Chapter Thirty-One: BOOM!!

With all the ingredients prepared, it was time to begin the actual cooking.

First, Li Can heated the wok until it was dry, then poured in a scant amount of cooking oil to moisten the pan, before adding over twenty pounds of diced meat to stir-fry.

This technique, known as dry-frying or dry-stirring, uses minimal oil and high heat to evaporate moisture from the ingredients, tightening their texture.

Clang, clang—

Li Can worked the spatula constantly, tossing the meat to ensure even heating. Although the meat had been thoroughly washed, residual fluids always lingered, and dry-frying was the perfect remedy. The low oil ensured the surface of the meat wasn't sealed by hot grease, and the resulting voids from lost moisture would later help the meat absorb the sauce, making it more flavorful.

Of course, such changes weren't visible to the naked eye.

As the temperature rose, steam billowed and the meat pieces shrank considerably. Li Can picked up a piece, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. The texture was firmer, with no unpleasant odors—just a lingering, delicate fragrance.

"This freshness is quite unlike the usual flavors of pork, beef, or lamb. It's subtle, lingers between the teeth, and leaves a cool sensation, almost like a sip of mint water."

He ran his tongue across his teeth; a refreshing chill remained.

"Truly, this is unlike any ordinary meat. Not only does it excite the palate, but it seems to promote blood flow in the mouth. With every breath, you feel a cyclone swirling inside—it's marvelous."

Li Can clicked his tongue in wonder. In all his memories, he couldn't recall any other kind of meat that, without a single seasoning, could achieve such a remarkable effect.

...

Since this was his first time cooking monster meat, Li Can had to taste as he went to judge the tenderness.

Meanwhile, a bubbling noise came from the soup pot. Lifting the lid, everything seemed normal—though the foul stench from the tumor had been significantly diluted by the broth.

"I'll add some goji berries and red dates later to boost the flavor. They're nutritious and add sweetness—not a bad choice. Oh, and a dash of white pepper for freshness; that will add depth to the whole pot."

He replaced the lid and left the bone broth alone, attention returning to the wok.

The meat pieces were now smaller than before. Despite their dark color, the surface had begun to char from the stir-fry.

"That's about right."

He drained the meat, setting it aside. The aroma wafting from the wok mingled with the fresh scent from the soup pot—soft, smooth, neither dry nor greasy.

Li Can had worried that monster meat would have some unmanageable flaw, but now those fears were put to rest. In fact, the meat was unexpectedly well-suited to cooking.

He scrubbed the wok clean, set it back on the stove, and heated it dry again.

He scooped a ladle of divine oil—no, scallion oil—into the pan to heat. Gripping the wok handles, he gave it a practiced shake, swirling the oil up to the very rim, almost spilling, the control so precise it left no margin for error.

Had anyone been present, they would have been speechless at his skill with the wok.

Because the scallion oil nearly touched the very edge of the pan—one more degree and it would spill! His precision was undeniable.

But, of course, there was no one else in the kitchen. Even if there were, they'd be petrified by the four gruesome, pupil-less eyes sitting on the table—gouged from the monster's limbs. Li Can planned to soak them with bayberries in liquor, inventing his own "Death Bayberry Wine."

"I wonder how that'll turn out, slurp—" He unconsciously drew back his tongue, astonished by his own creativity.

He didn't much enjoy drinking, but the process of infusing spirits was a delight in itself. As for the taste or effect, those were secondary concerns—he had no intention of selling it anyway.

Once the oil reached seventy percent heat, he removed the pan from the flame.

In went minced ginger and garlic to release their fragrance, followed by rapid additions of broad bean paste, yellow bean paste, sweet flour paste, yellow sugar, and dark soy sauce.

These three sauces and the soy could have been premixed to prevent them from burning or turning bitter at high heat, but Li Can needed no such crutch—his mastery of temperature was absolute. Searing the sauces over high heat would draw out their essence.

Stir-frying the sauce couldn't be rushed, nor could the spoon rest; the movement needed to be constant.

Yellow sugar was both a blessing and a curse—if neglected, it would turn to brown sugar under high heat, losing its clarity.

The sauce in the pan was thick and rich, its fragrance enveloping the kitchen in a heady cloud.

Tonight, the kitchen was saturated with aroma.

After about thirty seconds of stir-frying, Li Can returned the prepared meat to the pan, letting it soak up the sauce.

Immediately after, he added blanched, peeled peanuts for aroma and texture, and finally, ten pounds of finely chopped chili peppers.

Cough, cough—

The sheer heat stung Li Can's nose and eyes, bringing tears and swelling. He quickly switched on the exhaust fan at full power.

He'd held off before, for fear of disturbing the neighbors, but now his own well-being was at stake—he couldn't risk suffocating himself!

Sometimes, trouble had to be shared.

Li Can could already imagine tomorrow, a dark-circled auntie banging on his door in protest.

He was prepared to shut out the world and focus solely on his kitchen.

"Thank goodness this wok is big enough. Otherwise, with all this meat and chili, I'd hardly dare stir!"

With the addition of chili and peanuts, the colors in the wok became vibrant—dark meat, ivory peanuts, scarlet chilies, golden seeds—all melded together.

"Once the sauce reduces, this dish will be ready."

Wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, he covered the wok and turned the heat low to simmer.

With nothing pressing to do, he cleaned the four eyes, sealed them in a bag, then hid them among the remaining meat before stashing everything in the freezer. Even if Su Rui saw the meat, the ghastly eyeballs would remain hidden, sparing her a fright.

"Good ingredients deserve good liquor," Li Can mused, planning to buy a large glass jar tomorrow, fill it with ten pounds of sorghum spirit and five of fresh bayberries—the 'Death Bayberry Wine' plan was set.

His phone read 5:40 a.m.—dawn was just over half an hour away.

Taking advantage of the time, Li Can rolled up the security gate. A few breakfast shops down the street had already opened, white steam billowing from their doors. Sanitation workers swept the street with rhythmic strokes.

He wasn't there to take in the scenery, but to scour the entrance with a flashlight, hoping to find the scales he’d thrown out last night.

"Hopefully, no one's noticed them," he muttered, shaking his head before returning inside and sealing the door.

Back in the kitchen, he lifted the lid. The sauce had thickened to a syrupy consistency, blending seamlessly with the meat. The addition of yellow sugar made the chilies and peanuts stand out in color—a perfect union of ingredients and flavors.

Quickly, he turned off the heat, added three spoons of fragrant sesame oil to brighten and enhance the aroma, stirred thoroughly, and transferred everything to a serving dish.

He plunged his chopsticks into the mound; as he lifted them, the sauce stretched like spun sugar—so thick, it clung in threads.

A steaming, spicy aroma rose, sharp enough to sting the nose.

"If I chill this for a while, the harsh heat will mellow, and the cold will numb the tongue, giving diners time to adjust. The only uncertainty is how it will taste..."

Li Can understood the dish's explosive impact and knew how to temper it, but first, he needed to test it before chilling.

He lifted a portion with his chopsticks and tasted—

BOOM!

His tongue exploded.

(To be continued...)