White and Fishy, Yet Delicious
As October drew to a close, the morning chill grew even sharper. At the well where my breath frosted white in the air, I paused while hauling up water cold as ice and suddenly found myself staring at my wrist. Lü Zhi’s skin was as pale as ever—the kind that made the phrase “white as jade” feel perfectly apt. Yet now, beneath that snowy surface, a delicate web of blue veins pushed through in vivid relief.
…So thin.
Lü Zhi’s body had always been delicate. The cherished daughter of the Lü clan, raised in comfort all her life. Soft and weak, with muscles nowhere in sight. But the body I now inhabited had crossed the line from slender into something dangerously frail.
I gazed fixedly at my reflection on the water’s surface. My cheekbones stood out more sharply than before. Faint, hollow shadows lingered beneath my eyes, and the healthy glow of my skin had dulled to a sickly matte. My complexion had turned sallow, like a wax doll stripped of all vitality.
This is a bad sign….
I let out a heavy sigh. For the past month I had worked like a woman possessed. The endless household chores at the Yu residence—cleaning, laundry, cooking, fetching water—were compounded by my duties for the Lü Trading Company: traveling between nearby villages, inspecting product quality, and balancing the ledgers. Up at six in the morning and collapsing into bed near ten at night; it was a literally murderous schedule. Yet the calories I consumed were pathetically inadequate. Every day brought thin millet porridge, salted vegetables, and only rarely a few wilted greens or a strip of dried jerky. Both calorically and nutritionally, it was a failing grade.
I need to change my diet.
Armed with modern nutritional knowledge, I could read the warning signs my body was screaming at me. Protein deficiency. A critical shortage of the essential nutrient required to build muscle, sustain immunity, and repair damaged tissue. But in this era, protein on a commoner’s table was rarer than gold. Cattle were needed for farming and could not be slaughtered without permission. Pigs were far less common than in the twenty-first century, chickens were too valuable for their eggs, and in inland Peixian fish were almost impossible to find. Besides, I had borrowed two thousand coins from my father; I could not afford to squander that precious seed money on mere meat.
In the end, the only meat available to a penniless commoner without connections was…
…dog meat.
I caught myself frowning. Fan Kuai was a dog butcher. If I asked him, I could obtain it cheaply or even for free. Liu Bang adored it to the point of obsession, and I had already learned a few recipes for Liu Fei’s sake. But for me—for someone who had come from twenty-first-century South Korea—the psychological barrier to eating dog meat remained painfully high. My mind could preach cultural relativism, yet my stomach and conscience rebelled with equal violence. After the single time I had tried it and ended up in tears remembering our family’s old dog Ddol-i, even Liu Bang had stopped pressing the issue.
I really am too soft….
I had resolved to do anything necessary to survive. If I could not even stomach dog meat, how could I possibly endure this brutal, turbulent age? Still, if there was another way, I wanted to find it. And above all, dog meat carried a distinctive odor that made it less than appetizing.
What should I do….
I dried my wet hands on a hemp towel and sank into deep thought. Lifting the water jar with some effort, I tucked it under my arm and headed back to the house.
Upon my return, the clatter of pottery echoed from the kitchen. To my surprise, Liu Bang had risen early and stood before the stove, stirring porridge with a ladle.
“The sun must be rising in the west today,” I remarked, setting the jar down.
He turned with a tremendous yawn. His sleepy face, still crusted with matter at the corners of his eyes, looked endearingly unkempt as always.
“I didn’t eat enough last night and woke up starving. Figured I’d put in a little work so I could eat sooner.”
With a chuckle, Liu Bang handed me the ladle as if his part were finished. Of course it was simply because he was hungry. I sighed in resignation and took over.
“Go inside. I’ll finish this.”
I stood at the stove and stirred. The porridge bubbled and murmured, its thin white broth filling the small hut with sound. Some time passed before I sensed a presence beside me. Turning, I found Liu Bang leaning in the doorway instead of retreating to the bedroom. His dark eyes traced over my face, my neck, and finally the wrist that tirelessly worked the ladle.
“Zhi.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”
“……”
My hand faltered. As expected, the man could be uncomfortably perceptive at times. I turned my gaze back to the porridge and shook my head.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
I had no desire to show weakness. I was Liu Bang’s partner, not merely his wife; my pride refused to let me appear fragile.
“I see.”
Fortunately he did not press the matter. He dropped heavily onto the threshold of the bedroom and spoke again, voice calm.
“Zhi.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“One day I’ll feed you your fill of delicious food.”
“……”
The quiet vow left me speechless. There was none of his usual sly humor in his tone, and its meaning was painfully clear. I considered glancing at him but chose instead to pretend ignorance.
“The porridge is ready. Let’s eat.”
“…Yeah. Let’s.”
Liu Bang nodded quietly and began laying out the table.
…After breakfast, Liu Bang left for the government office. He had matters to discuss with Xiao He regarding the corvée labor issue, or so he claimed.
“I’m off. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“Yes, my lord. The weather is cold, so please return early.”
Once I had seen him off and found myself alone, I rolled up my sleeves. Hunger was no excuse to lie idle. It was time to begin the day by organizing the warehouse.
In a corner of the yard stood the newly built shed. Liu Bang had thrown it together himself to store the straw shoes, ropes, and other goods Xiahou Ying collected from the surrounding villages. It looked like nothing more than a shabby lean-to, yet it was the Lü Trading Company’s first memorable logistics center.
Twenty pairs of straw shoes, twenty-eight lengths of rope, five baskets….
Inside, I tucked the ledger under my arm and began counting inventory one item at a time. Then my eyes fell on an old hemp sack shoved into a corner of the shelf, thick with dust.
What’s that?
I approached and opened it. Inside were tightly packed, yellowish round grains.
Soybeans.
Memory returned: Liu Bang had brought the sack about half a month earlier. He had lent money to a man who repaid him with these instead, smiling awkwardly as he explained. That same evening I had served them, only for Liu Bang to complain that they were hard, fishy, and hard to digest. The sack had been banished to the corner for the crime of poor flavor and forgotten until now.
“Soybeans, hmm.”
With a grunt I lifted the sack. It was surprisingly heavy—five or six geun at least. I scooped up a handful. Hard. Smooth. And carrying that unmistakable, not entirely pleasant beany smell.
Come to think of it, soybeans did bear the fine nickname “beef from the field.” Gram for gram, they were a high-protein food rivaling meat.
But they don’t taste good….
I had scolded Liu Bang, yet honestly I disliked them too. The fishy burst when you chewed them, the bloated feeling afterward—none of it was pleasant.
It’s the trypsin inhibitor.
A fragment of knowledge from my previous life surfaced. Raw soybeans contain an enzyme that inhibits protein digestion. Simply boiling them leaves both digestibility and nutrient absorption poor. In short, these beans in my hand were troublesome things—bad-tasting and inefficient.
I rolled the yellow grains in my palm, lost in thought. Was there no way to make these tasteless things at least somewhat palatable and nutritionally useful…?
How long I stood there I couldn’t say. Then an image flashed through my mind: something white, soft, and gently steaming.
“…Tofu?”
I swallowed hard without realizing it. Tofu. The miraculous ingredient born from ground soybeans. A treasure house of plant protein and essential K-soul food that no Korean table could do without. And… a culinary secret that did not yet exist in this era.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
My heart began to race. I pressed a hand to my chest and breathed deeply. The history of tofu. As I recalled, it was said to have been invented by Liu An, the King of Huainan during the Han dynasty. And that King of Huainan was Liu Bang’s own grandson. Which meant tofu would not appear for at least fifty years—perhaps even a full century.
In this age, soybeans were merely humble coarse grain called shu. At best they were boiled, their leaves eaten, or fermented into sauces. Therefore, if I were to “invent” tofu here first—
The protein problem would be solved…!
One hundred grams of tofu contained roughly eight grams of protein. It could not match meat, but for a plant food it was excellent. Moreover, the trypsin inhibitor would break down during heating and processing, dramatically improving digestibility and absorption.
This… might actually work.
A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. Yet cold reality soon followed like a crashing wave.
The problem is the method….
I knew the concept. Soak the beans, grind them into milk, boil the milk, add a coagulant, then press the curds. I could still picture my mother turning the kitchen into a battlefield whenever she attempted homemade tofu. But knowing the theory and executing it were two entirely different things.
What would I use as coagulant? Bittern? Vinegar? Could either be obtained in Peixian? What ratio of beans to water? What temperature? How to keep it from boiling over?
My memories were fragmentary; I could not recall every precise detail. After all, in the modern world you could simply buy it at the market for a thousand won. Even my mother had grown tired after a few attempts and given up.
Still, it’s worth trying.
I hugged the sack of beans and headed for the stove. It might fail. Wrong ratios could turn it into porridge; it might sour and have to be thrown out. But beans were cheap. The cost of several failures would be negligible. If I could succeed, my protein crisis would be resolved. And perhaps…
It could become a new product.
Tofu was delicious. Nutritious, surprisingly shelf-stable, and gentle enough for the elderly with poor teeth or children with weak digestion. Success would make me the pioneer who transformed the entire food culture of this era.
And as in every field—
Pioneers make money.
I had decided. The process was not overly complicated. Forgive me, Liu An. Your grandmother will borrow your invention a little early.
I went to the well and filled a large basin with water, then upended the sack. The yellow beans poured in with a cheerful cascade and sank beneath the surface. For now, the waiting began. Tomorrow morning, once they had soaked and swollen, the real culinary experiment would commence.
I should clean the millstone thoroughly.
Protein supplementation, and money.
“Hmm~ hm~♬”
The dream of solving two problems at once brought an unconscious hum to my lips.