Goose hearts, livers, kidneys, and intestines were all considered supreme delicacies; stewing them together would surely yield an exceptional dish.
Yang Xi, however, appeared less enthusiastic about animal offal; while assisting with the catch, he nearly discarded the innards along with the feathers, drawing a sharp rebuke from Lin Yu.
“What era are we in that you’re still being picky about offal?” Lin Yu chided. “Though I admit I also dislike the texture of hearts, livers, and kidneys… but as I always say, in times of war, having anything to eat is a blessing!”
A stew seasoned solely with salt would hardly be palatable, yet Lin Yu adamantly insisted on simmering some of the offal in the pot, which met with Yang Xi’s vehement opposition.
“It’ll be incredibly gamey without any seasoning,” he protested.
“Stop with the chatter!” she retorted, exasperated. “If you find it too gamey, then simply don’t eat it. We have four wounded soldiers waiting for this hot soup, after all… Oh, right, I need to check on them! You keep an eye on the fire!”
Having been engrossed by the small stove for quite some time, Lin Yu suddenly recalled the wounded soldiers inside the tent who required her attention. She swiftly abandoned Yang Xi and hurried back to assess their condition.
‘…Phew, thankfully, they’re all recovering…’
Only after meticulously checking each soldier’s pulse and respiration rate at their bedsides did Lin Yu finally feel at ease enough to fully commit herself to the grand endeavor of stewing the ‘swan’ in the iron pot.
‘By the way, was that bird really a swan?’
As she prepared to leave the bedside of the last wounded soldier, a belated realization prompted her to touch her own forehead with the back of her hand.
‘…’
A jolt of alarm sent her spinning back to the bed, pressing the back of her hand against the soldier’s forehead. “You… you have a fever?”
A “fever” contracted on the battlefield was far more perilous than a mere chill from insufficient clothing; in the vast majority of cases, it signaled the onset of a serious infection.
Extensive wounds allowed pathogens to invade the body, prompting the immune system to mount a full-scale defense, resulting in an unyielding high fever. Without medical intervention, the overwhelming majority of infected individuals would succumb.
This grim reality was starkly illustrated by the first casualty Lin Yu had treated—an elderly man who had lost his right foot. Lacking any available medication for the frontline troops, he had tragically perished in his sickbed.
The wounded soldier offered a faint, disoriented nod, while Lin Yu, as if confronting a formidable adversary, frantically began searching for any trace of anti-infective medication.
Most of the medical supplies had already been relocated. After a prolonged search, she finally discovered a small, solitary vial of medication lying on the ground, and with a determined snap, she broke off the ampoule’s neck.
With practiced swiftness, she located the injection site, plunged the needle in, and administered the medicine.
“It’s alright now,” she reassured him gently. “I’ve given you the medicine, so rest easy; you won’t die.” Having once again saved a life, she radiated an almost angelic glow as she carefully re-covered the soldier with his small blanket.
By the time Lin Yu re-emerged from the tent, the evening meal simmering in the pot was finally ready.
Yang Xi located a few unclaimed mess tins and began spooning out potatoes and broth, along with generous portions of the “goose meat” that had been simmering for a full half-hour.
Despite the lack of additional seasoning, the poultry’s natural fat had rendered out, forming a beautiful sheen of oil on the surface. Having been stewed for a considerable time, the meat was incredibly tender, and the broth had thickened to a rich consistency.
Pouring a small amount of water from her canteen to wash her hands, Lin Yu then picked up a spoon, ladled a bit of soup, and brought it carefully to her nose, inhaling softly.
‘Just the aroma alone could extend one’s lifespan by a decade.’
‘Drinking this soup, what an exquisite pleasure… Neither too salty nor too bland, the taste was simply superb.’
While the accompanying potatoes and greens were perhaps a tad simplistic, the sheer abundance of meat more than compensated, turning what might have been a drawback into a distinct advantage.
Cradling the mess tin, she gently blew into it, allowing the steam, fragrant and warm, to slowly rise and curl around her nose before drifting back into the tent behind them.
“Well, what do you think? It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Lin Yu asked, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she nudged the man beside her with her elbow. “This is the legendary iron pot stewed goose! When we have more ingredients in the future, I’ll make you an even more fragrant version.”
The poultry, which she had so confidently labeled “big goose,” possessed a remarkably tender and delicate texture, distinct from any chicken, duck, or ordinary goose meat. The exceptional flavor of this dinner stemmed less from Lin Yu’s culinary prowess and more from the inherent quality of the ingredient itself. After savoring the two generous pieces of meat she had served herself, she even felt a slight replenishment of her dwindling magical reserves.
‘It was practically magic.’
Yang Xi swallowed a mouthful of the tender meat, then stated, “This meat is… unusual. It’s not goose.”
“…Eh?”
“Goose meat doesn’t have this texture, nor does it taste like this. Where exactly did you get it?”
“I shot it down, of course. I’d initially planned to make a simple potato and vegetable soup, but I worried the wounded wouldn’t eat something so bland and entirely vegetarian. Then I spotted a bird continuously circling overhead, so…”
Lin Yu set her spoon back into her mess tin, freed her right hand, and shaped it into a pistol, pointing it at a 45-degree angle towards the sky. “Bang—”
She offered her answer with an onomatopoeic flourish, a sound utterly unsuited to the discharge of an otherworldly rifle.
“And then I hit it! I ran over and hauled it back here. To be honest, I still have no idea what kind of bird it actually is.”
Picking up her spoon once more, she brought it to her mouth, sipping the soup as she curiously countered, “But why do you ask? Don’t you like the taste? It’s really quite delicious.”
“Because I, too, find it exceptionally delicious, as if I’m transported back to my homeland.”
“‘Homeland’ is such a formal word, something a scholar would use. Wouldn’t ‘old home’ be much better? It’s catchy and full of warmth. ‘Homeland’ feels so distant; ‘old home’ is much more intimate.”
“As if I’m in an old home I can never return to.”
“…Fine, just stick with ‘homeland’ then.”
Seated by the iron pot, Lin Yu and Yang Xi conversed for a long while, their topics ranging from the four methods of stewing goose to the present war, and from the current conflict to their future aspirations.
Whether it was an illusion or not, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was no longer as utterly foolish as when they had first met.
Provided the conversation steered clear of matters concerning the nation and the emperor, he could respond quite normally, exhibiting reactions befitting any ordinary person.
“Had enough to eat?”
“Mm, thank you for the meal.”
“Good, you’ve learned to say thank you. The next step is to master social graces, instead of always clinging to… never mind, let’s not dwell on that. Just be happy.”
Lin Yu tilted her head back, drained the last drop of soup from her mess tin, licked her lips, and began tidying up.
Yang Xi, meanwhile, was tasked with collecting the wounded soldiers’ bowls and utensils. Thanks to Lin Yu’s dedicated treatment, while they remained confined to their beds, they were at least able to sit up and eat.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to sit by the small stove, eating and chatting leisurely; instead, they would have been forced to move separately, spoon-feeding soup to the wounded.
While tending to the wounded was undeniably a medic’s duty, she longed for a little time to herself, particularly these rare moments of respite.
She ate her own meal, walked her own path, and as for her own difficulties… perhaps Yang Xi would unexpectedly appear one day to resolve them, just as he had moments ago.
With the leftover bones neatly piled to one side, she used the last drops of cool water to thoroughly clean the pot before setting it upright. Lin Yu then stood outside the tent, surveying her work with a satisfied expression.
‘What a truly delicious dinner.’
‘I really want to know what kind of meat that was. I’ll have to shoot another one and stew it someday.’
Giving each of the Black-armored guards on the ground a swift kick, Lin Yu and Yang Xi then together disposed of their bodies within the tent. With her belongings gathered, Lin Yu prepared to depart from the area.
Although the wounded still required care, she knew she could not linger. The reawakened disciplinary squad would undoubtedly seek retribution. Without resorting to lethal force, their combined four fists would be no match for ten hands.
Yang Xi would probably still stand by her… wouldn’t he?
Lin Yu couldn’t be certain, for she knew all too well that her standing in the man’s estimation paled significantly compared to that of his emperor. Should those individuals concoct some lofty pretext, he could very likely be swayed against her, turning their struggle into two fists against twelve.
Fortunately, they were too lazy to even bother fabricating such excuses.
‘If only I could replace him someday.’
‘…Wait, what on earth am I thinking!’
The medic, busy packing her equipment, found herself blushing, while the assault soldier, the unwitting “culprit” of her thoughts, remained blissfully unaware.
“Damn that guy, why does he always get stuck in my head…”
“Hm? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just go do what you need to do.”
Having organized their gear, the two stood outside the tent, facing opposite directions, ready to part ways. Lin Yu intended to withdraw to the rear as a medic, while Yang Xi prepared to plunge back into the fray as an assault soldier.
“So, you’re heading back to the right bank position to continue holding the trenches, right?”
“I’ve been assigned a dispatch mission. Currently, as a messenger, I report directly to Commander Mo.”
“Oh, well then, good luck. Don’t linger here and find yourself unable to return.”
Yang Xi was preparing to re-enter the battlefield as a messenger… This brought to mind a loyal, patriotic messenger from a past life who had even earned an Iron Cross, later shifting careers to draw on maps and assist in the execution of a notorious war criminal.
‘Ahem, I’m getting sidetracked.’
‘It would be such a waste for an idiot like him to die in the trenches. If only his unwavering devotion to the emperor could be redirected elsewhere… Ugh, why am I even bothering to think about this?’
Lin Yu was startled to realize she was rapidly becoming like him. His mind was consumed by His Majesty the Emperor, while hers was consumed by him.
‘Does that make me a humorous right-winger, by rounding up?’
This thought suddenly made Lin Yu burst into laughter as she walked away from the front line, her back to it.
****
“Good luck to me…”
[Good luck to me.]
Several kilometers away, he softly repeated Lin Yu’s words, standing at the entrance of the Reserve 104th Regiment’s command post.