[Congratulations, young chef. You have begun your journey as an immortal cook. Work hard!]

[Mission: Egg Fried Rice Completed.]

[Reward: Stinky-Dog’s Cooking Technique]

Smith Jr. stared at the plate of egg fried rice in his hands. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his body trembled. Finally, after seven years of imprisonment, he had cooked a plate of egg fried rice that the system approved of! When he first saw the mission, he thought it’d be easy. As a laborer of a sect, he was responsible for cooking meals for thousands of people, and he had to satisfy them all. If his cooking was terrible, then he might’ve drawn some young master’s ire. What if his cooking caused the young master to suffer while cultivating? It was simple: he’d be crippled and tossed out of the sect! However, who knew that the system would have such harsh requirements? It actually took seven whole years to cook one dish, and, boy, did that dish smell good.

Smith Jr. gulped as the steam from the egg fried rice reached his nostrils. Saliva pooled uncontrollably in his mouth, and he didn’t even bother finding a spoon. He picked up a pinch of egg fried rice, ignoring the burning sensation in his hand, and stuffed it into his mouth. His whole body tingled as the golden rice touched his tongue, the fragrance and warmth flooding his mouth. It felt like the bowl of egg fried rice in his hands had become a passionate woman hellbent on kissing him. A groan escaped from his lips as he closed his eyes and chewed. The rice and eggs obviously weren’t normal rice and eggs; they were filled with spiritual energy, and as Smith Jr. ate, he could feel that energy touching his body all over from the inside. When he swallowed, he nearly lost control of his lower body as the overwhelming pleasure gushed from his throat straight to his toes, touching every part in between. He couldn’t stop himself from stuffing the rest of the egg fried rice into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with his mouth open. Anyone would’ve assumed he had been starved for weeks if they had seen him eat.

It didn’t take long for all the egg fried rice to disappear into Smith Jr.’s stomach, and when it did, Smith Jr. stared at the empty bowl that had streaks of saliva in it from him licking it clean. Was it really just a bowl of egg fried rice? He glanced at Red Asura standing by the entrance, suspecting the golem of having spiked his food; however, the golem had been in the same place the whole time. Smith Jr.’s eyes lit up. He had completed the mission! Didn’t that mean he was finally free to go?

[New Mission: Opening Shop]

[Young chef, it is time for you to conquer your customers’ tastebuds. Sell ten thousand bowls of egg fried rice.]

[Reward: Stinky-Dog’s Potato Chip Recipe]

Smith Jr.’s eye twitched. Was he really going to be confined in the restaurant again!? His current body was already twenty-five years old. Seven years ago, he was at the ripe age for marriage. Was his family line destined to end with him? Wait, no, his family line already ended when he got killed by the steel beast. Was he the same person if his soul was in a different body?

[Young chef, stop standing in a daze and work hard.]

Smith Jr. shook his head. Perhaps if he didn’t work hard, Red Asura would kill him, and he didn’t want to die again. Smith Jr. frowned. The reward for the second mission also had a questionable name. Speaking of which…. “System, where’s my reward?”

[The Stinky-Dog’s Cooking Technique has already been transplanted into your mind. Try thinking about it.]

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Already in his mind? Smith Jr. thought the words Stinky-Dog’s Cooking Technique, and lo and behold, a sudden burst of pain struck his skull. It felt like someone was hammering his head with a wok. He knew what it felt like because whilst he was still learning how to cook back in the sect, his father had hammered his head with a wok. After the pain subsided, Smith Jr. realized that … nothing had changed at all. Did it work? “System? Why does it feel like I haven’t been rewarded at all?”

[Try cooking.]

Smith Jr. frowned at the two-word response. He went to the cabinet by the fridge and scooped out some rice. Something was different compared to the thousands of times he had done it before. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was there. When he brushed his gloved finger against the top of the cup, not a single grain of rice fell out. Somehow, he had scooped up the perfect amount of rice. He placed it into the rice pot and washed it, following the recipe. His movements flowed like water, and twinges of energy flowed into his limbs from his dantian. Smith Jr.’s eyes widened. Was this a cooking technique or a cultivation technique? He didn’t think too much about it, feeling the changes the Stinky-Dog’s Cooking Technique brought about as he continued to cook. When he was done, there was another bowl of perfect egg fried rice in front of him; however, Smith Jr. didn’t feel any ounce of happiness. “System…. Why didn’t you give me this technique earlier…?” If he had this cooking technique from the start, he wouldn’t have spent seven years struggling!

[The stinky dog wanted you to prove yourself worthy of inheriting her technique.]

…Well, that was a fair reason, Smith Jr. supposed. With this new cooking technique engrained in his very being, the newest mission didn’t look so daunting anymore. In fact, Smith Jr. was looking forward to it! There was no one in their right mind who wouldn’t want to buy this perfect egg fried rice! Selling ten thousand bowls was nothing.

[The rules of the restaurant have been written on the blackboard by the entrance.]

Rules of the restaurant? Smith Jr. furrowed his brow and left the kitchen. He went to the blackboard, trying to stay away from Red Asura as much as possible, and read the rules out loud. “No loitering. No fighting. No takeout. Customers may only order one serving of each dish per day. Customers must pay before they order. Any troublemakers shall be stripped, robbed, thrown out, and blacklisted. Repeat offenders shall leave behind their head….”

Smith Jr. couldn’t help but glance at Red Asura. He didn’t doubt the golem’s ability to remove people’s heads. He gulped and focused his attention back onto the blackboard. Below the rules, there was a menu, and it only consisted of one item: egg fried rice. The price was clearly printed beside it: two spirit stones. “Two spirit stones!?” In his old sect, the outer disciples were given one spirit stone a month as a stipend. According to the memories of the dead person in his mind, one spirit stone was equal to five hundred of this world’s dollars. It cost a thousand dollars to buy one bowl of rice! Smith Jr.’s expression darkened. How the hell was he going to scam ten thousand people out of a thousand dollars? He knew it had to be ten thousand people because there was no way any of them would come back for more! Perhaps by the time he finished the mission, he’d already be on his deathbed…. “System, don’t you think your prices should be more … honest?”

[It costs one and a half spirit stones to produce one bowl of egg fried rice. This is already a very honest price. Please don’t criticize those who are trying their best to make a living.]

Smith Jr.’s face paled as he did some quick math. He had stopped keeping track of his failures after ten thousand times, but still, ten thousand spirit stones were already a lot! “About those meals I botched….”

[Young chef, don’t worry about it. The failed dishes are fed to the chickens—]

[No! You owe me seventeen thousand spirit stones!]

Smith Jr. furrowed his brow. He swore he saw another line of text flash by, but the only one remaining was the one telling him to pay back his debt. A sigh escaped from his mouth. Well, it was once again time to listen to his father’s advice: don’t argue with those stronger than him.