Elena's territory

Two meals

The weather was gradually getting colder, and the rainy season was approaching. The slaves lived in constant fear—they were not like the servants who served the Lady. Though the servants slept in the corridors, at least they were inside the castle, sheltered from the wind and rain. The slaves could only sleep by the fields, on the damp soil, cold and wet. If they got sick, they would be driven away to prevent infecting others. Every year at this season, no slave dared to guarantee they could stay until the next year.

Tony, who had been beaten, curled up among his companions but was still cold. They had no blankets, and when it got cold, they could only huddle together. His mother had smeared some herbal ash on his wounds. When he was woken up, he was still dazed because it was still dark. But he quickly remembered—when the rainy season was approaching, the nights would grow longer and the days shorter. So the overseer would wake them up and send them to work in the fields in the dark.

But today, besides the overseer's voice filled with disdain and contempt, there was also a fragrance—the smell of food. Young Tony's stomach growled, and he swallowed, standing up with the others.

"The Lady has given you food! So you can eat two meals a day!" The servants behind the overseer were carrying several large wooden buckets filled with steaming bean porridge. There were no spices or seasonings added, not even salt. But everyone, including the servants except the overseer, was swallowing their saliva. Regardless of the taste, this was food that could fill their stomachs.

The overseer, like the steward, clearly did not approve of giving more food to the slaves. He wore a sour face as if the slaves owed him a great debt. The slaves hurriedly took out their bowls. The lord never provided them with utensils, so they had to find their own ways. There were all sorts of strange and peculiar "bowls."

Tony's bowl was made from a fragile stone that had been hollowed out bit by bit. It was more durable than a wooden bowl, but it couldn't be dropped; if it fell, it would break. It was his most precious possession. He swallowed his saliva and held his bowl, squeezing with his mother into the crowd of slaves waiting for their meal.

The slaves did not dare to speak, but their weary eyes were wide open, watching the spoon in the servant's hand intently. Two meals a day was a blessing they never dared to dream of.

After getting the bean porridge, the slaves sat on the ground, eating with their hands or drinking from their bowls. Tony sipped the bean porridge while his mother poured some from her bowl into his.

Tony said, "Mom, you eat. I've had enough!"

His mother insisted on giving him some, "I'm not hungry, you eat."

Tony whispered, "The new Lady is letting us eat two meals a day."

A slave who had just finished his bowl of porridge said, "The new Lady must be very kind!"

Tony cherished the porridge and licked his bowl clean before heading to the fields with his mother. Perhaps because of this rare meal, the whole morning the field was free from the usual sound of grumbling stomachs.

The slaves were pleasantly surprised to find that they could eat two meals a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Although the portions were not large, it was much better than when they only had one meal a day before. At least when they went to sleep each night, they no longer felt that almost painful hunger.

Alistair and I had just reached the corridor when we smelled a sour scent. I said happily, "Wonderful! Anna, you've done well! Your dough has fermented successfully!"

Anna was the cook's name. She was flattered and stood in front of me at a loss, her eyes on the ground, not daring to look me in the eye.

I said, "This is a sourdough starter."

In the library of the metropolis, I had once come across an ancient scroll describing the "seed of life"—a mysterious substance that could make dough rise. It could cause the dough to double in size, resulting in soft bread when baked.

There was no yeast here, so the bread baked was not fluffy at all. Whether it was plain bread or black bread, it was dry and tasteless. I didn't know how to extract yeast, so I could only use my mother's method of making a sourdough starter by fermenting flour and water over a long period.

The cook kneeled at my feet, hugging my calf. She cried, "Lady, thank you for your generosity and kindness, shining upon us like holy light!" The cook was nearly out of her mind. Her tears fell on my shoes as she thanked me incoherently. I could only say, "Go bake the bread."

The cook cried for a while longer before getting up. She wiped the tears from her face and reverently held up the bowl of fermented dough. It was as if it were a bowl of holy relics, not just dough. She probably had never treated this stuff so gently in her life. Under my guidance, she kneaded the dough to release the air bubbles, then placed it into the oven. The oven was essentially a stove with firewood burning underneath and a sealable top. Without a stable temperature measurement, the bread wasn't baked perfectly, and no milk, eggs, or even sugar were added. Even though the taste was plain, it was far better than the bread that, when left too long, could rival stones in hardness. This soft new bread finally made me not dread eating so much.

That noon, Alistair, two knights, the steward, and the cook ate the newly fermented bread. The cook lay on the ground gratefully, bowing to me. The steward tried to keep his lips pursed, trying to appear calm, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his emotions. Both the steward and the cook refused to dine with me. To pair with this different bread, the cook made a thick soup with more spices. The taste was not worth mentioning—I didn't drink a drop.

The sliced bread was already a bit cold, but it hadn't hardened and remained soft. When torn open, it revealed the honeycomb-like texture inside. I found it okay, but Adams and Raul were already exclaiming in delight.

"This must be the food of the gods!"

"It's delicious! It doesn't belong to this world!"

"Lady! It must be your noble character that moved the Holy Spirit! The Holy Spirit has bestowed this miracle!"

"Lady, this is your glory!"

I said, "Shut up and eat."

Adams and Raul fell silent, still amazed. When the Lady was angry, she was still so captivating.

Only Alistair remained elegant in his dining, occasionally giving me a meaningful look.

Me:"what?"
Alistair:"a smart lady!