With this role model in mind, Yvette also began avoiding the "tempering of willpower." After all, she had recently been honing her control abilities, and nothing tested her skills more than mastering the precise heat of cooking.

For several days in a row, whenever the maid prepared meals, Yvette would assist in the kitchen. This era’s Albion was also a hub of global trade. Exotic crops from the New World and the Spice Islands flowed endlessly into its ports, and the kitchens of affluent households brimmed with all manner of spices.

Beef stewed with cinnamon, fennel, ginger, and pepper; curry crab stir-fried with turmeric, dill, and coriander powder… The mysterious culinary arts of the East awakened within her. Through practice, Yvette gradually grasped the limits of her current abilities.

Her energy conversion and teleportation abilities were confined to a three-meter radius around her body, requiring a direct line of sight. As long as no living beings blocked the path, she could phase through materials like metal or walls.

The era’s stoves didn’t use open flames beneath pots. Burning coal was placed in cast-iron furnaces with ventilation pipes built into the walls. The flames heated an iron plate above, transferring heat to the pans placed on it. This provided steady but low heat, suitable only for slow simmering or braising.

In Yvette’s hands, however, the isolated coals’ heat could be directly transferred into pans, mimicking the high-heat stir-frying of later eras. This produced the seared aroma Chinese cuisine called wok hei—a sensation entirely novel to people of this time.

"You must be a culinary-type transcendent… This cabbage dish is divine! Olive oil, minced garlic… with a hint of magical smokiness. Until today, I’d fantasized about the ambrosia Tantalus stole from the Olympian gods. Thank you for ending my imagination," praised Ulysses, who had long suffered under Albion’s culinary traditions.

Even Winslow approached her afterward: "Might I humbly request you share your recipes?"

Yvette jotted down simplified versions of stews and braised dishes from memory for him to practice. She wondered how his attempts had fared.

"Mr. O’Connell, how did you find the recipes I wrote?"

"As the nephew of Sir Ulysses, you may call me Winslow," the black-haired young man replied with uncharacteristic hesitation. "I’ve tried them several times, but encountered issues… For instance, what exactly constitutes ‘a pinch’ or ‘to taste’?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Ah… The whimsical measurements of Chinese cuisine truly defied explanation…

That afternoon, Yvette and Winslow rode to the "Maskelyne Workshop" Ulysses had mentioned.

Their destination was Clerkenwell in northeastern London, a district crowded with traditional artisans—clockmakers, jewelers, and the like. Though Albion’s class hierarchy deemed manual laborers the lowest tier, these craftsmen serving the elite often earned substantial incomes, with top artisans rivaling lawyers or clergy in wealth.

Peering from the carriage window, Yvette saw rows of elegant townhouses. Street-facing displays glittered with pristine glass showcasing jeweled clocks, pocket watches, and chains. Upstairs workshops echoed with metallic clinks and hammer taps. Carriages bearing family crests lined the streets as ladies and gentlemen shopped for evening social adornments.

The carriage halted before an unassuming shop. Through its, Yvette glimpsed gem-encrusted clocks and watches.

"Good afternoon. Young Master Yves de Fishe has an appointment with the proprietor," Winslow announced with practiced decorum, opening the door for her.

"The master said to bring you straight in," a clerk greeted warmly. "Here for custom firearms, I presume? Master Maskelyne doesn’t bother with flashy signage—regulars know his clocks and pistols boast London’s finest craftsmanship."

"Firearms are handmade? Doesn’t that mean each shop’s models differ?" Yvette asked offhandedly.

Unbeknownst to her, this era’s finest guns were horologists’ masterpieces—precision instruments as irreplicable as art. Assembly-line firearms from the New World, still in infancy, were deemed crude and unreliable by traditional artisans.

The clerk sniffed disdainfully: "You should experience real firearms, not New World’s soulless trash."

They passed through a courtyard dotted with practice targets into a workshop cluttered with metal ingots, gears, and half-finished timepieces. A disheveled, red-nosed man reeking of alcohol emerged—Maskelyne, master artisan and covert transcendent.

"Little one, Fishe’s nephew? Owing the Frenchman a favor… State your requirements," Maskelyne grunted, sharp-eyed despite his slovenly appearance.

"Master Maskelyne is a longtime ‘circle insider’ acquainted with Sir Ulysses. His transcendent abilities aid craftsmanship," Winslow whispered.

Yvette bowed. "I seek a pistol. Might you explain current models?"

Maskelyne outlined options: scatter-shot versus conical bullets, single-shot versus revolvers. Yvette opted for a large-caliber revolver despite warnings about recoil.

To demonstrate her transcendent-dampened recoil control, she test-fired a bear-hunting pistol—originally commissioned by a Kievan Rus noble later exiled. Maskelyne approved her capabilities but mocked her "abysmal shooting posture."

After finalizing specifications (short barrel, reinforcement), they departed.

Crossing into a bustling commercial district, Yvette observed street vendors hawking gruesome tabloids:

"Extra! Ikkenham Red Mill Murders! Five dead overnight—satanic ritual traces!"

Though outside their jurisdiction, Winslow purchased a leaflet detailing victims hung upside-down and drained of blood—a case bearing no vampiric hallmarks but ripe for public hysteria.

Ulysses later fumed about police incompetence and sensationalist press. Yvette fabricated a plausible "drunken acquaintance" cover story to quell occult rumors, earning praise:

"Genius. In France, you’d reign as salon queen."