Silkie chicken—named for its inky-black skin, bones, and even organs—was a rare ingredient most chefs dared not experiment with. It wasn't just its striking appearance that made it intimidating; it was the taste. Rich, musky, slightly sweet, and deeply umami—if mishandled, the flavor could overpower every other element in a dish.
"If you saw one at night," Alice quipped earlier, staring at the bird in Zane's prep area, "it could sing, dance, rap, and dunk in front of you, and you still wouldn't see it."
But no one was laughing now.
The preparation table was silent as Zane held up the bird with reverence. The skin was tight, slightly oily, and almost obsidian in tone. Its beak, a smooth matte gray, was dry and healthy. Its eyes, full and glinting, nestled perfectly in their sockets. The bird looked regal even in death.
"This is the Xingwen County variety," Zane announced. "Considered even more medicinal than the Taihe variant. It's been free-range fed with wild herbs and grains. One of the finest I've worked with."
Leonora furrowed her brow. "But silkie chicken is lean. Barely any fat to render. You can't even make proper broth from it unless paired with pork bones or medicinal herbs."
Mana, sitting beside her, nodded slightly. "And rice? Without lard or duck fat? Won't it be bland?"
Zane said nothing. Instead, he laid out the ingredients like an artist setting up a palette: glutinous rice soaked to translucency, wild matsutake mushrooms, slivered scallions, slices of ginger, a dash of white wine, a few soaked black beans, and shiitake mushrooms, each hand-sliced. There was also a proprietary herb bundle—Zane's secret, soaked in warm sake.
He carefully gutted the chicken, rinsing it in a bowl of ginger-infused water. Then, he mixed the glutinous rice with chopped matsutake and a pinch of salt, pressing the mixture into the belly of the bird until it bulged slightly, like a pregnant moon.
"The chicken has trained for two and a half years to become an ingredient this perfect," Zane murmured as he stitched the cavity shut with kitchen twine. "Now it will become something more."
He brought a clay pot filled with water to a boil, skimmed the scum, and layered in the stuffed bird, the mushrooms, black fungus, and herb bundle. The lid sealed with a clay ring, it simmered for exactly 32 minutes.
But what he did next puzzled everyone.
Zane carefully removed the chicken, slit it open, and extracted the now-glowing rice. It shimmered like pearls.
He placed this rice—just the rice—into a second clay pot and sealed it, allowing the residual heat to steep and coalesce all the absorbed flavors.
"…He's… wasting the bird?" Leonora muttered. "All this, just to extract the essence into the rice?"
Mana tapped a finger to her chin. "Or perhaps… this is a reverse soup technique. He's treating the rice like a sponge, a vehicle for flavor instead of the broth."
The tavern hushed as Zane approached the counter with the second pot.
Then—he opened the lid.
FWWWWOOOOOOSHHHH!
A pillar of dazzling white light burst from the pot, rising like a divine flame to the ceiling and bathing the room in radiant brilliance. Alice yelped and shielded her eyes.
"W-What the hell was that?" Hisako muttered, blinking rapidly. "Usually it's gold light… why is this one white?"
As the light faded, what remained was simple. No elaborate plating, no garnish. Just a clay pot filled to the brim with pristine, snow-white rice.
"It's just… rice?" Leonora leaned in. "Wait. No. It's not just rice. This scent—"
Steam curled in the air, fragrant and complex. Beneath the plain appearance, an invisible orchestra of aromas played in perfect harmony: floral, earthy, herbaceous, savory.
Zane plucked a single grain from the surface and held it up.
"This rice," he said, voice steady, "carries the heart of the silkie chicken."
Leonora hesitated for a second, then scooped up a spoonful. Alice followed.
One bite.
Time paused.
Leonora froze in place. Her spoon clinked softly as it slipped from her fingers. She clutched the edge of the table, trembling. "Ah… this is…"
Her blood felt like it was boiling. Her heart thundered in her chest like a war drum.
"The texture is impossibly soft… but layered, as though each grain had its own membrane. The flavor… it's like the entire essence of the chicken has been reduced, captured, and soaked into the starch…"
Alice gasped as her mouth filled with a flavor storm. "It's sweet—no, savory—and earthy. The umami keeps changing with each chew!"
Tears brimmed in her eyes.
"I see a golden chicken… flying through the clouds," Leonora whispered, eyes shut, lost in the sensation. "It's… glorious."
Mana closed her notebook. "This might rival the Dragon Ascension Dumplings," she admitted.
The mother and daughter duo devoured their portions with trembling hands. By the time they neared the bottom of the bowl, their breath was heavy, their faces flushed.
"I… I can't believe this," Leonora said, stunned. "Zane, I have two questions."
"First, how did you get so much chicken flavor into rice without actually including the meat?"
"And second… why silkie chicken?"
Zane smiled.
Without a word, he opened a third clay pot. Inside was the whole silkie chicken, intact, its skin now a deep bronze-black, glistening with residual broth. He sliced it open, revealing the hollow cavity—where the rice had been.
"You didn't throw it away?" Alice blinked.
"I used it fully," Zane explained. "But the best way to express silkie chicken's spirit… is not through the meat, but the infusion."
He pointed at the rice. "That rice sat inside the chicken while it cooked, soaking up every bit of marrow, herb, and fat. The low oil content of silkie chicken allowed the purity of flavor to shine without clouding the starch. Then I sealed it and steeped it like tea."
Leonora nodded slowly, a grin spreading across her face. "You… reversed the entire logic of chicken rice."
Zane's tone softened. "It's not about overwhelming the dish. It's about reverence. Simplicity, at its peak, becomes the sublime."
—
Later, after the kitchen had calmed, Alice stayed behind while the others wandered back to their rooms.
She nervously fiddled with her apron.
"Zane… I know Erina trained here for a while," she began. "And after the Autumn Selection, we have our internship program."
She looked up, eyes fierce with determination. "I want to be assigned to your tavern. I want to learn more from you."
Zane blinked. "…You want to intern here?"
"Yes," Alice nodded, cheeks reddening. "I want to cook by your side. Learn every day."
Zane smirked and pointed at a nearby sink. "You can start now. There are plenty of dirty bowls."
"…Eh?"
"Don't worry. We have a dishwasher. But remember, if you're part of this tavern… you follow my orders."
Alice blushed, puffing out her cheeks. "Of course, Chef. I'll wash dishes, mop floors, pluck chickens—whatever it takes."
She clutched the edge of her apron tighter.
"Because when I'm with you… everything tastes better."
Zane looked at her in silence, the corner of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly.
—
In a world where taste could move hearts and cuisine could tell stories, a simple bowl of rice had whispered something eternal.
And Alice Nakiri had heard it loud and clear.