The central plaza of Camp Hope smelled like the greatest feast in the history of the world.
Twenty-four huge bronze cooking pots—each cast eight feet in width, with walls two inches thick and supported by stout tripod legs—sat over sunken fire pits carved into the dark rock floor. Fed by the smokeless, blasting heat of fiery fire-crystals, the broth inside each vessel rolled in a furious, rhythmic boil.
Students hoisted fifty-jin burlap sacks. They poured thousands of pounds of polished Thousand-Spirit Jade Rice into the bubbling water. The grains were plump, semi-clear. Then he imbued with the gentle earth-qi of the safe hall’s terraced paddy fields. The rice began to swell and break down. Then, apprentices added tubs of finely shredded smoked mountain boar jerky, thin rounds of aromatic winter ginger, toasted sesame oil, and barrels of tangy pickled winter cabbage seasoned with crushed wild peppercorns.
Every few minutes, a cook would stir the cooking pot with a wooden paddle as long as a boat oar.
The thick, creamy congee turned a rich, ivory-white, studded with savory morsels of cured meat and flecks of green scallions. Steam billowed upward in fragrant. It rolled plumes, carrying the mouthwatering aroma of roasted sesame, savory pork, and rich rice across the entire valley floor.
