Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Forest of Death on the Tip of the Tongue

In the Forest of Death of the Hidden Leaf, warm, moist winds from the Land of Water swept through the trees. The surge of ninja activity heralded the busiest season for the genin—the Chunin Exams.

Once, the First Hokage, revered as the God of Ninja, possessed the power of Wood Release, making the Hidden Leaf the richest village in the Land of Fire, itself abundant in resources. Among its treasures, the Forest of Death stood as a prime example.

Having completed the initial written test, the ninja candidates now entered the second phase: live combat exercises. To become a chunin, they needed to swiftly collect both the Heaven and Earth scrolls—a task in which battle was inevitable.

Soldier pills offered a quick boost of chakra and satiety, replenishing what was lost in fierce skirmishes. Yet, they were no substitute for real food; their stimulant properties merely pushed the body’s limits, and prolonged use could cause irreparable harm.

Determined to provide her culinarily challenged teammates with a nutritious lunch, Feng Xue began preparations for a hunt. In this vast natural larder called the forest, she sought out fresh ingredients.

She scouted the towering trees she’d discovered that morning. To a ninja, such giants served not only as ideal footholds for leaps but also as sites for intricate traps. Yet, for a seasoned gourmet, trees marked with strange scars often signaled the arrival of delicacies. Though it sounded unbelievable, this was a secret passed down among top connoisseurs.

Now, Feng Xue needed a way to reach the treetops. Lacking chakra, she could not climb by adhering to the bark, but she had her own tricks. Her swiftly condensed AT field provided perfect footholds, allowing her to ascend step by step.

Soon, Feng Xue discovered a tree hollow, its edges covered in bizarre claw marks—precisely what she was searching for. As she approached, a colossal centipede, thick enough for three people to wrap their arms around, and over twenty meters long, burst from the hollow, its massive jaws snapping at her.

The giant centipedes of the Hidden Leaf feared nothing; they attacked any creature indiscriminately. Even the village’s legendary titanic tigers would flee at the sight of them. Yet Feng Xue knew that, beneath their terrifying appearance, lay a delicacy unmatched by any other meat.

A prism of colored polygons shimmered, and the massive centipede crashed against her invisible shield like a fly hitting glass, instantly fainting. Though eating insects was commonplace in modern society, such a gigantic centipede was a first for her.

Different parts of its body lent themselves to varied cooking methods, yielding entirely distinct tastes. The flesh inside the centipede’s legs was tender and layered, excellent whether deep-fried or steamed. The meat itself was fluid, containing unique protein toxins, which, once heated, transformed into a strange and enchanting flavor.

The shell, however, was inedible, being a site of heavy metal deposition. Its strong metallic taste made it unsuitable for consumption, both in terms of flavor and health. (In reality, I rarely eat centipedes due to the intensity of the shell’s metallic flavor; the best is scorpion, especially young ones, which can be eaten alive or fried for a delightful taste. Large spiders roasted over fire and dipped in salt are also delicious; some spider legs, when stir-fried, taste even better than crab. Locusts coated in flour and fried have a genuine chicken flavor, crispy and savory. Cicada larvae are tasty whether grilled or fried. Some even eat sea cockroaches, but I can’t bring myself to try them.)

As a traveler who made cuisine her path, Feng Xue always carried a variety of spices and tools. Her original spatial pouch was too small to store pots and pans, but ever since she acquired storage scrolls, its capacity had increased exponentially.

Spices elevated the already uncanny flavor of toxic ingredients, and her unique pufferfish toxin spice was a perfect marriage of danger and aroma. With a gentle flame, she grilled the centipede meat until it reached a semi-solid state, ready for shell removal.

Centipede toxins were protein-based; heat broke them down, turning them into the essence of umami. But Feng Xue didn’t let them fully transform. Before the toxins lost their potency, she injected a touch of snake venom into various parts. Its anesthetic properties relaxed the meat, preventing the protein polymer—essentially hydraulic muscle—from over-coagulating and becoming tough.

Despite limited time and ingredients—centipede was all she had—Feng Xue still managed to craft something extraordinary.

Plain roasted centipede legs preserved the food’s innate flavor; served with aromatic vinegar, they made for a sublime meal. These legs, as thick as an arm, even when simply cooked, gave the impression of eating crab balls—a dish where crab meat is extracted and fried, perfect for those who love crab but dislike the hassle of shelling.

Centipede meat was layered, twisted like fibers into a whole, its cohesion stronger than most sea fish. When processing such clearly textured ingredients, cutting along the fibers produced a chewy texture, while slicing against them yielded a softer bite. Diagonal cuts balanced both qualities but couldn’t match either extreme.

Thus, even with a single piece of meat, different knife techniques could create countless sashimi with entirely distinct textures. Feng Xue prepared centipede meat in eight different ways, plus a soup, achieving a banquet-level meal. Even the scraps peeled from the shell became fried meatballs.

"What the—? This... this..." Although Xia Mi had long known Feng Xue possessed gourmet-enhanced cells, witnessing her culinary skills firsthand was a revelation.

Mu Qianrou, meanwhile, was torn. Before becoming a traveler, she was, after all, a woman. A tomboy, yes, but a woman—a homebody, but still a woman! It was important enough to say thrice.

For a girl, centipede was an intimidating ingredient, especially for beginners. Some women, after all, balked even at eating crab! (I know someone who genuinely can’t eat crab, and it’s not just for show.)

Yet hunger finally compelled her to try a fried meatball that looked relatively harmless. From that moment, she couldn’t stop.

Feng Xue watched the two begin to fight over the food, smiling slightly as she packed several hundred kilograms of centipede meat into her spatial pouch. Such a massive centipede was a rare ingredient; best not to waste it.

Just then, Feng Xue’s ears twitched—“Who’s there?”