Famine 128: The Dragon’s Kitchen

From the moment Ye Xianqing arrived and their hospitality began, until now, every meal served at the inn had been nothing but pre-made pastries brought in from the farm—never a true hot meal.

In such a perilous Abyss, if food and nutrition could be provided, of course people would stay.

But soon, another problem confronted Si Zhiyan—

Where would they find a chef?

The Holy Grail and the Black Hole only allowed Si Zhiyan’s own belongings to pass through. If he wanted to bring the farm’s chef team into the Abyss, he’d have to escort them across the entirety of the Black Thorn Forest and the Land of Lava, then descend into the depths.

That would take far too long, not to mention the dangers along the way. The kitchen staff were, after all, mostly logistics players with little fighting capacity.

Was there anyone both formidable in battle and competent in the kitchen?

The moment Si Zhiyan brought this up, Nidhogg, who had been sprawled out in the lounge, suddenly rose to his feet.

“You need a chef?”

Si Zhiyan looked him over, brow raised.

“Leave it to me,” Nidhogg said, brimming with confidence, one foot up on the coffee table. “Boss, give me a couple ovens, some ingredients, and a stove—then you’ll see what a real kitchen god can do!”

It seemed almost reckless, but Nidhogg was the straightforward type—what he said, he did. He quickly produced for Si Zhiyan a meticulous, exhaustive list: utensils, cooking tools, ingredient inventories, types and quantities of dry goods… everything accounted for.

It was deep into the night. Yan Cheng, Ye Xianqing, and the others were slumbering head-to-head, lost in blissful dreams.

While the guests rested, Yun Zhong from farm logistics immediately stirred, working swiftly through the list and preparing everything needed.

At the same time, Si Zhiyan drew out his brush, expanding the space behind the dining hall—a whole underground kitchen for the dragon. Descending the stone steps, one found ovens with flames blazing in the hearth, piles of raw ingredients, stoves radiating heat, firelight flickering and swaying across the stone walls…

Everything was ready in no time.

Nidhogg rolled up his sleeves and strode into the kitchen full of self-assurance, wings flicking behind him—Si Zhiyan seriously wondered if he might blow the place up before half an hour was past, so he followed after, not quite at ease.

But once Nidhogg stood at the prep table, his demeanor changed entirely.

He deftly carved off some ham, expertly trimming away fatty inessentials, leaving pure pork knuckle. Into a basin it went, layered with salt, sugar, spices, wild onions, and celery from the woods, then doused in wine until submerged. A dash of vinegar for brightness—and the pork began to marinate.

While the pork was soaking, there was just enough time to simmer a pot of cream sauce. Mushrooms and onions, finely minced, were dropped into the bubbling buttery broth. Soon, the kitchen was filled with a rich fragrance, cream and mushrooms blending, warmth heavy in the air.

Nidhogg’s movements were efficient and controlled, all trace of earlier boisterousness gone: his hand steady as a mountain, every dash of seasoning measured, his focus complete and professional.

Still working, he glanced over and asked:

“For the first day, the main dish is Bavarian crispy pork knuckle. For sides, there’ll be creamy bacon and mushroom pasta, plus tomato-meat penne. The farm’s own roast wings and marinated seafood as accompaniments. If there’s time, I’ll do some grilled onion-and-lamb wraps. Desserts—ice cream and tiramisu will do. Drinks—I won’t have time, just haul some farm cola and lemonade… sound good?”

“Perfect,” Si Zhiyan replied, more than satisfied with the Western menu.

“OK. The pork knuckle’ll need a while to marinate and roast, but that’s fine—they’ll be sleeping for a while yet.” Nidhogg looked up, caught Si Zhiyan’s expression. “What, Boss—surprised I can cook?”

Si Zhiyan grinned, unembarrassed. “Yes, actually.”

“No choice. If I didn’t cook, the kids wouldn’t have anything to eat. Kids are hard to raise, you know.” Nidhogg lazily stirred the soup pot.

Only the bubbling of the creamy broth filled the kitchen.

Nidhogg bent his head, laying strips of bacon in a hot pan. There was a sizzle—grease leaping as the bacon browned and curled.

After a moment, he gave a quiet laugh.

“Bian Xu taught me.”

Si Zhiyan looked up.

“The Furnace Lab was in a deserted zone. At first, the tests—oh yeah, they were mostly me—got nowhere. The pressure of deadlines weighed on us all. In that isolated, iron coffin, nothing but waste and corpses ever changed…

“Until that guy came along.”

“He was like an endlessly energetic golden retriever—getting into everything, trying to make everyone like him. Always coming up with that goofy, honest grin. Legend had it, he’d greet anyone working with him—no matter if today’s experiment was a pain-tolerance shock test. He’d sneak out to pick wildflowers, make flower crowns for the ladies. He even had the nerve to, thanks to his proximity, fudge some data for underperforming researchers—which ended with his mother furious…

“He’d even share his supplies.”

Nidhogg smiled again, tossed the sauce into the pot, drained the now-done pasta, and tipped it in as well.

“Me, I had the lowest clearance. My odds of making it were abysmal. If I wasn’t ending the world, I just wanted to rot on a pile of scrap.”

“He’d drag me off to logistics every day, rummaging out pasta flour, taking me along to make his tomato spaghetti for his visitors. I didn’t want to go, but you can’t win a fight with Bian Xu—that maniac. So I just got hauled along, standing there while the noodles sizzled in the pot, and when he let me plate them, I almost spilled the whole lot from nervousness—he nearly had a heart attack, he cared so much.”

“…That was the first time I’d ever tasted something that wasn’t military rations or nutritionally balanced prefab slop.”

Nidhogg lowered his gaze, snapping his wrist as he flipped the noodles in the pan, tossing the creamy pasta high in a showy arc, then letting them fall back in one smooth motion—perfect technique.

“We ate half that pot between us. The other half, he tucked away with care in a tin lunch box, decorated the top with cherry tomatoes, even dashed on a rare bit of grated cheese—God knows which researcher snuck that to him, must’ve hoarded it for ages, never eaten it themselves… and they didn’t let me touch it either, the bastards.

“He said he had to bring it for a very important, very special grown-up. The best grown-up in the world—the one who changed his whole life.”

Click.

Nidhogg killed the heat, sprinkled crispy bacon atop, and then plated the creamy pasta with a soft thump, sliding it before Si Zhiyan.

Si Zhiyan raised his head.

“You too,” Nidhogg said, toothpick in his mouth, bracing one arm on the table with a grin. “For letting me stand here today—for everything that’s happened—thank you, Boss.”

——

For a split second, Si Zhiyan seemed to return to a room of bare metal and alloy.

Everything around was a bleak, unremarkable shade of grey.

Only one figure, blond, knelt at his bedside, snuggling in close—head on the pillow, golden hair ruffling, the closeness just crossing social boundaries, but impossible to chide, just as one can never scold a golden retriever who yearns for your affection.

Those blue eyes shimmered, brimming with secret joy as he sidled up to Si Zhiyan and whispered confidentially:

“Sir! Sir! I brought you something good!”

…

What was that “something good”?

The memory was too hazy.

Perhaps it was tomato spaghetti scattered with cheese, perhaps a crown of violet wildflowers, or a small poetry volume begged from a scientist after much effort…

There had been so many. So many that even Si Zhiyan could no longer keep track.

In that dull, steel-stitched cage,
Bian Xu had done everything he could—dragging his world, so faint and so small, into Si Zhiyan’s sight.

Just for those rare moments when he glanced over in curiosity, or revealed, ever so faintly, a gently curving smile.

——

The vine around his neck wound tighter, digging a red line into the pallid skin.
A faint pain broke Si Zhiyan’s wandering thoughts.

Shi He was still out purging abominations. Nidhogg, having set aside a serving of food for him, was not shy about serving up a plate for himself. He sat down across from Si Zhiyan, forked up a bite of pasta.

Si Zhiyan still preferred chopsticks for this kind of meal. He snapped a pair apart, gave the pasta a gentle stir—the rich scent of creamy mushroom sauce billowed forth, dense and clouded with steam.

The smokiness and savory oil of the bacon seeped in perfectly; after just a few stirs, the flavor soaked every strand. Each noodle was wrapped in thick, white sauce, sticky with dairy aroma. The mushrooms and chicken had stewed until they were nearly melting, integrating into the sauce, their size ideal, perfectly lodged in the crevices, inseparable from the pasta itself.

In the mouth, the slightly firm noodles, saturated with cream, blended with the chewy mushrooms and chunks of chicken. Occasionally, a bite of crisp, salty bacon thrilled the palate—texture layered and fun, the seasoning spot-on, carb and fat entwined in absolute satisfaction.

Though his boasts sounded wild, Nidhogg’s kitchen skills were truly excellent.
He’d be more than adequate as a Western buffet chef—not to mention, back before the apocalypse, could have helmed the back kitchen of any hotel with ease.

“Bian Xu… was the first person in my life I could call a friend. Maybe the only friend I had before the end. It’s because of him and that kid that I even thought about cooking tasty meals—to feed the kid, myself, and the people I respect and care about…”

Nidhogg chewed his mouthfuls, cheeks bulging, his quiet voice carrying an unsettling calm.

“If it weren’t for that, I’d make the world pay—kill anyone I could, as many as I could.”

“Boss, you once said it was a shame I wanted to die so badly. But I disagree. The best thing that ever happened… was that we didn’t meet until after both of us had already felt like dying.”

He swallowed, then raised his fork with a laugh, pointing it at Si Zhiyan—

“Otherwise, I’d have taken you out, no matter what.”

Si Zhiyan met the dragon’s eyes and smiled. “Likewise.”

All things considered—even the Frost Sacrificial Array.

If Nidhogg, in order to protect Shi He, had slaughtered every player-priest under heaven, Si Zhiyan would have had no choice but to kill Nidhogg.

And if Si Zhiyan killed Nidhogg, Shi He would have to die as well.

Of course, Si Zhiyan would ensure everything went perfectly: arrange a rock-solid story with Xu Bei’s team, and limit the repercussions as much as possible.

But such scenes of rivers of blood—best never to happen.

The truth was, the one who had averted all that carnage was the golden-haired youth. In that suffocating, frozen laboratory, he’d pulled Nidhogg into making tomato pasta, to offer to the one he loved most.

Because of Bian Xu, Nidhogg realized the world might still be worth saving, realized what love was. Later, after all the children of his heart, hating everything else, he’d think not of destroying the world—but of destroying himself.

What a strange fate.

At that moment, the door opened. Shi He finished that round of fighting, set down his sniper rifle, and scampered in, bounding down the stairs in three jumps. He stood expectantly before Nidhogg, head tilted for approval. Nidhogg said something with a grin, ruffled the boy’s hair, and Shi He beamed with delight. Grabbing him a bowl of pasta, the two pressed close, heads together, whispering secrets.

As to what exactly was said, none could know. All one could see was Nidhogg’s exuberance, Shi He’s blushing ears, and the occasional sticky, half-muffled giggle.

Si Zhiyan swallowed another mouthful with a smile, lowered his gaze, and absently caressed the vine.

Not knowing what it meant, the vine curled up joyfully, winding round and round his finger, nestling there affectionately.

I rather miss you, Si Zhiyan thought. When will you come see me again?