BDSMST -Chapter 170 Resolving Conflicts with Food

Chen Jing’s face flickered between pale and dark, shifting with every passing moment. The elite disciples he had brought from Jingyun Hall all bore grim expressions, hands resting on their weapons. The atmosphere in Woniu Village instantly tightened to its limit.

Even the surrounding Jianghu spectators held their breath. They all knew this was the most direct clash between the rules of the “Number One Estate in the World” and the prestige of Jingyun Hall.

“Madam Gu, are you humiliating me?” Chen Jing’s voice was icy enough to freeze the air.

“You overstate it, Master Chen,” Jiang Suisui replied with the same gentle smile and calm tone. “I am merely explaining the rules of our estate. Here, there are no masters, no sect leaders—only ‘workers’ and ‘non-workers.’ The former eat and drink; the latter survive on thin air. Of course,” she added, her tone shifting slightly, “if Master Chen prefers, you may also bring your own rations. Our estate is quite humane.”

Her words left no loopholes. Either follow the rules and work, or go hungry.

Chen Jing’s gaze traveled past Jiang Suisui to the vibrant fields behind her and the Jianghu heroes who, though dressed in rough homespun, exuded boundless energy. Suddenly, he realized he had been playing into her rhythm from the very beginning.

He wanted to assert authority with force—but this was the “Number One Estate in the World,” personally named by the emperor, with imperial troops stationed nearby. Acting violently here would be tantamount to openly challenging the court.

He wanted to leverage his Jianghu status—but she didn’t care. Her strange “work-for-food” rules had neutralized all his authority and even pulled most of the heroes into her camp.

Chen Jing studied Jiang Suisui closely. This seemingly delicate, harmless woman wielded incredible skill.

Finally, he gritted out a few words between clenched teeth: “Very well… very well, this ‘Number One Estate in the World’… I, Chen, will abide by its rules.”

He dismounted, taking the Guest Handbook from Jiang Suisui with stiff, puppet-like movements.

The potentially explosive confrontation evaporated into thin air.

That afternoon, Woniu Village witnessed another strange scene. Under the villagers’ guidance, Jingyun Hall’s killers clumsily began constructing the pigpen fences. Hands accustomed to swords now wielded hammers and nails, often smashing their fingers or driving crooked planks. Their clumsy efforts drew many secret snickers from onlookers.

Chen Jing did not participate in the pigpen construction. He chose what looked like the “most dignified” task—copying books in the estate’s study. However, when he saw the titles he was supposed to copy—Postpartum Care for Sows, On the Proper Method for Manure Fermentation, and the like—he snapped three brushes in frustration.

Thus, in an odd and tense atmosphere, the day of the martial arts gathering finally arrived.

On the night before the gathering, Jiang Suisui announced a welcoming feast for all the guests who had traveled far.

The feast was not held in the meeting hall but in the village’s central threshing ground.

As night fell, torches and lanterns lit the threshing ground as brightly as day. In the center, no traditional banquet tables were set up; instead, temporary clay stoves were arranged, each supporting a massive copper pot.

Inside each pot simmered a rich, fragrant broth, gleaming a deep red. Countless chili peppers, Sichuan peppercorns, and mysterious spices floated in the bubbling liquid, filling the air with an irresistible aroma.

Around the pots, long tables were laid with meticulously prepared ingredients: paper-thin slices of lamb and beef, crisp fresh vegetables, translucent sweet potato noodles, assorted mushrooms and tofu… an overwhelming feast of variety.

This was Jiang Suisui’s ultimate weapon—hotpot.

“Heroes, thank you for your journey,” Jiang Suisui announced from a raised platform in the center, her voice amplified through a simple wooden speaker. “Tonight, there is no hierarchy, no sect. Each of you has only one identity: diner. Please sit wherever you wish and enjoy yourselves.”

Most Jianghu heroes were bold and unrestrained by nature. Seeing this novel way to eat and smelling the enticing aromas, they could no longer restrain themselves.

Soon, people naturally gathered around the steaming pots.

At first, the atmosphere was still somewhat restrained. Those seated together with old grudges still wore stiff faces, ignoring one another.

But the moment the first chopstick dipped into a slice of lamb coated in red chili oil, everything changed.

It was an unprecedented explosion of flavor. Savory, fragrant, numbing, and spicy notes ignited on their tongues in sequence, instantly awakening everyone’s taste buds. The rich, satisfying heat traveled down their throats into their stomachs, prompting involuntary sighs of contentment.

“Mm! Delicious!”

“This… thing called ‘hotpot’ is incredible!”

One bite led to a second, then a third…

Gradually, the energy around the tables began to warm.

“Hey, you over there! Don’t just eat all the meat! Leave me some tripe!”

“Elder Wang, your duck intestines seem cooked, grab them quickly!”

“Ah! My shrimp paste! Who pushed it away?!”

Barriers dissolved slowly in the bubbling red oil.

Elder Kongtong and the leader of Mount Hua clashed over a piece of tofu, faces red with anger—until they decided to split it in half, exchanging laughter as they did so.

The female owner of Yan Yu Lou no longer cared about appearances; her cheeks flushed, sweat beading her forehead from the spice, she stuffed vegetables into her mouth while sucking in air.

Even the perpetually stern Chen Jing found himself caught up in the lively atmosphere. Watching the food churn in the pot and listening to the raucous, joyful chatter, he felt the gloom and scheming in his heart melt slightly.

One of Jingyun Hall’s subordinates carefully dipped a slice of beef for him and offered it. He hesitated, then ate it. The fresh, spicy taste invigorated him, awakening a spark he hadn’t felt in a long time.

By the third round of drinks and fifth course of dishes, many were flushed and merry, slapping shoulders, calling each other brother, and laughing freely.

An elder of the Beggars’ Sect, drunk, grabbed a young Wudang disciple, insisting on teaching him two moves of the “Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms.” The young disciple staggered backward, overwhelmed by the elder’s strong breath of alcohol.

Meng Kuo, the bladesman, and a delicate scholar armed with a sword almost quarreled again over whether lamb was best with sesame sauce or oil dip—until someone forced each of them to drink a large bowl of plum juice to cool them down.

Jiang Suisui and Gu Yan sat atop the platform, watching this lively, joyful scene unfold below, exchanging knowing smiles.

There is no grudge that a hotpot cannot resolve. If there is, two hotpots will do.

Gu Yan held Jiang Suisui’s hand and whispered, “Now I finally understand why you took those chili plants in the greenhouse so seriously.”

Jiang Suisui smugly lifted her chin. “The Art of War says: ‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’ To deal with these Jianghu heroes who bite the soft but resist the hard, the best weapon isn’t a sword or blade—it’s their stomachs.”

That night, the threshing ground of Woniu Village rang with laughter, shouting, and clinking chopsticks, continuing well into the night. The so-called sect rivalries, the divide of good and evil, the grudges of the Jianghu—all were temporarily cast aside in the steaming, fiery human feast.

When the sun rose the next day, and everyone arrived at the venue still looking half-asleep from their hangovers, they realized that the real show was only just beginning.