Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
The cabin in the woods looked shabby, but since it was the venue where the God of Cooking prepared for Bu Fang’s final test, many of its things were extraordinary.
Bu Fang could feel the terrifying energy in the kitchen knife he was holding, which was much stronger than the Dragon Bone Kitchen Knife in its perfect form. The knife, the wok, the stove, and other kitchen utensils were all of very high quality, as if they were the top divine artifacts of the universe.
The God of Cooking was very concerned about this final test. He wanted Bu Fang to be able to cook a top-notch dish, for only then would he be qualified to inherit his legacy. So what he had prepared for Bu Fang, whether it was the ingredients or the cooking utensils, was the best in the world.
Holding the kitchen knife, Bu Fang’s face gradually beca expressionless. The look in his eyes was sowhat deep as if he was thinking about sothing. After a long ti, he shook his head and put down the kitchen knife. He did not want to use the cooking utensils that the God of Cooking had prepared for him.
He then turned to look at the ingredients that were piled up to the side. Emitting a powerful aura, they were all the top ingredients in the universe equivalent or better than Great-Soul-Overlord-grade ingredients.
‘Use the top ingredients and cooking utensils to cook the best cuisine...’
The corners of Bu Fang’s mouth lifted slightly. He took a step back, sat cross-legged on the ground, and instead of starting to cook, he fell into contemplation.
The God of Cooking’s cuisine was a mixture of the Ruthless Path and the Emotional Path, with the forr taking the dominant position. Perhaps that was the reason why he was looking for a successor. He was on the wrong path, and he might be dead already.
After thinking for a long ti, Bu Fang looked up at everything in front of him. The amazing cooking utensils and ingredients began to transform. The top-quality ingredients that emitted a powerful aura beca ordinary, while those best cooking utensils turned diocre, looking like what the villagers in the countryside were using.
He had transford the world’s best cooking utensils and ingredients into the most ordinary ones used by mortals. Perhaps even the God of Cooking could not figure out what he was trying to do.
After that, Bu Fang stood up, grabbed the ordinary kitchen knife, and began to cook with these simple ingredients without any haste.
He washed a fresh cabbage with water and then slowly peeled it. His movents were so ticulous that he seed to be pouring all his emotions into it. Then, he cracked an egg into a bowl and slowly beat it with a pair of chopsticks, watching the yolk and the white mix as he stirred.
With a splat, he placed a piece of pink pork on the chopping board. Instead of using his exquisite knife skills, he held it down with a wet hand, cut it into slices, and slowly chopped it into tiny pieces.
Bu Fang’s movents were unhurried as he was no longer as impatient as he used to be in cooking. It was this kind of ordinary knife technique that could bring out the best flavor of the ingredients, for it was filled with emotions, and each cut was full of care for the ingredients.
When he was done chopping the pork, he poured out the white flour. Tiny white particles drifted in the air and clung to his hands. He pushed the flour into a small heap, made a depression in the middle, and poured water into it. The flour at the edge collapsed imdiately and floated on the water’s surface. As the water flowed, more flour was washed down, forming little clumps of flour.
Bu Fang used his hands to crush these clumps, then mixed the water and flour evenly and kneaded them rhythmically. He did not use the so-called Tai Chi kneading thod, nor did he use the power of the Law or the power of the Great Path. He just kneaded the dough as gently as if he was giving his child a bath.
At that mont, there seed to be a pair of invisible eyes in the sky watching Bu Fang. Perhaps the God of Cooking was surprised by the way he cooked. He had the best ingredients and powerful cooking utensils at his disposal, but he chose not to use them.
Did he think that dishes cooked in an ordinary way could be better than the cuisine cooked with the best ingredients and utensils?
Bu Fang was not affected in any way. As all kinds of emotions flowed in his eyes, the flour and water were gradually kneaded into a dough. He kept pressing and folding it with his hands, causing the porcelain bowl containing the dough to clatter softly.
What was a real God of Cooking dish?
Bu Fang used to think that he could cook the best delicacies with the best ingredients and cooking utensils. But that ti, when he was cooking in the starry sky, he found that he was wrong. Perhaps his lack of strength was the reason. With Whitey’s help, he only managed to cook a pseudo-God of Cooking dish.
Although they differed only by the word ‘pseudo’, they were, in fact, light years apart. Bu Fang spent five hundred years thinking about the way to cross that gap, but he could not go any further. He rembered very clearly the despair that filled him.
However, when he ate the dish prepared by the God of Cooking using the finest ingredients and top-notch cooking utensils, he was not amazed. In fact, he was even a little disappointed. He knew that it must be the best dish cooked by the God of Cooking, not sothing that his pseudo dish could compare with, but...
Could a real God of Cooking dish only reach this standard?
Bu Fang questioned himself and reflected. He thought maybe his thod was wrong, so he shed all the pomp and circumstance and chose to cook with the most ordinary ingredients and the simplest cooking utensils.
He kneaded the dough into many small balls, then carefully rolled them out into wrappers with a rolling pin. After that, he put various ingredients in an ordinary clay pot and mixed them evenly with a pair of chopsticks.
The ingredients blended into each other. It was an amazing, almost miraculous chemical reaction, and Bu Fang was enthralled. Indeed, simple and ordinary were beautiful. This was probably the God of Cooking dish he was seeking.
He grabbed a spoon, scooped out so filling, and placed it in the center of a wrapper. Then, he carefully sealed the edges by folding the wrapper. While he was making dumplings, his eyes wandered a little bit. Everything he had experienced in the past five hundred years flashed in his mind.
These five hundred years occupied almost half of his life. His ti on Earth, Hidden Dragon Continent, the Immortal Cooking Realm, the Chaotic Universe, and other places combined did not amount to that much. To him, it was a journey to settle his mind.
He sotis missed his old friends and his positive attitude when he first learned to cook. Back then, he was insignificant and fearless. Looking back on it now, he wanted to laugh.
More and more dumplings were wrapped, and before long, they were piled high on the stove. Bu Fang stopped. There were no more wrappers and the filling was used up, yet he felt that only a mont had passed.
He raised his hand and rubbed his nose, saring it with so white flour. After that, he took out a stear, spread a layer of white gauze inside, and put the dumplings into it one by one. Finally, he put the lid on.
Behind the stove was a pile of chopped firewood, just like the firewood he had chopped alone in his cabin. He put so into the stove and lit them. The fire danced on the wood; it was an ordinary fire, without any strange energy or power. Bu Fang leaned down and blew into the stove. Black smoke rose and choked him, making him cough a few tis. But the fire was roaring.
There were two ordinary woks on the stove. He used one to steam the dumplings and the other to cook other dishes.
Sizzle...
Bu Fang added so oil into the wok, then threw the prepared ingredients into it. A plu of white smoke rose, which was the vapor evaporated by the oil. With an ordinary ladle in his hand, he started to stir-fry and tossed the wok, making the ingredients jump. Before long, they turned golden, and a delicious aroma filled the air.
When all the ingredients were cooked, Bu Fang scooped out the steaming dish. A rich, refreshing fragrance wafted out of it and went into his nose. He took a deep breath and felt his heart lt. In all his years of cooking, this was the first ti a dish had intoxicated him so much.
He dropped a handful of thin noodles into the boiling water. They began to soften and tumble in the wok. These were Dragon Whisker Noodles, also called longevity noodles, that Bu Fang used to cook. Sohow, he really felt like cooking them at this mont.
As the noodles were being cooked, Bu Fang added vinegar, soy sauce, chopped scallions, and other seasonings into a porcelain bowl. When the noodles were thoroughly softened, he fished them out and put them in the bowl.
He had a complicated look in his eyes. He rembered the Dragon Whisker Noodles his parents cooked for him on his birthday when he was a child. There was no birthday cake, just a bowl of longevity noodles. It was a simple dish, but it contained his parents’ care for him and their wishes for him to grow up healthy.
Bu Fang exhaled, his hands shaking slightly as he fished the noodles.
At this mont, the dumplings in the stear were cooked. Bu Fang took it out of the wok and set it on the stove. Wisps of hot steam kept rising from it. As he lifted the lid, a plu of white smoke rushed out like a dragon. The tender dumplings were quietly lying inside the stear.
With a pair of chopsticks, he picked them out one by one and arranged them on a plate in the pattern of a blooming flower. At the center of the plate was the sauce he had made.
Finally, he took out a porcelain bowl and filled it with aromatic rice. At this point, he had finished cooking the al: a plate of stead dumplings, a bowl of longevity noodles, a fried egg, and a plate of fried at.
These were four simple dishes, and he did not cook them with fancy ingredients or utensils. However, he had cooked them with the comprehension and emotions that he had accumulated over five hundred years. They appeared to be ordinary, but deep inside, they were extraordinary. This was the choice Bu Fang had made in the face of the final test given to him by the God of Cooking.
In the cabin, Bu Fang set the dishes on the table. The God of Cooking’s dish was still glowing brilliantly, but when he placed his dishes next to it, its light suddenly faded.
Finally, he placed down the bowl of rice, set a spoon and a pair of chopsticks beside it, and said indifferently, “I’m done cooking. Please give the dishes a taste.” His voice lingered in the cabin, loud and confident.
In this final test, Bu Fang prepared a plate of stead dumplings, a bowl of longevity noodles, a fried egg, and a plate of fried at. That was all.
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