ulterior motives.”
Saintess Jena carefully studied Jima’s face and found that she genuinely had no jealousy, causing her to feel a bit embarrassed.
She indeed didn’t mind at all and was quite generous. Unlike herself, who seemed to be robbed, eagerly wanting to confess, causing such a huge joke.
She said, “An open scheme is better than a secret plot; I’ll count on you in the future.”
Jima smiled even brighter, her mind starting to churn with intimate gestures between “best friends,” as good friends, hugging and cuddling, sometimes sleeping together—it shouldn’t be abnormal, right?
Afterward, Jima cooked while Saintess Jena assisted.
As they chatted, they began discussing their appearances.
Jima asked, “By the way, why are you floating and wearing such formal clothes?”
Saintess Jena twirled in the air, asking, “Isn’t it beautiful, almost sacred? When I attended the ceremony, I observed that this effect was the best.”
“It is beautiful,” Jima replied, “sacred to the point of having no sexual allure, like a floating statue. Sometimes a little exposure is necessary; it would be best if you showed a bit of cleavage.”
“Really? Doesn’t that make me a prostitute?”
Jima shook her head, “You don’t understand men.”
Saintess Jena fell silent; Jima knew she didn’t agree, and a few words were insufficient to change someone’s values. Moreover, she had no motivation to correct Saintess Jena and thus said nothing further.
Half an hour later.
Three dishes were placed in front of George by Jima and Jena; Jima even thoughtfully placed chopsticks next to the stir-fried pork and green beans.
“What’s this?” George pointed at the only dish that clashed with the others, the stir-fried green beans, the only Chinese dish.
“Ah, it’s a dish I collaborated on with Jena, rich with exotic flavor.” Jima, feeling nostalgic about hometown dishes, made it, “It’s really delicious.”
George wanted to say he was very full, but Saintess Jena’s moist green eyes were looking at him, so he felt embarrassed to say that, picking up the chopsticks, trembling slightly, reaching for the stir-fried green beans.
——————
I just calculated, I still owe four updates.
I’ll also set a flag to urge myself.
Before the 10th, if I don’t make up the four updates totaling three thousand words, I’ll dress as a girl and post it in the main text, making it public for ten days. By then, you’re welcome to choose the type of female outfit.
