Chapter 56: Mud-Baked Chicken and Chicken-Baked Mud (Part Two)

High-end ingredients often require only the most rustic methods of cooking.

Take a premium mountain pheasant, pluck its feathers, slit open its belly to remove the entrails, and rinse away the blood with river water. Then, stuff its cavity with spices such as bay leaves and cinnamon, and sew it up using tree branches.

Next, take well-conditioned lotus leaves to wrap the chicken body, coat the outer layer of the lotus leaves with a properly proportioned mud mixture, and place it into the second tier of a previously constructed small earthen fort.

Once the preliminary preparations are complete, the next crucial stage is lighting the fire.

Starting a fire is like living life; the heat must be neither too intense nor too sluggish.

Therefore, the choice of firewood is quite particular.

Do not choose new wood, for it burns too fiercely; do not choose aged wood, for moisture seeps into the core, making it difficult to sustain the flame.

It is best to choose pine wood that has been stacked for more than a month but less than three months, chop it into small pieces, and add a few small sticks whenever the stove fire begins to wane.

There are several appropriately sized circular holes on the earthen layer that acts as a partition between the fire of the first tier and the chicken of the second tier, designed to allow the rising heat to better steam the chicken through.

Finally, one simply needs to wait quietly for a little while, and the clay-baked chicken—charred and golden on the bottom, tender and flaky on the top—can be served.

This craft, passed down to the old patriarch Master Mo, is already in its eighteenth generation.

And now, before going into the earth himself, he has successfully taught this craft to his grandson, Moxi.

A millennium of heritage, passed down by word of mouth; ingenuity unique and unyielding, the soul of cuisine enduring through the ages.

Seeing his grandson adding a few sticks of firewood without haste just as the flame was about to die out, and then skillfully fanning the embers with a banana leaf, a look of gratification appeared in the old patriarch's eyes.

At this moment, his daughter came over and whispered a few words into his ear.

The old patriarch nodded and instructed Moxi:

"Linde and Cynthia—one is your benefactor, and the other is your benefactor's dragon. When you grow up, you must repay them well."

"I know, Grandpa," Moxi replied, pouting.

Having a patriarch for a grandfather made life rather difficult.

It was one thing to listen to endless nagging every day, but while other young burrowing dragons were out kicking dirt balls, he had to follow his grandfather around to handle trivial matters for the dragons in the clan.

Helping this family dig a hole, helping that family split firewood with claws, and distributing food to households that failed to hunt anything...

Just because his father left early, his grandfather's expectations for him were exceptionally high.

Sigh, always doing these trivial chores, when would he ever become a mighty, great hero?

A true hero should be like Linde, beating the evil dragon so thoroughly that it wouldn't dare show its face outside its home.

Later, if he gives him the clay-baked chicken I made, will he be so happy that he secretly teaches me a couple of tricks on how to become a great hero?!

Moxi couldn't help but let his imagination run wild.

The refreshing fragrance of the lotus leaves blended into the meaty aroma of the roast chicken, making even the young dragon next door drool with envy.

"Is it done yet? Is it done yet? I want to eat ten!"

Before the dragon could be seen, her voice arrived first.

Though her body hadn't arrived yet, the gluttonous dragon's voice echoed ahead.

Despite Linde repeatedly instructing Victoria along the way to be a little reserved during dinner, reminding her that they were guests and needed to maintain some dignity, the young dragon had agreed with a mouthful of promises, looking utterly cheerful.

But when the moment truly arrived before the food, Victoria perfectly demonstrated the meaning of:

*Pre-meal promises are for reference only; everything is subject to the actual food.*

Feeling the surrounding burrowing dragons fix their gazes upon them, Linde couldn't help but cover his face, harboring the urge to beat Victoria into a burrowing dragon herself.

The moment his eyes met the old patriarch's, he quickly said:

"Old Patriarch, don't listen to her nonsense. Giving this fellow three at most is more than enough. Everyone worked hard running around to make this chicken, so everyone else should eat more. We'll be content just tasting a bit of the sentiment."

Victoria's claws restlessly scratched the dirt while her eyes darted upward, scheming in her heart.

Linde gets half, I get half; Cynthia gets half, I get half, three plus two halves...

Eating five shouldn't be too excessive.

A genius young dragon's arithmetic was top-notch.

Hearing Linde's words, the old patriarch merely smiled kindly:

"Please feel free to eat your fill. A single small earthen fort can make three clay-baked chickens, and with these eight or nine forts, there is certainly more than enough. Besides, there are still clan dragons out catching chickens right now."

"We don't hold large banquets like this very often. For one, we must exercise restraint and not hunt the pheasants to extinction; for another, it's to allow them time to recover and multiply."

"Right now is the season when they are overabundant, so catching a few more can be considered maintaining the balance."

"I see. That's wonderful." Linde nodded.

Unlike Victoria, his mind wasn't on the clay-baked chicken; instead, he was preoccupied with the cooperation the old patriarch had mentioned earlier.

With the relationship and goodwill of the burrowing dragons, the resistance to communicating and uniting nearby races would be significantly reduced.

If he could harness the power of the grassroots dragons, whether it was his road-building plan or launching TNT into the air, he would gain countless helpers.

Linde's intent was not on the chicken.

The old patriarch seemed to notice this as well, and proactively invited:

"It seems Linde's appetite has not quite opened up yet. How about we chat for a bit to stimulate our appetite and continue the topic we left unfinished earlier?"

"As it happens, the clay-baked chicken is a bit too hot for the mouth when it first comes out, and it's best to let it cool for a little while before eating."

"The old patriarch is truly considerate."

A smile appeared on Linde's face as he prepared to find a quiet place with him for a detailed discussion.

"Wuwu, my tongue got burned by a blister, it hurts so much! Quickly compensate me with another chicken to stop the pain."

"O-Okay! Sorry for burning your tongue..."

The voice from behind instantly froze the smile on Linde's face.

He hurriedly turned back and ran over to give Cynthia a few instructions, telling her to keep an eye on Victoria.

If Victoria dared to bully the honest and obedient burrowing dragons again, he would properly deal with her when he got back.

After finishing, Linde accompanied the old patriarch toward the shade of a large tree.

"Our clan has already decided to help you wholeheartedly. If you have any needs, don't hesitate; just speak up," the old patriarch stated bluntly. "Helping you is helping our own clan."

"Then I won't beat around the bush and will tell you the truth," Linde said with a serious expression.

"First, I need to build a road, and I must trouble your clan for assistance. Along the way, I need to find open spots to establish Redstone signal repeater stations. I beg the Old Patriarch to dispatch burrowing dragons to guard them, and when necessary, take them along to relocate. These will be our second pair of 'eyes' in the battle against the Red Dragon."

"Second, I need a massive amount of coal and sand, along with white wool, diamond ore, and a bunch of other things. I will accompany you all to gather them."

"Third, we need to find trustworthy other races to unite with, to confuse the Red Dragon's sight and disrupt its judgment. The more dragons, the better."

"And then..."

Linde explained his entire plan to the old patriarch.

The old patriarch occasionally narrowed his eyes, occasionally let his pupils brighten, and finally clapped his claws in approval.

"Linde, what are your odds of success?"

"About seventy percent. If it stubbornly chooses to do nothing but run away, we might really not be able to stop it."

"No, no, no. I'm asking about your odds of survival. Most of us dragons are prepared to die, harboring the resolve for a last stand; even if we die, it will be a death with purpose."

"But you are different. As long as you are still here, everyone still has a glimmer of hope..."

"I will do my utmost to protect every single one of you dragons. Live well, don't talk about dying and such. And..."

"And what?"

Victoria, having eaten her fill, trotted over to join the fun and happened to catch the tail end of the conversation.

Noticing Linde's unfriendly expression, she hurriedly pulled something out from behind her back:

"Here, have some chicken."

"Chicken bones?"

Looking at the chicken drumstick bone stripped clean of meat, Linde voiced his question.

"There's still flavor on it, hurry up and suck on it while it's hot."

"You really are good to me!" Linde said through gritted teeth.

"Isn't that so? You said you just wanted to taste the sentiment, so I brought you the sentiment. How obedient am I~"

"Hey, hey, hey! Why are you resorting to violence? Even obedient dragons get beaten—where is the reason in this?!"

The young dragon's cries of protest evoked a wave of laughter.

Meanwhile, the old patriarch, lingering in place, ruminated over the comprehensive plan Linde had described.

It seemed the next few days would be quite busy.

Yet, thinking that they might one day actually be able to take the initiative and challenge the Red Dragon, the old patriarch's heart swelled with surging emotions.

Will we win?

He silently gave an affirmative answer in his heart.