Skilled in slaughtering chickens, plucking feathers, and cleaning out the innards—even after several thousand years, Edward Thompson hadn’t lost his touch at all. The only thing that didn’t go so smoothly was the lack of hot water, which made plucking the feathers take quite a bit of time. Fortunately, the overall process was still fairly smooth...

After two meals with barely any oil or meat, he could finally enjoy something hearty this time.

After all that work, he didn’t smell too pleasant, so Edward Thompson took a quick bath by the creek. Once it got dark, he wrapped the cleaned chicken in coarse cloth he’d prepared earlier, carried it in his hand, and strolled leisurely back toward the village.

“Sir, where did you go?”

As soon as he stepped into the courtyard, Little Lily, who had been waiting there for a long time, immediately ran up to him, her little face full of worry.

“Just went out for a walk since I had nothing to do.”

“What’s that?”

Little Maid pointed curiously at the cloth bundle in Edward Thompson’s hand.

“Uh... I picked up a pheasant while I was out walking...” Edward Thompson replied offhandedly.

“A pheasant?” A look of curiosity appeared on Little Maid’s pretty face. The pheasants near the village had long been hunted out, and the young master hadn’t left the village—where could he have found one?

In the kitchen, when Edward Thompson opened the cloth bundle, Little Maid was instantly dumbfounded.

Are there really... pheasants this fat?

And not only were all the feathers gone, but it had also been gutted. What kind of torment did this pheasant suffer after it died?

Chapter 9: The Little Terrors in the Schoolhouse

“Soak the chicken legs in water for one hour to draw out the remaining blood, then remove the bones and cut into small pieces; soak dried shiitake mushrooms in warm water, remove the stems, and chop into small pieces...”

Edward Thompson flipped through a copy of “The Complete Book of Noodles” in his mind, and began preparing the ingredients according to the recipe for chicken and mushroom noodle soup.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to make something tastier—there were just pitifully few ingredients in this kitchen. Other than a small bag of flour, all Edward Thompson could find were a few dried mushrooms tucked away in a corner.

The flour was also very different from what you’d see in modern times—nowhere near as refined, with lots of bran mixed in, making the texture quite poor. Edward Thompson had already experienced this at breakfast.

Still, from a nutritional standpoint, eating this kind of coarse grain was actually quite beneficial for the body. Of course, more importantly, he simply couldn’t find any better flour to use.

The otherwise useless provincial library in his mind finally proved a bit useful—Edward Thompson easily found a copy of “The Complete Book of Noodles” in the recipe section.

What he was about to make was chicken and mushroom noodle soup.

Chicken and mushroom noodle soup helps replenish energy and strengthen the spleen, which is quite good for the body. Edward Thompson chose this dish, of course... simply because he couldn’t find any other ingredients besides mushrooms and flour.

A book that only Edward Thompson could see floated in front of his eyes. He tore off two chicken legs and processed them as the book instructed. After dicing the mushrooms, he finally started kneading the dough.

Little Lily had long since been chased out of the kitchen by him. After tasting the noodles she made at lunch, Edward Thompson decided that from now on, she wouldn’t be allowed to do anything except cook porridge.

Kneading dough is actually a technical skill, too.

For the noodles to be chewy and tasty, you need to pick good flour—though, of course, that could be ignored for now.

When kneading, the amount of water, the quality of the salt, and the strength and technique of kneading all affect the texture of the noodles. As for the salt, Edward Thompson had no expectations—if the flour was like this, how good could the salt in this world be...

As for the other technical aspects, they were no challenge at all. Anything he’d read was firmly imprinted in his mind, and his hands moved as if guided by a higher power... Outside the kitchen, Little Maid stood on a stool, peering through the window at her young master’s skillful dough-kneading technique, her beautiful big eyes going wide in amazement.

This young master seemed quite different from the scholarly type she’d imagined.

The method for making chicken and mushroom noodle soup was actually very simple. There was a small vegetable garden in front of the kitchen, and Edward Thompson found some fresh greens there. After the noodles were cooked, he sprinkled on some chopped scallions, and a rich aroma filled the air.

Even though the ingredients were limited, Edward Thompson was still quite satisfied with his creation.

Since it was his first time making it and he didn’t want to waste food, Edward Thompson only made a single serving. He fetched some water from the vat to wash his hands, and was just about to finally taste that long-missed flavor. But when he turned around and saw the empty stove, Edward Thompson froze, his face changing instantly!

“Damn it, where are my noodles?!”

A wail suddenly rang out in the kitchen.

...

...

At night, Second Aunt was outside, calling affectionately for the family’s only egg-laying hen. Before long, her affectionate calls turned into vicious curses.

“Whoever the hell stole my chicken!”

“Don’t let me catch you, or I’ll break your legs!”

“Damn it all...”

Edward Thompson stood at the door, watching the woman standing there with her hands on her hips, cursing up a storm over her missing chicken. Thinking of his own mysteriously vanished bowl of noodles, he shook his head, a look of deep sympathy appearing on his face, then closed the door and went back inside.