Royal Chef Transmigrated into the Real Daughter - CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: Shredded Chicken Noodle Soup

Mrs. Bennett stood in the kitchen with a head of silver-white hair, a pair of frameless glasses resting on the bridge of her nose.

The left lens of her glasses was completely smeared over with white flour. Through the right lens alone, her light-hazel eyes stared intently at the tablet propped up on the kitchen counter. Her weathered, calloused hands were currently locked in a fierce battle against a bowl of non-Newtonian fluid.

In the video, the dough was gradually taking shape. Noticing that she had added too much water, she dumped in a bit more flour and kneaded it a few times. Then it seemed too dry again, so she splashed in more water.

This vicious cycle repeated itself for several rounds.

Before long, the non-Newtonian fluid inside the bowl grew more and more voluminous.

Tang Ning finally couldn't hold back any longer and stepped forward.

Hearing the commotion, the landlady looked up. Spotting Tang Ning alongside the bowl of completely untouched chicken soup in her hands, Mrs. Bennett knitted her brows. She said nothing about it, merely instructing her sternly to go upstairs and rest.

"I will call you down when lunch is ready."

Tang Ning couldn't quite understand the words, but she caught the general drift from the old lady's hand-waving gesture, which resembled someone shooing away a baby chick.

She placed the chicken soup on the far end of the counter, walked over, and glanced at the tablet screen. It was playing a step-by-step tutorial on making authentic Chinese hand-pulled noodles.

So this stern, tight-lipped old woman was actually trying to learn how to make noodles for her.

Tang Ning popped in her earphones and activated the translator's auto-translate feature.

"Mrs. Bennett, I'm feeling much better now. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. All you need to do is take care of your health and stop causing me extra trouble." Mrs. Bennett pressed both hands flat over the bowl of dough, then added sharply, "Now, please leave my kitchen."

Tang Ning caught the subtle trace of awkwardness in her expression and paused for a second before realizing what was going on.

Setting the translator down on the counter, Tang Ning rolled up her sleeves and smiled gently. "Whenever I'm sick, I always miss the taste of home. Would it be alright if I made myself a quick bowl of noodles?"

Mrs. Bennett had no intention of agreeing at first. What kind of host family makes a sick child cook her own food?

If the neighbors found out, they would surely brand her as cruel and tight-fisted.

Yet looking at Tang Ning's pitiful, eager-to-try expression, Mrs. Bennett looked down at the unidentified sludge resting in the salad bowl, then nodded in reluctant agreement.

"For heaven's sake... just this once."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennett."

Having successfully secured kitchen privileges, Tang Ning’s eyes lit up. Shedding her sickly demeanor in an instant, she darted to the sink like a nimble rabbit to wash her hands.

Taking advantage of the moment, Mrs. Bennett quietly stashed her non-Newtonian fluid inside a bottom cabinet.

Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she heard Tang Ning ask politely, "May I use this pot of chicken soup?"

Mrs. Bennett turned around and saw her pointing at the large stockpot on the stove. A sudden, unexplainable pang of guilt washed over her. "Yes, you may."

Then, remembering herself, her expression hardened again. "I must warn you: if you dare wreck my kitchen, you'll be sleeping on the streets with the homeless!"

Tang Ning flashed a bright, toothy grin and said dutifully, "Understood!"

Mrs. Bennett shot her a stern, ferocious glare before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

Tang Ning took a quick scan around the kitchen and realized the old lady must have made a special trip to 99 Ranch Market.

In this spacious Western kitchen, there were actually items like an iron wok, a clay casserole pot, a wooden cutting board, a traditional Chinese cleaver, and various seasonings—star anise, cinnamon sticks, bay leaves, soy sauce, Shaoxing rice wine, and even dried goods like shiitake mushrooms, wood ear fungus, and dried scallops.

Evidently, the old lady hadn't decided to learn Chinese cooking on a whim; she genuinely wanted to improve Tang Ning's diet.

A strange, quiet warmth flowed gently through Tang Ning’s heart. Before she could dwell on it, her stomach let out a loud, grumbling protest. Tang Ning gathered her thoughts and immediately set to work rescuing the poor chicken that had died in vain inside that pot.

She first scooped out the old hen that had just taken a scalding bath, rinsed it clean under warm water, and transferred it to the cutting board to break it down.

To ensure the broth remained clean, light, and non-greasy, she trimmed away most of the skin and chunks of yellow fat. Then, tossing in scallion segments and ginger slices, she blanched the chicken again, skimmed off every trace of floating scum, and turned the heat down to let it gently simmer.

While the broth was simmering, she attempted to locate Mrs. Bennett's hidden non-Newtonian fluid to save it too, but after a quick search turned up nothing, she gave up.

She pulled out a larger salad bowl to serve as a mixing basin and began making dough.

Tang Ning was slender, her long arms looking deceptively delicate, yet subtle, elegant muscles emerged as she kneaded.

Through three rounds of kneading and resting, a smooth, plump, rounded ball of dough was born in no time.

Fearing that Tang Ning might blow up her kitchen, Mrs. Bennett—who had slipped back into the room—saw the adorable, plump ball of dough resting in the salad bowl. A flicker of surprise flashed across her face, though she quickly reasoned that since this was Chinese food, it wasn't surprising for a native Chinese girl to know how to make it.

Fetching a magazine, she ambled over to the dining table and sat down, pretending to read while secretly observing the process.

Tang Ning acted completely oblivious. Dusting a handful of flour onto the cutting board, she split the smooth dough into two portions, rolled them out evenly, folded them layer upon layer, and picked up the Chinese cleaver. Finding the balance quite comfortable, she playfully flipped the knife in her hand with practiced ease before slicing into the dough.

Mrs. Bennett's light-hazel eyes widened in sheer shock, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' behind the magazine.

With a rhythmic, rapid tak-tak-tak-tak, fresh, springy hand-cut noodles were prepped and tossed into a pot of rolling, boiling water.

Once cooked, Tang Ning retrieved the noodles with chopsticks, shocked them in cold water, transferred them into a bowl, and unlipped the stockpot to ladle a rich scoop of broth over them.

Over the clear, light-amber soup base, she arranged vibrant golden shredded chicken, crisp green cucumber strips, vibrant orange carrot threads, and placed a delicate, rounded poached egg right in the center.

Perfect.

Carrying the bowl to the dining table, she placed it directly in front of Mrs. Bennett.

"Mrs. Bennett, this is shredded chicken noodle soup. Please, give it a try."

Mrs. Bennett was still reeling from shock and instinctively opened her mouth to decline. But before the word "No" could leave her lips, an irresistible, mouthwatering aroma hit her nose, instantly turning her refusal into a quiet, "...Thank you."

Tang Ning returned to the kitchen to ladle a bowl for herself, sat across the table, picked up a small bundle of noodles with her chopsticks, and began to eat unhurriedly.

The second the springy noodles and savory chicken touched her tastebuds, Tang Ning felt a long-lost sense of pure bliss.

Seeing how utterly deeply Tang Ning enjoyed her food, Mrs. Bennett hesitated no longer. Twirling a cluster of distinct noodle strands onto her fork, she pushed them into her mouth. With a gentle bite, the firm, silky noodles broke effortlessly, releasing the natural sweetness of wheat flour alongside the rich, savory flavor of the chicken. It was refreshingly light, yet profoundly delicious.

"Oh, my goodness... What delicious noodles!" She couldn't resist looking back toward the stockpot in the kitchen, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Did you use the chicken soup I made?!"

Before serving the soup to Tang Ning earlier, Mrs. Bennett had tasted it herself.

It had been practically undrinkable.

She had assumed Chinese chicken soup was supposed to taste like that, which was why she hadn't questioned Tang Ning when she brought the full bowl downstairs.

Yet how could the exact same pot of soup taste like two completely different things in Tang Ning’s hands?

Tang Ning nodded gently. "Yes, I just processed it a little bit."

"Processed it?" Mrs. Bennett asked, incredulous. "With magic?"

Tang Ning couldn't help but chuckle as she held her bowl. "Just a few basic techniques. If you'd like to learn, I can show you later."

Mrs. Bennett grew visibly excited, a rare, warm smile breaking across her usually stern face.

Forking up bite after bite, her civilized eating gradually turned into slurping, emitting little purr-like noises as she devoured the meal.

Within moments, the bottom of the bowl was exposed. The cucumber and carrot shreds were swept clean, and she even ladled up every last drop of the broth until her bowl was spotless.

After finishing the entire bowl of hot soup, a fine sheen of sweat appeared on the old lady's forehead, leaving her whole body feeling thoroughly comforted and relaxed.

Mrs. Bennett patted her stomach appreciatively.

Not since reaching her twilight years had she experienced such a comfortable, easy feeling after a meal. "Ning, your cooking is wonderful. Who taught you?"

Tang Ning smiled softly. "My grandmother."

"Your grandmother must be a very warm and kind person," Mrs. Bennett praised sincerely.

"She was Mrs. Bennett."

A sudden wave of memories belonging to the original host flickered in Tang Ning's mind.

Before being brought back by the Tang family, the original girl had been raised entirely by her grandmother.

The grandmother in those memories was a gentle, loving old woman. While her cooking couldn't match that of professional city chefs, it possessed a unique, heartwarming comfort that belonged to her alone.

Growing up, the original host had never been a picky eater.

Even when she lived at school during high school, she would secretly bring along jars of her grandmother's homemade pickles, living a quiet, happy life.

If her grandmother hadn't fallen ill six months ago, the girl might never have gone to work in the city to earn money for medical bills, wouldn't have been found by the Tang family, wouldn't have been shipped abroad by the fake heiress, and wouldn't have met such a horrific end.

Unfortunately, there were no "ifs" in life.

Looking at the energetic Mrs. Bennett sitting across from her, Tang Ning said earnestly, "Actually, you are a very kind person too, Mrs. Bennett."

Not expecting such words from Ning, Mrs. Bennett turned her head toward the window in flustered embarrassment, pretending not to hear as she intently admired the garden outside.

Having just narrowly escaped death and spent the entire afternoon cooking, Tang Ning felt far too lazy to move now that her belly was full.

She simply squinted her eyes and basked in the warm sunlight streaming through the window.

The elderly woman and the young girl sat side by side at the table, wrapped in a serene, blissful tranquility.

The sky was high, the sun was warm, and the breeze blew gently.

In the afternoon, Mrs. Bennett had an appointment with friends to drive into the woods for mushroom picking. She originally wanted to invite Tang Ning along, but since Tang Ning hadn't fully recovered, she stayed home to rest.

Susan was a junior in college, two years older than Tang Ning.

Her usual routine involved attending classes during the day, and going out for drives with friends whenever she was free.

Today was no exception.

After delivering the chicken soup to Tang Ning, she put on gorgeous makeup, grabbed her backpack, and headed out.

Susan’s parents had both passed away in a tragic car accident. Her only brother was a college tennis athlete attending the same university.

Even though the campus was very close to home, he usually lived in the dorms for training convenience.

Even then, he was rarely on campus anyway. As a star player at Haston University, he frequently traveled around the country competing in NCAA and ITA tournaments.

As a result, Tang Ning hadn't bumped into him even once since arriving here.

Right now, Tang Ning was the only person left in the massive house.

Having just recovered from an illness, paired with the lovely afternoon weather, she returned to her attic room intending to get a good sleep so her body could bounce back quickly.

When she woke up again, daylight was still lingering in the sky.

Having eaten a proper home-cooked meal and slept soundly, her physical condition had noticeably improved.

Mrs. Bennett hadn't returned yet. Finding herself bored, Tang Ning pulled out a vocabulary book, intending to study English properly—lest she sit in class next time staring at the blackboard in total bewilderment, feeling like an uneducated wild monkey.

She flipped to the very first page of the vocabulary book:

A-b-a-n-d-o-n.

Ten minutes later, she silently shut the book.

And offered her most profound, heartfelt greetings to her distant ancestors from the Qing Dynasty.

After playing dead on the bed for half an hour, Tang Ning finally made up her mind to find a tutor to teach her English.

Otherwise, forget surviving four years of college—she wouldn't even meet the minimum GPA requirements for her freshman year. Rather than being expelled, sent back home, and forced to live under the Tang family's roof catering to their whims, she much preferred the freedom of living far away across the ocean.

Tang Ning rolled over and opened her ultimate guide to modern life: Xiaohongshu (RedNote).

After scrolling through a round of posts, she found only listings for teaching Mandarin to local kids, but none for teaching English to international students.

Tang Ning sighed softly.

She would just have to look around campus tomorrow to see if any international student was looking to earn extra cash as a tutor.

She scrolled for a while longer out of boredom. Exiting the app, her finger accidentally swiped open her photo gallery, landing on the picture of the shredded chicken noodle soup she had cooked at noon. On a whim, she uploaded it to her Xiaohongshu account.

After all, this was her very first meal cooked since coming to this world.

It was worth documenting.

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