The Sanji State was currently under a crisis.

  Just a month ago five pages of internal legislation had slipped down from the Tianci High Court towards the sizable northern Tianci State; a standard trade adjustment of tariffs and import laws targeted specifically at material goods entering Yunclair that at first was cleared through the bureaucracies and staffs before being caught by the lower courts at the last minute.

  Some unknown party in the High Court had slipped in a hidden clause, targeting not just raw materials and consumer goods but also the last remnants of Imperium food aid. With one of the major stabilizing factors within the state about to be clenched, the entire state was verging on a total economic and political disaster.

  Imperial grain both purchased and aided was, at least in Sanji, still one of the only things keeping the mostly industrial focused state above the figurative breadline. If this came through the aisles unopposed to his father’s table and then came into existence with the Stamp, it could spell hunger for millions of factory laborers, miners, and loggers… and a tidy profit for someone unknown.

  The Crown Prince was spearheading the opposition in the Lower Court personally (very rare that anyone from the High Court would even bother doing so), and had already had his own staff draft out a schedule of counter litigation and investigations into what was evolving into a massive political battle. Within the end of the month the first counter assault would be hitting the halls of Landfall, and maybe the people of Sanji would be spared from this bout of corruption from some uncaring noble in a comfortable sofa.

  Maybe.

  Zai measures out a small amount of soya sauce onto the tasting plate, stirring it alongside a large, generous spoonful of chili oil. A pan already sizzling hot, cracking with heat as he takes from a nearby large steel pot the rehydrated strings of dried tofu, mushrooms and cubes of masterfully cut onion.

  A dash of oil sizzles across the cast iron and without hesitation he throws it all in. Steam rushes forth, and like miniature fireworks the contents within the cast iron pan begins to cook.

  His Guardswoman makes the comment, leaning over on the counter like some black, ever observant cat. “Smells good Zai, you’re pretty good even when distracted like this.”

  Zai doesn’t reply, focusing on the simmering pot that was nearly about to overboil. Two charges were already at play: both a steaming portion of rice (fit for seven people, he had seen Mori gobble grain like some filter feeding whale) and the prior mentioned boiling broth of stock fish, preserved cabbage, and mashed kernels of dried corn.

  This soup was starting to bubble over the rims, and he quickly lifts the pot’s cover for a visual inspection of the dish. Fish still somewhat translucent and corn kennels still undercooked:

  Still some time needed. Zai concludes, taking the charcoal shovel from the oven’s rack and adjusting the layers of hot coals beneath the pot to give it a little less direct heat.

  The State of Xiaoshan was never stable.

  After the Apostasy Wars the victorious sects had exiled their defeated sisters and brothers to what was the foot of a supposed cursed mountain. Where in thousands of years prior the once grand peak had erupted in a catastrophic volcanic plume; burying villages and even a major city beneath a tidal wave of ash and magma.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The victors expected them to die there, to live upon a cursed land and starve amongst the ruins like those who came before them. And these exiles made their last stand with the world there, and won. A glorious victory, as the earth gave them vast orchards budding with fruit, fields fat with grain, and vast tracts of forest that grew back at alarming rates.

  But they held onto the shame of that exile: in the old times with the refusal of tithes and the quiet drawings of their most poorly trained soldiers; and today with smuggled rifles and improvised explosive devices.

  The Crown Prince was set to visit Akamori, the second largest city of the state, sometime before the start of Summer, before the shooting and bombings really picked up.

  Before it would really fall apart.

  Zai removes the rice from the heat, the small white grains perfectly steamed out from their once dried husks to white bulbs that were fattened with moisture. Soft to the utensil, ready for service.

  “No Mori.” Zai calmly snaps to the catlike guardian who already moves towards the set aside pot.

  “Hey, someone has to taste it for poison~” She argues cheekily.

  “Later.” He nips back.

  One more dish, now able to be put into the freed space within the top left of the stovetop.

  A pan put to burning white charcoal, heated immensely in the minutes of direct exposure to a subtle flame. Reconstituted broth and preserved radish, onion, and garlic — some strange take on a radish stew but given the limited options it was all he had.

  The High Court was behind schedule this accounting cycle.

  A late season tax collection had slowly trickled up from the states towards the courts lower and now higher; at first a few days to the local bureaucracy slowly adding up to weeks as they snaked their way to Landfall.

  Now was the time to bring forth this year’s levies and taxes, and this delay in cross-checking and reconfirming the thousands of financial statements from district level authorities in small farming locales all the way to the foreign corporate juggernauts with branch offices in Tianci was going to cost the Court money… and time.

  Time that they didn’t have.

  The clerks were probably working overtime beyond overtime, living at their desks in the Palatial Temple as they watched their families from the thin window slits. Their sacrifice was hopefully enough to give the Lower Court some weight of decision on this year’s harvest levies. To hopefully tip-toe the balance between an outrageous taxation rate that’ll starve the masses and a rate low enough to incite a noble rebellion.

  Hopefully.

  The Impericutta Legionary watches the Crown Prince like a demonic hawk. Its blank ceramic faceplate is unadorned with expression, but even through the inhumanness of its body Zai could feel it.

  This monster was making account of every ingredient added, every cooking process he put these preserved foodstuffs too. Carefully noting the chemicals and their changes, ensuring no sabotage would come to fruition for its Charge’s meal tonight.

  Ironic, Zai thought to himself as he tried to maintain a steady gaze away from it, This weapon of the imperium couldn’t even trust the person it may be ordered to kill…

  In a cacophony of completion, timed as well as a military operation, all main courses complete near simultaneously. From the stir fried tofu skins to the spicy fish soup, all the way to the extremely improvised radish stew; it was a dinner for four (inclusive of Mori’s bottomless appetite) plated quite nicely alongside four empty bowls.

  His Guardswoman can’t even wait, snapping her fingers towards the very armed Impericutta legionary. “Alright, oh mighty Ceramic Demon, go drag Her Highness out of bed. Dinner’s getting cold. Itadakimasu~!”

  Let. Him. Cook.