Once Wang Niu had left, she had pulled Liu Fakuang aside to ask for his help with a little experiment. Together, they found the ship’s carpenter, and she asked him to make her a square out of thick wooden planks, solid and at least a meter to the side.
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your duel?” he asked while they waited, quick strikes of the hammer filling the air of the cramped ship’s workshop, “I can tell you have some kind of plan, but Wang Niu is very good. You shouldn’t underestimate him.”
“I have the time in mind,” she replied, “I don’t expect to need all of it, and this has been burning a hole through my mind since this morning. Best get it out of the way first, so it wouldn’t distract me - it would only take a couple minutes.”
“You know, I didn’t expect you to ask a karmist like me for cultivation help.” He chuckled softly, rubbing his head.
“You may be a karmist, but you are still a cultivator. I trust in your better nature,” she said, turning to face him, “You said you could tell I had a plan? What did you mean by that?”
“Just, you came back looking very confident, and then you had all those terms already prepared,” he said, shrugging. “Lanhua gets like that sometimes too. It reminded me of her.”
She hummed, but before she could respond, the carpenter came back with her shield.
“Well, you said you didn’t need it pretty, so here it is.” The carpenter shrugged, dragging it along the ground, nailed together from two rows of overlapping planks in accordance with her direction. She easily lifted it off the floor, thanked the man, and they headed to the back of the ship on the top deck, facing away from the rest of the port. She leaned the large square of wood against a railing, crouched behind it, and took one of her newly purchased long knives from her bag.
“So what is this supposed to be?” Liu Fakuang asked, coming closer.
“A shield, so that a shard of exploding metal doesn’t take my head off,” she said, pushing the knife’s edge through a tight, narrow gap she asked the carpenter to leave in between the planks. “And you are here just in case it does anyways, to administer help. Healing pills are in my bag.”
Really, it was paranoid of her - the wooden shield alone should have been more than enough.
“And why might shards of metal start flying around?” he asked her cautiously, and she felt his spiritual shield suddenly strengthen. Smart man.
“I have been redesigning a flying sword technique in my free time,” she said, wrapping the hilt in cloth, to cover any remaining gaps, “I think I got it right, but you can never know for sure before you test it.”
“You have been redesigning a technique?” His eyebrows flew up as he admonished her. “Alone? You should be doing that in a forest, away from anyone else, not here. What if you blow up the ship?”
“If I did it in a forest and screwed it up, nobody would get me to a healer in time and I would die,” she said, glancing up at him, “Don’t worry, my master left me some notes for this - this is more of an exercise than truly novel work. I am not just doing this blind. Besides, blow up the ship? I only have enough spiritual energy for, like, half of it at best.”
She grinned up at him, and before he could stop her, touched the hilt of the knife with a finger and poured spiritual energy into it, guiding it in accordance with her calculations and the diagram from the Three Obediences Four Virtues. A knife, no matter how long, wasn’t quite a sword, but she wasn’t going to risk destroying one of her precious weapons on a mere test, and the shape was close enough for her purposes.
She only wished she could have done this without touching the weapon at all, but she needed all the control she could get, and so there was no way around it.
Even simplified as it was, the “humble needle control technique” still took all of her concentration and a good chunk of her reserves. Slowly, she let more and more spiritual energy pour into the knife, guiding it into the loops and twirls required by the diagram, gradually accelerating to reach that alluring point of stability.
For a while, she thought it would hold, but as she came close to the finish line she felt the spiritual energy in the knife’s tip bunch up, vibrate, and despite her frantic efforts to get it to hold, the entire technique instantly unraveled with an ear-ringing explosion, kicking the wooden shield - and her behind it - back two full feet.
She stood up, checking herself over, and pulled the knife out through the shield - or tried to, because the handle was all that was left. The other side of the board was littered with steel shrapnel from the shattered blade, and she tossed the handle overboard, clicking her tongue in disappointment. At least she knew which part of the technique caused problems, and that would save her many hours of work.
“See? The ship is still here,” she said, turning back to Liu Fakuang, “Don’t worry, I think we’ll get to do this a couple more times in the next few days before I get it right.”
Somehow he didn’t seem entirely mollified.
----------------------------------------
When Wang Niu returned to the ship in the evening, carrying his cold box of ingredients, he was ushered to the kitchen he knew quite well. With not much free space left on a ship, it was small, with the dining table on one end of the room, and the cooking area on the other. The two halves were separated from each other by a wide table for preparing the ingredients, cupboards taking up most of the wall behind it, and with a large stove in the middle of the wall, fit to cook for a dozen sailors at once.
Despite the small size, this kitchen was stocked with some of the best equipment money could buy - after all, he ordered much of it himself. The stove was a marvel, driven by spirit stones and producing the exact amount of heat required by the chef by widening or narrowing apertures within it with special knobs: even his sect only had a couple of those. Besides that, there were copper pipes for water, filled with a water treasure near the roof, and a sink for cleaning the dishes after the fact.
As he swept his gaze over the room, he found that all the surfaces were cleaned to a shine, with all equipment stoved away where it belonged, and grunted in approval.
Lan Yishan was already there, ingredients covering half of the central table as she kept unpacking her own cold box - significantly larger than his, covered in droplets of water and smog, where moisture in the air had condensed from the cold. Wu Lanhua, Liu Fakuang, and a man he recognised as Li Shangwen, a big local merchant, were already seated at the dining table, drinking wine and talking of some mercantile mortal nonsense.
“Ah, honorable cultivator Wang!” Lan Yishan smiled at him carelessly, as if he wasn’t about to teach her where her place was like a misbehaving dog is taught not to piss in the house. “We’ve decided that we would split the kitchen half and half - I would take the right side, and you the left. The stove, of course, would be shared.”
She gestured to the other half of the central table.
“It’s acceptable,” he replied, keeping his emotions contained. Who was she, to make these decisions, to give him orders? A chef’s kitchen was no place for a woman. It was a battlefield, and a chef duel was the hottest part of that battle, knives and pots clashing together like swords and shields. Only one with an iron will, sharpened by years of experience, could direct the flow of ingredients and order the mortal assistants with the precision of a general.
He would correct this rebellion at once.
Although, it seemed like he wouldn’t even need to cook to do so.
He left his cold box on his side of the counter, and strode over to Wu Lanhua, offering her the sealed envelope.
“My dish name, as we have agreed,” he said, “when will the duel start?”
“There is no true start time,” Wu Lanhua said. “You can begin cooking whenever you want to - after all, it’s quite unlikely that you will both finish at the exact same time, so there is no point in synchronizing when you begin. When you are finished, simply present your dish, and we will make our judgment once both of you have done so.”
“I see,” he said, “there is no need to wait, in that case. Cultivator Lan had already violated the conditions, so I have won by default.”
Surprised eyes turned in his direction at that pronouncement. Lan Yishan stopped unpacking her coldbox, and leaned on it, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Is that so?” she asked with a slight smile. “That is your first accusation of cheating then. How have I violated the rules?“
In her eyes, he saw a twinkle of something he couldn’t identify. It hardly mattered, for the truth was obvious.
“Your ingredients.” He gestured to her table, openly displaying three large fishes, plenty of mushrooms and vegetables, several lemons, sugar, eggs, bread, spices and several jars of what was no doubt pickled goods. “I know the local prices well. Even if you bought them from the cheapest trader in town, that must have cost at least double of what you had to spend.”
“Oh, an easy mistake to make, but I am afraid it isn’t quite that simple, honorable cultivator Wang,” she said, shaking her head, “all my ingredients fit precisely in my budget. I even have a written list of prices, and the merchants I approached, where appropriate. Chen Minlang - our other cook, though not a cultivator, I am not sure if you have met - would testify to the accuracy, because we did our purchases together.”
What a transparent lie.
“The fish,” he said, pursing his lips. “It’s large and in good health, clearly freshly caught. How much did it cost?“
“Nothing,” she responded, her smile growing wider, “I caught them myself.”
“What?”
“I went out and caught them.” She shrugged. “Foraging for ingredients wasn’t against anything in our agreement. Most of these vegetables - garlic and carrots especially, as well as the mushrooms - I have gathered from a nearby forest. Once again, honorable Chen would confirm this, because I have brought him along, despite his initial protests.”
He sneered at her, turning to Wu Lanhua with a questioning look.
“It all seems to be in order.” She shrugged, and the other two so-called ‘judges’ confirmed it. “Neither of you mentioned foraging before, and it obviously costs nothing.”
Fine. I suppose I will just have to destroy her with my cooking.
Not like it mattered. He could accuse her three times in all - this was practically free.
He walked back to his station, such as it was, and pulled his invaluable knife case off his back, lowering it gently on the table. Before starting on his ingredients, he put on a pristine apron and the chef hat, securing it on his head with a tight knot.
Alongside him, Lan Yishan, still dressed in the same cultivator robes, started to peel the carrots by tossing them into the air and removing layers of skin before they had the time to fall back down on the table. Her long black hair was tied together into a loose braid, and clamped at the bottom with a wooden pin, but still left to swing freely behind her back. Wu Lanhua and Li Shangwen were watching her theatrics with fascination.
“Are you not even intending to dress like a chef?” he asked, irritated at her quick, distracting movements in the corner of his eye.
“Why?” She looked at him, baffled, and caught the carrot with her free hand. “I cook with my knife, not with my dress.”
”It is traditional for chefs to dress this way,” he said, motioning to his clothes, “The hat is there, so that your hair doesn’t fall into your dishes, and the apron, so that oil doesn’t splash on your clothes. But I suppose an amateur like you wouldn’t know this.”
“Oh come now, no measly drop of oil is going to pierce through a properly constructed spiritual shield -” she laughed at him, the sheer arrogance of it, “- and as for my hair, I haven’t lost a single one in years. Even when sparring, it’s quite rare for it to get damaged. Perhaps old cultivators like you may need the hat, like an ordinary person, but I think I will go without.”
He grit his teeth. She would pay for that.
He breathed in to calm himself down. Dao of Cooking required your full concentration - anything less would be an insult.
He took out the six forms of meat of the mighty ox from his cold box - oxtail, cheek, tongue, skirt, stomach and filet - all wrapped in wax paper, and kept cool by the talisman in the middle of the box - and laid it out carefully on the table. The budget, small as it was, was more than enough for three people, and he purchased a fair bit more than what he strictly needed.
With gentle hands, he opened up the knife chest, took out the first knife, and began working, putting the arrogant woman out of his mind. His usual calm quickly returned, until he heard a question from Wu Lanhua.
“It’s curious to me that you are using multiple knives, while Lan Yishan is only using one, honorable immortal Wang,” she said. “Is there a reason for this?”
He glanced over to Lan Yishan and, to his growing horror, saw that she indeed continued using the same knife with which she peeled the vegetables to descale and debone her fish. At least she stopped tossing things in the air like a circus clown.
“Different blade shapes are best suited towards different purposes,” he said, faintly, “cutting, chopping, even sawing bread - there is a knife perfectly suited for everything. My knives are made from heavenly materials - they make it easier to permeate the ingredients with spiritual energy, varying its concentration along the cut. The dish thus produced has, naturally, an incomparable taste. Just like the grandest temple on top of the tallest mountain scratches the sky, so do these dishes scratch your palate. To use a single knife, is…”
“Well, that might be true,” Lan Yishan laughed, “but it’s not how I was taught. For the highest freshness, it’s best to slaughter your food right before cooking it - and how could you have the time to switch to a different knife when you are butchering a demon beast? It’s going to bite your head off if you try! A knife and a sword, that’s all the tools an immortal chef should need - and I don’t need my sword for some fish.”
“A chef is not a butcher.” He sneered. “Where did you learn, a forest?”
“A chef is not a forager either,” she said, shaking her head, “yet who else would know what ingredients to collect for the best taste?”
“Best ingredients are grown in carefully cultivated gardens,” he said. “This isn’t the ancient times, when you could simply walk into a forest and find a thousand year old herb or a rare demon beast. If you want the best, you need a sect like our very own Infinite Garden Pavilion.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
That seemed to only make her laugh more, and he focused back on his preparations.
He kept one eye on what she did, this time, and his confusion and irritation only deepened. What in the name of the netherworld kings was she cooking? She cut one of the large fishes open on an oven tray, chopped another one into filets, started to make a soup from the remaining cuts, and then chopped up the wild garlic and onions into a fine mixture, which she fried separately? It was as if she was preparing a three course meal - which would have made sense given the sheer quantity of the ingredients she brought along - but they were only making a single dish. There was no plan to it, nothing that would come together into a coherent picture.
Finally, he couldn’t take it, and stepped over to her.
“What is it you are making, cultivator Lan?” he whispered, “I do not believe that ‘a complete mess’ is a viable dish.”
“Who said that I have a plan?” She raised an eyebrow at him, whispering back with a smile. “I would win if you can’t make your own dish, wouldn’t I? With how incompetent you are, and how much time you are wasting on questions, it seems to me that is a real possibility.”
She laughed at him and turned away, and he clenched his teeth harder. Calm. She was an incompetent, getting a rise out of him was her only path forward. His superior skill -
No. Destroying her on the merits would not be enough. She has to be humiliated.
He glanced at the trio of judges: Wu Lanhua was telling some story to the other two. None of them were looking in their direction.
‘Judges’, he sneered silently, pathetic. As if these peons could appreciate true cooking.
Their inattentiveness gave him all the opportunity he needed.
He reached into his bag of salt with one hand, and placed a tray of ox cheeks he was marinating to the side of his work area with the other, right next to where Lan Yishan was finishing up seasoning her fish, giving him an excuse to come close to her. When she turned away to grab another ingredient, he tossed a full handful of salt over her fish.
Try and serve this, he grinned, an amateur like you wouldn’t even notice -
With the salt still in flight, she swung her knife blindly behind her without even slowing her step, and with a smooth movement, deflected most of the salt over into his own meat. His eyes widened in horror, and he reached his hand to pull the tray back, but by the time his fingers closed around the edge, the salt already fell down, grains instantly dissolving on the surface of the meat and in the marinade around it.
“You cheater!” He hissed, and saw the three judges look in their direction out of the corner of his eye.
“Hm?” She turned to face him, her eyes half closed as if she was barely staying awake, feigning innocence.
“Look!” He pointed to his meat triumphantly. He could still salvage this. “There is salt all over my meat. It is far, far more than what the dish requires. This is clear sabotage!”
“Oh. Yes, that does look a little strange.” She scratched her head with the handle of her kitchen knife, then shrugged. “But I didn’t do that.”
“Are you claiming I oversalted my own meat?” He sneered at her. “An accusation like that would make me cross swords with anybody.”
“I am not claiming anything.” She shrugged again. “But by the rules of this duel, cheating only matters if you can prove it. Otherwise, it’s just empty talk.”
“That is what we agreed on, honorable immortal Wang,” Wu Lanhua said. “You have to prove it yourself, to the three of us.”
“There is plenty of proof.” He smiled. Her own words would seal her demise. “Look at the spread of the salt on the table around the trays.”
He gestured to the table. Some of the salt grains have missed the two trays, and scattered all over, with a wide tail in his direction from that powerful knife swing.
“This spread clearly indicates the salt came from her side of the room,” he declared, “and therefore, she had cheated.”
“Hmm,” Lan Yishan scratched her head again, “that is certainly puzzling. However, may I ask where this salt could have come from?”
“What? From your own hands, obviously.”
“Well, it’s just that right before this duel, I asked Liu Fakuang here to search me and all my ingredients, and together with Chen Minlang, we recorded the weights of every ingredient I was intending to use - just so there would be no misunderstandings later, you understand. Neither of us has left the room since,” she said, pointing to Liu Fakuang with her knife, “isn’t that right, fellow cultivator Liu?”
“That’s right,” Liu Fakuang nodded.
“While they were busy with that,” Wu Lanhua added, “My people have searched the kitchen to make sure it was clean, with no surprise stashes anywhere.”
“If you doubt my word, we can weigh the salt I have left,” Lan Yishan shrugged, “I have barely used any in my cooking so far. This means that unless you can show where I got this salt, this isn’t proof, but merely… baseless conjecture.”
“Of course I can prove it,” he snorted, heat coming up into his chest, “you stole my salt to do it.”
“But your salt is on the other end of the table,” she pointed out, “I would have had to somehow stretch all across the table without either you or our excellent judges noticing? This isn’t plausible at all.”
“So what, are you accusing me then?” He raised his nose at her. If this worthless amateur was going to try to win this duel on a pure technicality…
“Hmmm,” she said, smiling at him, and shook her head. “No, I do not think I will accuse you. How could I prove it’s you for sure? We have forgotten to weigh your salt, after all. It’s entirely possible that, for example, you tossed the salt at my dish intending to sabotage it, and I have masterfully deflected it aside, but since the only ones who would know wherever that happened are the two of us, there is no way to prove it one way or another. Your hands are dry, and no salt has stuck to them - I can see that from here. Perhaps it was you - or perhaps I did manage to sneak in more salt. We will simply never know.”
She pointed the knife at him, that strange twinkle coming back to her eyes. The judges watched their confrontation with interest.
“The only thing we do know for sure is that you have accused me of cheating twice, and failed to prove it both times,” she chuckled softly, “careful, honorable cultivator Wang. One more failure, and you will have to pay out your stake. In triplicate. You best be very certain you can prove it the next time you think I have tried to cheat.”
He scowled at her, slapping her knife aside, and she laughed easily, as if they were just sharing a great joke with each other.
Was this her angle? Cheat, but in a way he couldn’t prove?
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. No, this was simply playing to her tune. He was a better chef. He didn’t need to worry about what her plan was, when he already had the perfect dish in mind, one she could never compete with.
He opened his eyes again.
This was a battlefield, and he was a better general. He simply needed to slash his way to victory, and leave the incompetent in the dust.
No tricks, no cheating. Only victory.
----------------------------------------
He thought chef duels were a battlefield. He won plenty of them, and knew exactly what to look out for. His skill at cooking would, surely, deliver him to victory.
He was so, so wrong.
Lan Yishan didn’t fight like a soldier, but like an animal, a rabid dog uncaring for thought or logic. She barreled him down into the mud, and turned an honorable and clean competition of culinary wills into a mad grapple, their weapons long discarded, trying to drown him in the wet, sloppy ground.
He had never seen anyone cheat so blatantly while managing to not get caught.
Whatever it was she was making, the stove was clearly a cornerstone, every single burner he wasn’t already using burning hot, and so she shuttled between it and her table, always choosing the worst time to move. Every time, he had to drop what he was doing, and watch her like a hawk, lest she change something, or slip in a ruinous spice and destroy a part of his dish.
The one time he didn’t, he found the heat inside of the oven doubled, and by the time he realized it, an entire batch of ox cheeks was left burned to a crisp. That her own fish had suffered alongside didn’t seem to bother her at all. She didn’t even take it out of the oven.
Twice, he watched her hands, never letting his gaze wander, and yet afterwards found the burners on the other end of the stove - ones her hands didn’t even get close to - had changed their settings. There had to have been a technique at work, but whatever it was, it was subtle, covered up by the flow of spiritual energy into the dishes and all around the stove itself - she was not influencing his mind, and she was not concealing the stove in an illusion. Thankfully, he could simply change the burners back, and as long as she stayed away from the stove, it seemed to stay put.
And always, a quiet voice in the back of his head. Her voice. Droning on, driving him to insanity.
Could you prove it? Could you prove it, Wang Niu? Otherwise… it’s just baseless conjecture.
He only realized her trap once he had already stepped into it. By the rules of their duel, he had to accuse her of cheating first - even if one of the judges saw or suspected something, they would simply stay quiet. But if he accused her of cheating and they saw nothing, then he would lose, because he only had a single accusation left. He couldn’t risk making that gamble, and so he needed solid, unquestionable proof that did not rely on the eyes of those peons.
But proof was hard to find. He…couldn’t prove the burners have changed. His memory was solid, but it was only his memory, after all.
His mind ached from trying to keep his attention on a dozen things at all times, all the while he was trying to think what else she could be planning, and how he could protect himself from it. It was far, far more than what he had to deal with even in any of the kitchens he worked at - even the most incompetent underlings could be relied on to not actively sabotage him.
He wiped sweat from his forehead, and glanced at Lan Yishan. She was cooking right next to him, whistling a merry tune with a light smile on her face, as if she was simply playing a game.
Yet slowly, but surely, his perfected beef stew, the dish he worked on for many, many months, was coming together. For all her cheating, she couldn’t take away his skill. He would win this. He just needed to keep up -
“Dear Fakuang, could you turn on the ice talisman?” He heard a distant voice cut through his iron focus, “It’s getting terribly hot in here.“
“I tried, but I think it’s broken. It happens. Should I send for a replacement?”
“No need. Just open the door and one of the windows for now.”
He glanced at Liu Fakuang, already heading towards the door, and as his overstressed mind had just barely started to make connections -
The stove - burners - fire - heat - too hot - strange dish -
- he saw Lan Yishan immediately make a beeline towards the stove.
SHE HAS A PLAN!
NO. NO DOOR.
“Don’t open that door!” He shouted, springing back to the oven to watch this monster. Lan Yishan merely flipped over a single piece of breaded filet, and walked right back, winking at him on the way.
“Excuse me?” Wu Lanhua spoke from behind him.
“It’s just -” he breathed deeply, trying to organize his thoughts. What was he afraid of? His mind felt sluggish, paralyzed. Something about a stove?
“Honorable immortal Wang, is there a reason you don’t want us to open the door?” Wu Lanhua spoke with clear annoyance in her voice, “All the heat is making this room feel stuffy.”
He gulped. Mortal she may be, but she was still a judge. He needed her on his side.
“I beg forgiveness, honorable merchant Wu,” he forced himself to bow, but his motion came out abrupt, jerky, because just as he started it, Lan Yishan headed for that damnable stove again, and he barely stopped himself from aborting the bow entirely. Whatever she would do with the half a second of added time would be nothing in the face of losing approval from one of the judges, and the largest merchant in the region.
“I simply think it’s best we finish the duel as we started it,” he continued, “What if - ”
Could you prove it, Wang Liu? An accusation…dangerous…
“- what if someone walks in?” He finished lamely, “It could cause questions about the outcome. I beg for understanding, honorable merchant Wu, but I think it’s best if we don’t open either the door or the windows for the time being.”
“Fine.” Wu Lanhua sighed, and relief flooded him. He saw her take a fan out of the pocket of her dress, and begin fanning her face rapidly. “But you best finish your dish quickly now.”
“It is almost done,” he smiled, and finally turned towards the stove, hurrying to check everything for sabotage.
Somehow, he found nothing amiss, which only made him more paranoid.
----------------------------------------
He did it. His perfected stew was complete, saved from the clutches of that mad witch.
He grinned triumphantly, adding final touches on the beef stew of the six oxen, bringing it all together, and plating it elegantly for the judges. This mad fight in the mud was done, and there was nothing that Lan Yishan could do from here. The only thing left was to be judged on taste.
And when it came to taste, the taste of his dishes was perfect.
“Congratulations,” Lan Yishan said with a smile that looked genuine on the surface, but he knew was filled with a thousand poisons, “I hope they like it.”
“Why don’t you try for yourself?” he asked, handing her the fourth plate. “It’s traditional to serve a plate for your competitor. Perhaps this way you would learn the taste of a true spiritual dish.”
She smiled at him, and accepted the plate.
He swiped sweat off his brow, making himself look more presentable. He thought it was just the stress of cooking, but the room really was extremely hot now. Three dishes in hand, he brought them over to the dinner table.
“Finally!” Wu Lanhua said, “oh, we were starting to think we wouldn’t be done for ages. ”
“Oh, but the heights of culinary taste require some time to come together!” he said, getting into the groove of presenting his dish. “This is the stew of the six oxen - and the ox is the strongest of all the twelve heavenly animals! The six different meats of the ox blend together, their delicate tastes complementing each other - let this strength fill your bones, and their vitality your heart!”
As the three judges dug in, he glanced over at the table of Lan Yishan. She had some competent breaded fish filets, an entirely burned fish from the oven, an assortment of fried and fresh vegetables, a fish soup that was boiling away on the stove, a kettle full of hot water, and a second, fish and mushroom soup so overcooked the fish had dissolved entirely, placed in her cold box - perhaps to let it cool down? Did she truly think this would save it?
But that was not important. The only thing that mattered was that she had nothing to work with, and no way to catch up. Even if she could recover, and by some impossible miracle produce a good dish before midnight, by the time she would be done, the judges would already feel full from his stew, and judge him as the victor.
“This is remarkable,” Wu Lanhua said, tasting the stew, as her eyelashes fluttered in pleasure, “honorable Wang, I think this time in your sect had been good for you. You have truly improved - this is one of the best stews I have ever tasted.”
As his glance slid over her table, he saw Lan Yishan pick up a spoonful of his stew as well, and swallow it. Her face lit up with pure bliss, and he knew he had her.
“Well, Wang Niu,” she said, shaking her head, blissful smile never leaving her face, “Even I must bow my head in front of you. The taste of your cooking is truly incredible, and far beyond what I could make.”
“In that case,” Wu Lanhua spoke slowly, looking at Lan Yishan with a strange expression, “I admit I am not sure there is a point in continuing, if even honorable cultivator Lan doubts she could match this. Unless you disagree?”
He leaned against a wall, and laughed. He had won.
This was the hardest duel of his life, but he had won.
Oh, how she would pay for what she did to him. He would make sure of that.