Longing for the Flavors of Home
The salty taste that scraped the tongue, the sweetness so intense it made the mouth ache. The fiery heat blending chili peppers, garlic, green onions, and onions into a spicy harmony. And the umami created by dumping in MSG—the arrogant seasoning that dared call itself the root of all flavor! The sweet, salty, spicy, and savory essence of Korean cuisine was born from these four great pillars.
But consider this. Salt was not cheap. Sugar was prohibitively expensive. The trendy spice from India known as southern barbarian chili was only familiar in Sichuan. As for MSG and its profound umami? That was a flavor born of dedication, achieved only by boiling animal bones for an excruciatingly long time until they turned to mush and the marrow melted completely. It could not be dismissed as mere white powder; it was humanity’s own unique gourmet treasure. And so Cheong’s homesickness was represented by kimchi jjigae alone, but in truth it was a longing for the full spectrum of Korean cuisine that encompassed all four great elements. It was a thirst no imitation could quench.
The soul of the Korean people—fried chicken—existed even in the Central Plains. From the beginning, no other civilization had oil as abundant as the Central Plains, where even common villagers had developed the art of deep-frying. Samgyeopsal? Pork was the most common ingredient in the Central Plains. Noodles? The Central Plains was the origin point of every noodle dish in existence; without it, noodles themselves would not exist in this world.
Therefore, the fact that Cheong had only now fallen into heart demons from longing sickness was something worthy of praise for having endured so long. It was the ideal phantom food her soul desperately craved. Her expression was one of pure, aching yearning.
A woman’s face as she desperately longs for something possesses a beauty that transcends eras and worlds. After all, longing is born from the desire for a lost beauty. And the people of the Central Plains were a race that valued such desperate yearning more than any other ethnicity on earth. They were a perverted bunch whose lust would explode from the slightest frown, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The greatest beauty of the Central Plains, Xi Shi, had merely furrowed her brow because of chronic chest pain that made breathing difficult, yet the entire world believed she was longing for something. Thus, even the elite warriors of the Demonic Cult were on the verge of catching the same sickness.
By now Cheong was a beauty who could walk anywhere with confidence. Even if that beauty threatened to shatter the moment she walked, ate, or spoke.
Yet Cheong was not herself. The heart-constricting melancholy radiating from her longing pierced straight through the hearts of the Demonic Cult’s experts.
Hey. Only today have I finally realized what my ideal woman’s face looks like.
You too, brother? I was thinking exactly the same thing.
Your sister-in-law’s face is going to wear out. Stop staring.
Sister-in-law my ass. Worry about getting past the father-in-law first, why don’t you?
Fortunately, there was a great demon head attending the beauty. Had it not been for Choe-ri-ong, countless proposals—no, outright marriage vows—would have flown toward Cheong. But Choe-ri-ong was a Harmonious Realm demon who emitted Purple Lightning Energy the moment anyone drew near. If he felt even slightly annoyed, he could turn living people into piles of charcoal that had once been human, and the Demonic Cult was not the sort of organization that questioned the crime of unauthorized charcoal production.
Therefore everyone pretended not to notice, stealing only furtive glances at Cheong’s yearning expression while she remained nestled in the Jajeon Magun’s arms. Choe-ri-ong swept the surroundings with his piercing blue eyes to dispel the gazes, but it was utter chaos—when he looked one way, they peeked from the other, and when he looked there, they peeked from here.
Choe-ri-ong clicked his tongue.
“Child, why are you so lifeless? Even a completely exhausted mutt would have more spirit than you.”
“Kimchi jjigae… I want kimchi jjigae…”
“Kimchi jjigae? What a bizarre name I’ve never heard in all my years. Wait—you’re throwing this fit just because you want to eat something?”
“Just… something to eat… that’s too much…”
Choe-ri-ong’s eyebrows twitched. Had it been her usual temperament, she would have immediately started a fight, shouting at the top of her lungs about how he could call it “just” without understanding her feelings. She was not the type to weakly murmur “that’s too much” like a dying squid.
Only then did Choe-ri-ong realize something was truly wrong. Though she had said “just food,” the long-lived elder did not dismiss it as a mere child’s food tantrum. A child surrounded by demon heads with no one to truly open her heart to was missing home, and that longing had manifested through food. Just how deep must that homesickness run?
Yet Choe-ri-ong was in no position to speak self-righteously. He had promised to send her back. He would keep that promise, but the image of a child who had already learned demonic arts losing any place to return to was painfully clear in his mind. So instead he asked a different question.
“Very well. If it’s just food, what is there that we cannot make? Tell me about it.”
A faint light returned to Cheong’s eyes.
“Really? Kimchi jjigae is a stew boiled with kimchi.”
“And what is kimchi?”
“Um. White vegetables turned red with chili? But it’s not just pickled on the surface—it has to be aged and fermented.”
“Then go back.”
“I can’t go back…”
Cheong drooped again. Choe-ri-ong found himself at a loss. It seemed to be some regional dish from somewhere. Fermented red white vegetables? Extremely bizarre, and the problem was that it could not be made simply by gathering ingredients.
Choe-ri-ong could only sigh, unsure what to do.
And one of the Demonic Cult experts whose heart had been stolen by the pitiful beauty used his Great Accomplishment in the Earth Listening Technique to eavesdrop on their conversation.
The Earth Listening Technique was an art that focused internal energy to isolate and hear a single sound. Masters used it to listen to distant noises or filter out surrounding clamor to capture only the desired dialogue. In other words, its original purpose had always been wiretapping—a technique designed to steal others’ words.
At any rate, the eavesdropping succeeded, so one could say the great accomplishment had been worth it.
Ah. I want to eat something spicy.
Cheong had lost her appetite and was merely picking at her food. In Choe-ri-ong’s eyes, it looked like mere picking. Only after her gluttony had died did the Seomun Su-rin-style nuclear-attack cramming education finally bear fruit. Only after her instincts perished did the habits engraved in her body emerge—the nuclear-powered beautiful-lady behavioral patterns.
Therefore, to those who did not know Cheong’s true nature, it was a flawless, perfect beauty’s meal without a single fault.
This one’s sweet. This one’s salty. There’s no rice and everything is oily and greasy to death.
Cheong eventually set her chopsticks down. It was a monumental event—Cheong refusing rice.
It was then.
“Miss. Try this.”
“……?”
Cheong turned her head blankly. The clear sorrow mixed with languidness struck the expert offering the bowl so deeply that his heart pounded.
“It’s said to be a local soup from these parts. It seemed the food didn’t suit your taste, so I brought it.”
The other experts who witnessed the scene thought, Oh no! Damn it, there was such a method!
To catch a horse, shoot the general first—wait, was that the saying? At any rate, the one who captured the stomach ruled the woman’s heart!
In truth, within the Central Plains style of romance (abbreviated here for the next opportunity), men were forced to display a level of devotion greater than any other ethnicity in the world. Since Cheong was already a beauty, this was something she would experience firsthand once she stepped into the Central Plains.
Cheong stared at the soup. It looked pale and watery, not promising at all, but perhaps…
She scooped a spoonful and brought it demurely to her lips.
It was salty, sour, and greasy. Sour broth with a meal? Too much. Really. How could the world be like this? Was getting one proper bowl of spicy soup such an impossible task?
Normally she would have thrown a fit, but because of the heart demon she simply set the spoon down in quiet despair.
Besides, kimchi jjigae was also a spicy and sour soup. And from that moment onward, every single one of Cheong’s meals featured soups of every variety placed upon the table.
At first Choe-ri-ong glared fiercely, but seeing that she took at least a spoonful or two and that it added up to a decent amount, he withdrew his killing intent almost as if granting permission.
Even so, the fact that Cheong ultimately never tasted a proper spicy broth—what a tremendous tragedy that was.
If Seolgajik had seen this scene, he would have imparted enlightenment: if she simply kept her mouth shut and pretended to be in a bad mood, wouldn’t she receive hospitality everywhere she went?
But Seolgajik was no longer with them…
And so the Demonic Cult’s party drew closer to the Cheonma Tomb with each passing day.
Thus another seven weeks went by.
The demonic villains of the Demonic Cult, disguised as merchants, set foot upon the land of Gansu. Gansu Province stretched out like a snake extending its head far into the distance. The reason the narrow, elongated province had formed in such a strange shape was simple. High mountain ranges stood both above and below it—what else could be done? Therefore it served as the only flat passage leading to the Western Regions beyond Xinjiang, nestled between those barriers.
Many merchants traveled this route, and since they all walked with piles of silk stacked high, the road earned the nickname Silk Road.
The sight of merchants swarming along the Silk Road was the most natural scene imaginable, so the Demonic Cult’s invasion force disguised as merchants drew no suspicion whatsoever. Then the caravan suddenly veered sharply south and arrived at the famous Chilchae Mountain of Zhangdan.
Chilchae Mountain earned its name from possessing seven colors. The listless Cheong gazed upon the sight.
Ah. This was in that civilization documentary…
It was the famous Zhangdan Danxia, internationally known as Zhangye Danxia. A breathtaking landscape where bare land without vegetation drew waves of seven different hues. It was certainly mysterious, but…
It’s just colored dirt.
The deranged Cheong roughly wrapped up her impression.
Had Cheong possessed any real knowledge of the Central Plains’ geography, she might have guessed the location of the Cheonma Tomb at this point and slapped her knee in realization. Continuing south from Chilchae Mountain along the mountain ridges would lead to the Pingshan Lake Grand Canyon. Vertical cliffs stood like walls with a winding gorge running between them—a natural labyrinth created by nature itself.
Therefore, if one wished to hide the seed of such a great disaster, where better than Pingshan Lake! But Cheong’s geographical knowledge was far too shallow for such an exclamation.