Chapter 29: Wanna Raise the Stakes?

  Transtor: Krukist

  To think Lin Yu still brimmed with such fideno trace of pretense on his face. It was the same unabashed smirk he’d worn when mog Situ Deng earlier, as if he genuinely believed Situ Deng’s defeat was certain.

  Situ Deng’s eyes fred red. Doubt g him. Did Lin Yu have a hidden ace? Was all this a ruse? Could he not even gauge Lin Yu’s true strength? Was he… inferior?

  “Ugh.” A stifled groan escaped him, his body trembling faintly. He lifted his head, icy resolve repg the fire in his gaze. At his waist, his six assistants moved in unison, their slender hands pressing against his back.

  Steadying his frame—and his wavering fideu Deng regained his footing. A smile crept back. “Who wins or loses isn’t up to you, Lin Yu! You’re just a backwater bumpkin—what do you know of a Spirit Feast?”

  Before his words settled, he barked, “Rise!”

  The lid of his inky-bck sto shot upward, releasing a wave of delicate fragrahat swept the hall. Everyone who caught the st—assistants included—slipped into a daze of delight.

  A Spirit Feast!

  A true Spirit Feast! As the lid soared, the ambient spiritual energy seemed gripped by an invisible hand, funneling into a faihat pierced the pot. A soft glow flickered, and with Situ Deng’s deft touch, a dish emerged…

  The spectacle drew even Lin Yu’s eyes. Situ Deng’s creation resembled a block of golden tofu—firm, inviting, radiating an aura that screamed deliciousness. Lin Yu couldn’t help but wonder, “So this is a Spirit Feast?”

  It was grand, fragrant, but he wasn’t vi’d taste as good as it looked.

  “Brother, the wine’s here.” Huofeng arrived with a bottle of strong liquor, passing it to Lin Ling’er, who ha to Lin Yu. He noticed a scruffy middle-aged man trailing behind Huofeng. Catg Lin Yu’s ghe man fshed a grin.

  Lin Yu figured he was some manwig here to spectate, so he nodded back politely before refog on his Braised Pork. It had taken on a rich hue now. Though its bold meaty aroma was overshadowed by Situ Deng’s Spirit Feast, Lin Yu’s faith in it held firm.

  No one in this world ate pork, let alone crafted Braised Pork. Yet its allure, he believed, was irresistible to any sae. And this wasn’t just any version—it was enhanced by the glitchy puter in his mind, a cheat that elevated it beyond taste. Like Lin Ling’er had said of Spirit Feasts, it soothed the spirit and boosted cultivation too!

  This Braised Pork hit the peak of fvor and fun. Situ Deng’s Spirit Feast might boast mystic effects, but its taste? Lag. On the road to the manor, Lin Yu had quizzed Lin Ling’er: a First-Grade Spirit Feast only slightly sped up cultivation for Mystic Martialists below sed grade. His special Braised Pork? It worked up to third grade! Lin Yu wasn’t dumb—he knew he stood uable.

  Even without liquor to mask the stench—even if it lingered—he’d win. They just had to taste it. But he refused to settle for fws. This was his first Braised Pork in this world, and it’d be perfect. With a flick, he poured the unadorned bottle of liquor over the pot.

  The lid stayed shut, puzzling onlookers. What trick was this? Then, uhe heat, the liquor vaporized into fmes—a fiery bird seemed to dance above the pot. Lin Yu flung the lid open, spshing in more wine. Jaws dropped. Even Nan Zhan squinted—was this some Mystic Martialist trick?

  No spiritual fluctuations stirred the air, ruling out Lin Ling’er’s involvement. Lin Yu had jured this fir with liquor alone.

  “Win or lose, this guy’s mind is something else,” Nan Zhan mused, a glint of admiration in his eyes. The manor alent like this.

  He decided then: even if Lin Yu lost this duel, he’d shield him, recruit him for the manor. Cooking aside, that sharp wit could shine elsewhere. Spiritual energy had been harnessed for millennia—Spirit Chefs, Spirit Brewers—but untapped paths remained.

  Besides, Nan Ziyan’s first meal in years came from Lin Yu’s hands. ce or fate? Either way, Nan Zhan vowed to back him.

  “ouch, using wine for fire!” A jarring cheer broke the silence. All eyes—including Situ g’s—so the hall’s entrance, faces shifting.

  “Why’s he here?” Situ g’s expression soured. He tried to rise in respect, but an invisible force pinned him dowing the newer’s gaze, he uood—the man despised formalities.

  Nan Zhan, familiar with him, just smiled faintly from afar, saying nothing.

  The hour . Lin Yu and Situ Deng carried their dishes to the hall’s ter. Situ Deng spoke first. “Using liquor was clever, I’ll give you that—but you ’t win.”

  Lin Yu grinned. As spoke louder than words. Then a thought hit—Lin Ling’er’s living expenses were still unsecured. He chuckled. “You’re so sure of yourself. How about a side bet?”

  “What’s the wager?” Situ Deng’s i piqued, a secret slipping out. “You know, if you lose today, your cooking days are done—except in this manor. What’ve you got left to bet?”

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