Chapter 3: What Were Ancient Meal Standards? Waiting Online, Urgent!

Xu Da’s gaze swept back and forth between the rolls of fat on Fan Tong’s body and the massive blade lying on the ground, his appreciation growing with every passing moment. This fat man was brave, resourceful, and knew how to read the situation; he was a talent worth cultivating.

"It is a pity for someone with your strength to spend his days merely tossing a ladle in the mess hall," Xu Da said, his voice steady and commanding, carrying an air of undeniable authority. "My command is currently short of a fierce warrior. If you are willing, you may join the Vanguard Battalion as a flag bearer. With military merit, earning the rank of a commander of a hundred or a thousand men in the future will not be difficult."

Upon hearing this, the guards in the tent cast envious glances. To ascend from a mere cook to the General’s own Vanguard Battalion was the opportunity of a lifetime—a dream for countless soldiers!

Fan Tong’s heart skipped a beat, but his face betrayed no joy; instead, he wore a troubled expression. He dropped to his knees with a thud and shook his head like a rattle.

"I am unworthy of such grace from the General! But... but this craft of mine is a family tradition! My father always said, 'Troops and horses move, but grain and fodder must go first.' Only when the brothers are well-fed do they have the strength to charge into battle! If my meager culinary skills can grant the army an extra measure of vigor, that is far more useful than my hacking off the head of a single enemy soldier!"

These words were spoken with such sincerity that they flattered Xu Da while elevating the status of the mess staff, making Fan Tong appear magnanimous and devoid of selfish motives.

Xu Da was taken aback for a moment, then burst into a hearty laugh that shook the dust from the tent roof.

"Good! Well said! 'More useful than hacking off a head'! You fat man, you see things more clearly than those blockheaded warriors who only know how to scheme!"

He stepped forward, pulled Fan Tong to his feet personally, and patted his solid shoulder with a hand like a palm-leaf fan, producing dull, heavy thuds.

"Very well! I leave the provisions for the three armies in your hands!"

After saying this, Xu Da shifted his tone, leaned in slightly, and lowered his voice to a whisper only the two of them could hear: "That... braised pork. The taste was not bad. Make another portion later and bring it to my tent. Keep it quiet."

Fan Tong felt a surge of joy. He understood: the General wanted a private meal. He nodded like a man pounding garlic and whispered back, "Rest assured, General. I guarantee I will make it even more refined, the meat more tender, and the sauce even richer!"

Xu Da nodded in satisfaction, then turned with his hands behind his back and left with his guards to continue their inspection.

No sooner had the General departed than a thin, small figure darted in like a gust of wind—it was Bao Nianfeng. His face was filled with the relief of having survived a disaster and an irrepressible, wild joy.

"Fan... Boss Fan! You’re alright! Thank goodness! You didn't see it—that Li Hu was dragged out like a dead dog, still cursing and swearing that you were finished, only to have one of the General’s guards slap him so hard his mouth was full of blood! It was truly satisfying! A great triumph!"

Bao Nianfeng gestured wildly, as if he were the one who had landed the blow.

Fan Tong looked at his excitement and felt a warmth in his heart. In this strange era, he finally had someone he could talk to.

"Enough, stop cheering and get to work!" Fan Tong waved his hand, projecting an air of authority. "Go, call every steward in the kitchen to me. Not one is to be missed. Anyone who dares not come can go to the stables to keep Li Hu company!"

Bao Nianfeng paused, then straightened his back and shouted, "Understood!"

Before long, the stewards who usually spent their days looking plump and oily, responsible for purchasing and distributing supplies, stood before Fan Tong with their heads bowed like quails.

Fan Tong sat on the only stool, the massive bone-cleaving blade thrust into the ground beside him, its edge shimmering with a cold, piercing chill in the firelight.

"A new official brings three fires, and I am not one for empty gestures." Fan Tong’s gaze swept over each of them, his voice low but carrying an unquestionable pressure. "Bring me the ledgers and the procurement records for this month."

The stewards exchanged glances. One, an older man with shifty eyes, stepped forward and smiled fawningly, "Chief Fan, these... these accounts are complex and cannot be sorted out all at once. Since you just took office, you should rest. The brothers have already prepared wine and food to welcome you..."

"I told you to bring the ledger, so why are you spouting nonsense?" Fan Tong’s eyes widened as he slammed the table. The heavy wooden surface let out a thunderous sound, causing the pottery bowls to jump. "I’ll ask one more time: where is the ledger?"

The steward trembled, his legs turning to jelly, and he stammered, unable to speak.

Fan Tong sneered; he had expected this.

"Bao Nianfeng!"

"Here!"

"Go to the warehouse and count every single thing for me! Not a bag of rice or a tael of salt can be off! I want to see what kind of 'flowers' have been blooming in these books!"

At this, the faces of the stewards turned deathly pale.

Fan Tong knew exactly what was happening. In the Hongwu era, Old Zhu had zero tolerance for corruption, with the brutal penalty of skinning and stuffing hanging over every official’s head. Yet, even so, some could not keep their hands clean. These logistics officers, far from the Emperor’s reach, were even bolder.

He was going to kill the chicken to warn the monkeys today and re-establish the rules of the kitchen!

While Bao Nianfeng took his men to audit the inventory, Fan Tong stoked the fire and started a pot. He chose a piece of pork belly with clearer layers of fat and lean than the previous one and prepared it with practiced ease.

This time, he was more meticulous with his ingredients. He used rock sugar treasured by the army to caramelize the sauce and secretly added some dried hawthorn he had scavenged from a corner of the kitchen to cut the grease and enhance the flavor.

*Sizzle—*

The rock sugar melted in the hot oil, transforming from bubbling white foam into a translucent amber. The moment the heat was perfect, the pork belly went in. The sound was more melodic than the clashing of weapons on the battlefield. Every side of the meat contracted instantly in the high heat, locking in the juices and taking on an alluring, caramelized hue.

The aroma was more domineering and mellow than the previous pot, carrying a faint, elusive fruity tartness. It was as if an invisible hand were gripping the throat of everyone who smelled it, making them salivate uncontrollably.

A bowl of premium braised pork, red and glossy like agate, with meat that shivered to the touch and sauce so thick it clung to the chopsticks, was carefully placed by Fan Tong into the finest pottery bowl. He added two freshly steamed white flour buns and packed it into a food box.

By then, Bao Nianfeng returned with his men, carrying a tattered, oil-stained ledger filled with scribbles, his face twisted in uncontrollable rage.

"Boss! These heaven-damned thieves! The grain in the warehouse doesn't match up; it's missing at least thirty percent! Many of the bags are filled with sand and dirt at the bottom! And the salt—the books say ten piculs, but there isn't even five in the warehouse!"

Fan Tong took the ledger, his gaze icy. He had guessed as much, but he hadn't expected their boldness to exceed the heavens. Playing these tricks under Zhu Yuanzhang’s nose—they were truly tired of living.

"I know," he said, tucking the ledger into his tunic. "Keep watch. When I return, we will settle the score with them."

With that, he carried the food box directly toward the central command tent.

The guards at the entrance clearly had their orders from Xu Da. Seeing it was Fan Tong, they didn't even bother to announce him, simply lifting the curtain.

Inside, Xu Da was staring intently at a massive map of the Northern Frontier, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"General, the... late-night snack you requested." Fan Tong carefully placed the food box on the table.

Xu Da shifted his gaze from the map. Catching the familiar scent, his furrowed brow relaxed instinctively. He opened the box, and seeing the bowl of braised pork—a work of art—a flash of amazement crossed his eyes.

He didn't reach for his chopsticks but instead picked up a soft white bun, tore off a piece, and dipped it heavily into the thick sauce at the bottom of the bowl.

As he popped it into his mouth, the flavors of wheat, meat, soy, and caramel exploded on his palate.

"Good! Truly a fine craft!" Xu Da praised twice before picking up a piece of meat to savor it slowly.

Fan Tong seized the moment to pull the tattered ledger from his tunic and offer it with both hands. "General, this is the kitchen ledger. I conducted a rough audit, and the deficit is massive. The grain and salt have been replaced with sand. If not for this investigation today, we would have risked running out of supplies once the army moved deep into the grasslands!"

Xu Da stopped chewing for a second. He took the ledger, flipped through a few pages, and his expression darkened instantly; the temperature in the tent seemed to drop.

"The men under my command are bleeding and dying on the front lines, and these maggots are gnawing at our roots from the back!" He slammed the ledger onto the table, his voice filled with bone-chilling coldness. "Investigate this thoroughly! No matter who is involved, get to the bottom of it! I am giving you an order: anyone who dares to obstruct you, you have my authority to execute them first and report later!"

"Understood, General!" Fan Tong felt a sense of calm. With Xu Da’s words, he could walk through this kitchen as he pleased.

He bowed and retreated, not daring to disturb the General’s meal.

***

Returning to his own tattered tent, Fan Tong collapsed in exhaustion. Only now did his heart, which had been hanging by a thread, finally settle.

He let out a long sigh and remembered his greatest asset.

"System, come out and talk?" he whispered in his mind.

[Smack, smack... *hiccup*! Cub, your skill is incredible! This system has decided: from now on, you are my favorite cub!]

The cold, mechanical voice now carried a note of satisfied, greasy indulgence.

Fan Tong’s mouth twitched. "Cut the crap. Tell me, what exactly are you? An Ogre Cub Cultivation System? Why did you pick me?"

The system was silent for a moment, seemingly organizing its words.

[Sigh, it’s a long story. In recent years, the intelligence of our Ogre race has plummeted off a cliff—how should I put it? It's the kind of level that would make a dog shake its head. Every time we made offerings to our Great Chieftain, to revitalize the Ogre race, he found the God of Systems and customized this auxiliary system.]

"And then?"

[And then... perhaps because it was a beta version, it was unstable. The first time it activated, a spatial-temporal turbulence occurred. By the time I opened my eyes, I was bound to you, who were about to choke to death.]

Fan Tong was dumbfounded, taking a long time before he squeezed out a sentence: "Are you sure it isn't because the food you Ogres make is so terrible that you took the chance to run away?"

[...] The system hemmed and hawed for a long time without answering, clearly having had its secret exposed.

Fan Tong couldn't be bothered to argue further. "What are your functions? Aside from making me stronger, what else can you do?"

[The core of this system is "Sacrifice"! The more delicious the food you make and sacrifice to the system, the richer the rewards you receive! Strength, physique, bloodline, weapons, armor... as long as the food you cook is solid, this system can get you anything! However...]

The system changed its tone: [Because this is the Ogre-exclusive version, the rewards are... rather primitive. Other than things related to eating and fighting, there’s basically nothing else.]

"So that’s all 'anything' means? Sigh, whatever. As long as there are items, that’s better than nothing." Fan Tong was actually quite satisfied with this. As a cook, he didn't need fancy, useless functions.

Being able to fight and being able to eat—that was enough!

He rubbed his hands together, his eyes burning with intensity.

Reorganize the logistics. Prepare a satisfying military meal for one thousand soldiers.

The reward: Primary Ogre Bloodline Potion.

Fan Tong licked his lips. Though it sounded a bit ominous, just by the name, he knew it would surely take his physical fitness to the next level.

However, making one thousand soldiers—whose palates had been degraded by low-quality swill—feel "satisfied" was no simple task.

This first fire had to burn bright, burn hot, and leave no room for anyone to find a single fault!

He began to calculate rapidly in his mind. The usual thin grain porridge definitely wouldn't do; he needed something substantial. But military ingredients were limited, and meat was a precious commodity.

How should he handle this?