With the Blade

"This..."

Staring at the chopping board and knife in front of him, Shan Bing couldn’t say anything for a long time.

Finally, with the preparation work done, he could start cutting the meat, but the mere minutes spent washing dishes left him soaked in sweat.

His clothes were already drenched, a result of his inner turmoil. Shan Bing suddenly realized that this so-called "letting go of thoughts" wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

No, it’s more than just not easy; it’s an incredibly difficult thing!

"How can it be?"

Shan Bing suddenly felt a bit disoriented. In that moment, his perception seemed skewed. In his mind, the act of clearing one’s thoughts always seemed as simplistic as the behavior of a fool—a simpleton. Of course, this might sound disrespectful to the Little Giant, but in practical terms, not thinking at all seemed rather witless.

Yet, this seemingly brainless task—something he considered doable even by fools—was something that he, an intelligent person, couldn’t accomplish.

He couldn’t even manage to clear his mind, to stop thinking. He couldn’t even focus solely on making a perfect dish of lion’s head meatballs.

"I..."

A wave of dizziness hit him, a fatigue brought on by excessive tension. His knees buckled, and Shan Bing collapsed to the ground.

It was then that he saw the ants on the floor.

There were about a dozen ants gathered on the ground, around a crumb of food that had fallen there sometime earlier. The ants were diligently tearing this large piece of nourishment into smaller bits, lifting them over their heads, and marching in a line towards the entrance of their nest in the wall corner.

Even though Shan Bing almost crushed the ants when he fell, they merely changed direction, taking a slight detour, and continued on their way to the distant nest.

Step after steady step.

"This..."

Shan Bing was speechless.

Even ants, these tiny creatures, could remain undistracted.

Yet he couldn’t.

Was he really lesser than ants?

"Damn it!"

Spitting on a few ants, Shan Bing struggled to his feet.

"Damn it!"

After washing the dust from his hands, Shan Bing picked up the cleaver again, glaring intently at the pork on the chopping board.

How could he possibly be outdone by ants? How could he!

"I am... an elephant."

The dull-edged cleaver, unsharpened for quite some time, finally sliced into the pork.

"I am an elephant!"

The cleaver came down like a storm, and the whole kitchen descended into chaos.

...

...

...

"Ah."

Two hours later, Shan Bing lifted the lid off the pot, producing his first attempt at clear-braised lion’s head meatballs.

The meat wasn’t chopped finely enough, and the tendons weren’t cut cleanly, making the meatballs look rather odd. As for the broth, it was a disastrous mistake. In his haste at the imperial kitchen, he had left too early to see the process of preparing the broth. The soup he had made now lacked any flavor, and it certainly failed to impart any taste to the meatballs.

The first bite he took was full of wood shavings.

"Ah."

Shan Bing collapsed in front of the stove.

He admitted it. Maybe, perhaps, he was indeed not as capable as ants.

But he still forced himself to finish this culinary garbage he’d made, including the wood-tainted meatballs. No matter how bad it was, it was something he created with his own hands, his first attempt at making clear-braised lion’s head, and he had to see it through to the end.

"One must bear the consequences of one’s own actions."

This was Shan Bing’s way of trying to motivate himself.

All in all, his first attempt to strengthen himself ended in perfect failure. Every aspect of it was a failure, not a single part was successful. Yet at least he gained some insight: he wasn’t an elephant now; he wasn’t even equal to ants.

"I... sigh."

Defeated, Shan Bing decided to go out. He wanted to find someone to drink with.

Unfortunately, Jiang Wenyuan wasn’t around. Unable to bear the oppressive atmosphere in Jiankang Imperial City when the Emperor was present, Jiang Wenyuan had left the city days ago to suppress bandits and hadn’t yet returned. Of course, given the speed of the Commanders, he must have received the news and was on his way back.

But there was certainly no getting back in time, leaving Shan Bing no option to vent his frustration to his best friend.

After some contemplation, Shan Bing headed inside the imperial city.

Approaching a superior to drink together was somewhat blurring the lines of rank and status, but Shan Bing, consumed by confusion, needed someone older to offer guidance. Fortunately, the old eunuch was kind to him and didn’t mind such impropriety.

Moreover, the old eunuch wasn’t engaged in anything serious—he, too, was making clear-braised lion’s head.

"Ah, this..."

Just a glance at the old eunuch’s lion’s head filled Shan Bing with greater inferiority.

Unlike Shan Bing, who came from a military background, the old eunuch had served three emperors. While not the best in martial arts, in the realm of servitude, there was no one more skilled. Cooking was naturally part of serving others, and although the old eunuch’s skills couldn’t rival the acclaimed chefs in the imperial kitchen, he far surpassed the cooks in ordinary taverns.

"I... sigh."

Just the enticing aroma made Shan Bing feel like crying.

Men shed tears only when deeply hurt, and incompetence was certainly the most disheartening thing. Especially the thought that he wasn’t even as good as ants, that he couldn’t dedicate himself to making a simple dish of lion’s head, amplified Shan Bing’s internal pain.

And, of course, the old eunuch noticed Shan Bing’s expression.

With tears nearly falling into his bowl, the old eunuch couldn’t ignore it. He was even more puzzled at what had gotten into Shan Bing, the hardened man from the south with a warrior’s background, suddenly acting this way.

Puzzled, yet filled with his own pain, Shan Bing poured out the day’s experiences to the old eunuch.

This left the old eunuch both crying and laughing.

"Isn’t it just a badly cooked dish? Just make another pot, won’t you?"

"Make another pot... sigh."

Shan Bing sighed again.

He had thought of trying again, but no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to clean the kitchen and start anew. Even before picking up the knife, just looking at those pots and pans, and the ruined chopping board, made him feel emotionally blocked and panicky.

"Can I really do it well? Can I actually do it well if I try again?"

He knew the answer wasn’t good.

"I’m not a cook, nor have I studied culinary arts. I’m a soldier; I only know how to fight. No matter what, I can’t do this task well... I can’t even focus completely, I’m worse than ants. How could I possibly do it well?"

"Why are you thinking about this?"

The old eunuch cast a puzzled glance at Shan Bing.

"Didn’t you say you needed to think of nothing? So why are you thinking again?"

"I... huh?"

Shan Bing was taken aback for a moment.

Indeed, it seemed like that was true.

The Little Giant had said to think of nothing, so why had he started thinking again?

"This..."

At that moment, it seemed Shan Bing suddenly realized something.

The Little Giant was right. That statement was entirely correct. Only the weak need to think and ponder.

The strong don’t need to think.

"I have completely understood."

Taking a deep breath, Shan Bing wiped the grime from his face.

"I’ll try again."