Chapter 203 The World’s Greatest Noodle King Tournament (3)

Chapter 203: The World’s Greatest Noodle King Tournament (3)

There’s a saying: ‘It’s not over until it’s over.’ Living in the martial world, I’ve come to realize that saying is utter bullshit. At least in the martial world.

If you’re born weak, you can’t even learn martial arts, let alone farm properly—starvation was constant.

Even if you studied to make something of yourself, it was impossible without family backing.

The only paths left were farmer or merchant, but without inherited land or wealth, you’d spend your life toiling under others in poverty.

But.

‘No matter what, I’ll knock Wolhwa-ru out of the competition!’

Right now, I’m determined to do my absolute best to eliminate Yang-ryeong’s Wolhwa-ru.

Holding onto that ridiculous notion that it’s not over until it’s over.

Besides, it’s not entirely impossible.

After all, ramen is the commoner’s friend; it’s never a dish made solely with the finest ingredients.

‘I’ll show you the taste of instant.’

Clang clang clang clang clang.

First, I sliced all the ingredients into uniform pieces using the furious knife work I learned from Yang-ryeong.

Of course, the ingredients weren’t fresh.

The vegetables were old and half-wilted, the chicken was shriveled and bone-dry, and the flour gave off a musty, stale smell like it had been sitting for years.

That’s why I reached for the ingredients.

Sizzle.

Sammae Jin Hwa, one of the symbols of supreme mastery alongside Ganggi.

The super-high heat generated by my internal energy began scorching the ingredients.

Applying heat to maximize their aroma.

Thanks to this, the stale refrigerator smell emanating from the ingredients evaporated instantly.

‘Phew.’

Beads of sweat dripped down from the immense internal energy expenditure.

Just doing this was so exhausting, yet he freely unleashed such intense flames.

Master Bukgung truly is the reincarnation of the Demon King.

After heating the ingredients once, I placed them in a large cauldron over the fire and began boiling the broth.

While the water boiled, I poured water into the flour and kneaded it.

This was no ordinary dough.

Whoosh.

‘Sun’s Hand!’

He applied heat to his hands with his inner energy, simultaneously kneading and fermenting the dough.

Squish. Crunch.

He summoned the Zhenwangqi, exerting immense pressure to develop the gluten.

Think of it roughly like Sanuki udon extruded through a press.

Thanks to this, the dough was completed in an instant.

Now, all that remained was to stretch it long and fry it in oil to complete the noodles.

‘It looks old, but it’s still usable.’

The one silver lining was that oil doesn’t spoil easily, so it wasn’t in the worst condition.

Sizzle.

He poured the congealed pork fat into the heated wok, melting it as he did.

Swish swish swish swish.

With movements embodying the essence of the ancient thirteen techniques, he swiftly pulled the noodles out.

Sizzle.

He rolled the thin, long noodles onto oiled chopsticks and dropped them into the wok, where they began frying instantly.

As soon as the noodles were done, he opened the pot to check the broth.

‘The smell passes, at least.’

Slurp.

‘As expected.’

The broth hadn’t steeped deeply enough due to subpar ingredients.

He needed to improvise.

After all, the soul of ramen lies in its rich, deep broth.

I take this opportunity to express my respect to those in the food industry who developed powdered seasonings capable of delivering profound flavor with a single spoonful.

‘Hmph.’

Crackle. Snap.

He pulled up the entire pot, which weighed over 100 pounds.

Now was the moment to give it his all.

‘Never again!’

He pressed both hands against the hot pot, once again entering a state of deep concentration, while simultaneously adding a vibration.

Zzzzzzz.

The pot glowed bright red.

It was to extract every last bit of flavor from the ingredients within the limited time.

‘Even if I never eat ramen again, it’s fine!’

I would make the ultimate ramen and defeat Yang Ling Nian.

Murmur, murmur.

‘Hm?’

After completing the broth, I heard murmuring sounds.

Snapping back to attention and looking around, I saw the audience and fellow chefs staring at me with shocked expressions.

Even Jihwa-ran, who had reached the ranks of a master in her own right, had her eyes wide open.

‘Oh no!’

That was it.

Consumed by vengeance, I had completely forgotten to conceal my identity.

“Oh, my! Contestant number 87 was a master of the martial arts!”

Ha Jin-hyeong, the host of today’s competition, shouted with all his might.

Waaah-!

An explosive roar erupted from the audience.

“A master like that participating in the tournament? This is truly astonishing.”

“Is that so? Money really does make the world go round. A master like that could probably make a living just by wielding a sword.”

“Hey, you! Do you think a master like that came for the money?”

“Then why?”

“He came for the honor of being crowned the top chef.”

Fortunately, the atmosphere seemed to be brushing it off as something like ‘the chef is hiding his martial arts skills’.

‘Actually, that’s fine. Since it’s come to this, I’ll give it my all.’

He strained the broth into a small pot, seasoned it with salt, then added the fried noodles and brought it to a boil.

Simultaneously, he poured oil into the wok and stir-fried various aromatic herbs and Sichuan pepper.

This was to create the finishing touch: the aromatic oil.

And then.

“It’s done!”

He had finally completed the ramen of vengeance.

* * *

“You’re wearing a mask. Is there a reason you’re hiding your identity?”

Bukgung Chang, presiding over the competition judging, asked.

“I concealed my identity because I wished to be judged solely on the noodles.”

He answered in a disguised voice, and Chang quietly nodded.

“I respect that.”

“Thank you.”

He looked around at the judging panel.

“Take your time tasting and write down your scores to give to me.”

The judges hurried over.

Apparently, his earlier performance had piqued their curiosity.

Ah, for reference, the judging panel consisted of high-ranking officials from Bukgungchang and Sangryeon.

Given their professions, they’d undoubtedly sampled countless renowned dishes from across the land.

Slurp. Slurp.

A tense moment.

I can say with certainty I was five times more nervous than when facing the bloodthirsty demon, Xian Shan Yue.

“……”

After taking a bite each, none of the judges spoke.

“……”

I was confident the taste was perfect.

Perhaps it was even better than what was made at the Moon Flower Pavilion. I was that confident in the broth.

‘Is it the noodles?’

The only thing weighing on his mind was the texture of the noodles. Since the concept of fried noodles was practically nonexistent in the martial arts world, they might be far removed from popular tastes.

But his worries proved to be unfounded.

“I, I can’t believe it!”

“This is a taste I’ve never experienced before!”

“Chicken is flying around in my mouth!”

The judges, snapping out of their daze, let out exclamations of wonder and frantically slurped up the ramen.

“Gulp, what is the name of this noodle dish?!”

Bukgung Chang asked, his expression startled.

“Ramen.”

“Ramen… What a plain name.”

He continued with a serious expression.

“If it’s not too much trouble, might I name this noodle?”

“By all means.”

He nodded, seeming to have a good idea.

Product names are always crucial.

“It holds the deep aroma of chicken, the sweet fragrance of vegetables, and even the scent of pork. How about calling it ‘Three Aromas Ramen’?”

“…Well, let’s go with that.”

I did wonder if this was plagiarism, but whatever.

This is the Middle Ages, and that’s the modern era.

“What do you all think? This seems good enough to move on to the final judging round.”

“It’s fine.”

“I concur.”

Only three would advance to the final round.

Making it this far meant a 33.3% chance of winning.

And I was confident.

‘No noodle dish could stand a chance against my ramen.’

I thought I was racing toward victory.

“Objection!”

An unexpected challenge flew in.

‘No, that guy…’

It was Mo Gyeok, the master of the Han-Chung Sang-Yeon’s Bae-Jyeon-Ju.

He looked around the room and stated his case.

“The flavor is excellent, but I believe it lacks something to truly defeat the other contestants’ noodles. “

”You seemed to enjoy it. What’s the complaint?“

In response to Bukgung Chang’s question, he lifted the bowl he’d eaten from and showed it to everyone.

An empty bowl.

He’d scraped it clean, so why the hell was he making such a fuss?

”As you can see, this noodle dish has a fatal flaw.”

“What is it?”

“The toppings. Noodles, after all, derive their flavor from the broth, the noodles themselves, and the toppings harmonizing together. Yet, these noodles had nothing but fried scallions as toppings.”

“Hmm…”

“Well, I suppose you could say that…”

“Now that I think about it, it did seem a bit lacking.”

Several judges nodded in agreement with his argument.

Most judges belonged to the Sangryeon merchant guild, so they couldn’t refute the opinion of its leader, who was also the head of the Daesangdan merchant group.

“Doesn’t it just need to taste good? Why nitpick like that?”

Bukgung Chang countered, but Mo Gyeok wouldn’t budge.

“Under normal circumstances, it might be the best noodles. But this is a competition to crown the Noodle King. Naturally, we must scrutinize every detail, wouldn’t you agree?”

It was a valid point.

Even I found myself nodding in agreement.

Truthfully, he wasn’t wrong.

Noodles are just noodles, after all. They’re not exactly haute cuisine.

“Hmm… Then perhaps it shouldn’t advance to the final round…”

But it’s never over until it’s over.

“It seems you all misunderstand what noodles truly are.”

I began my final plea.

With all eyes on me, I slowly opened my mouth.

“What are noodles, after all? Aren’t they the meal that feeds the hungry common folk?”

“W-well, that depends on the time…”

“Huh? So do all the common folk in the world only eat rice and meat soup?”

“I didn’t say it was that extreme…”

“That’s exactly the point.”

Simultaneously, I pointed with my index finger at the ingredients I’d prepared.

“Look there. Every single one is cheap stuff on the verge of being thrown away.”

The judging panel nodded.

True merchants, they had an eye for goods.

“…Indeed, they aren’t fine ingredients.”

“I made this ramen with these.”

“W-with these ingredients, that flavor?”

“Because I believed true noodles should be something anyone could make with inexpensive ingredients.”

Like anyone could make it.

I poured over thirty years of cultivation into this, barely completing it.

“But this competition is to select the Noodle King…”

“What the hell is a Noodle King?!”

My shout, filled with cultivation energy, drew every audience member’s gaze to me.

“Isn’t it the one who makes noodles of the people, by the people, for the people?!”

Right-o!

Clap clap clap clap.

Everyone in the audience clapped their hands together.

Somehow, it had turned into a speech.

I delivered the final blow.

“This ramen was born from the desire to create food the people could eat lightly and easily. Just like Master Su Dongpo’s Dongpo pork.”

“Th-that deep meaning…”

Mo Geuk bowed his head. Considering his social standing, this was quite unusual.

“My apologies. I hadn’t grasped that profound meaning at all. Regardless of today’s outcome, this Mo Geuk will regard you as a great master.”

“No, I should have explained it from the start… I also made mistakes.”

Amid the warm atmosphere, Bukgung Chang stepped forward.

“Alright then, I take it everyone agrees to advance noodle number 87 to the final judging.”

With that, I untied my hair ribbon, certain of victory.

“It was nothing special!”

* * *

A short while later.

I stepped onto the award podium.

“……”

The problem was that third place came with neither prize money nor title.

Who won first place?

Clap clap clap clap.

“Thank you all. Hehehehe.”

Who else but Master Jibap Myo?

Come to think of it, the problem started with the judges being senior members of Sangryeon.

When the real powerhouse showed up at the competition, they had no choice but to give full marks, right?

What a truly rotten world this is.

“……and the rest.”

Clap clap clap clap.

“…….”

Yang-ryeong, who came in second and wasn’t even called by name, received her prize money with a sour expression.

Ah, for reference, she made her noodles by cramming in all sorts of top-grade ingredients.

No matter how delicious ramen is, how could it possibly beat stir-fried noodles made with ten-nyang Honghwa-ju?

‘This isn’t skill.’

That damn girl.

“……and others.”

Clap clap clap clap.

Yukhak, the award presenter, handed over a stiff piece of paper.

This is the award I wrote myself yesterday.

‘An award I wrote and I’m receiving.’

The fiery sunset seemed to perfectly mirror my own heart.

But giving up on a goal after one setback is the mark of a weakling.

Gritting my teeth, I vowed to return.

‘Next time, I will win.’

It was the moment the 2nd Heavenly Noodle King Tournament was confirmed.