I am a full-level celestial master, you let me enter the strange talk of rules?

Zhang Yangqing was in the kitchen when his stomach started growling.

After all that trouble, from the monitoring room to the library, from the library to the restaurant, and from the restaurant to the kitchen, he had been running around non-stop without even having a sip of water.

This ordinary human body cannot withstand hunger.

The eerie chef chuckled: "Hey buddy, what would you like to eat? I'm a great cook."

The melancholy, craving something sweet, blurted out, "Beer and fried chicken, ice-cold beer is best."

His eyes lit up, and a rare look of anticipation appeared on his usually melancholy face.

Zhang Yangqing said, "Cola chicken wings, and some iced cola, please."

The strange chef gave a no-questions-asked gesture and turned to get to work.

He tied on his apron, took out chicken wings and drumsticks from the refrigerator, and then took out flour and seasonings from the cupboard.

He worked quickly, chopping vegetables, marinating, coating them in flour, and cooking them all in one go.

The strange chef felt that the two of them were one of his own, and that they might live together here in the future, so he wouldn't do anything malicious.

He had been in this godforsaken place for so long, and it was rare to meet two people he could talk to. The excitement in his heart hadn't dissipated yet.

The bizarre chef's cooking skills are definitely at the level of a five-star chef.

His wok-tossing movements were fluid and skillful, his control of the heat was perfect, and he fried the chicken wings to a golden brown and crispy perfection when the oil was just right.

He also added a secret sauce to the pot, and the aroma of the sauce filled the entire kitchen, making everyone's mouths water.

Many viewers watching from outside the big screen could almost smell the aroma through the screen.

The comments section was flooded with messages.

This cooking is amazing! It makes me hungry.

I suspect this weird chef used to be a chef; he's too professional.

I've decided, I'm ordering fried chicken tonight.

For the first time, I had an urge to enter the world of ghost stories, but of course, it was just to eat.

Not long after, the strange chef brought out the dishes.

The fried chicken wings are piled up like a small mountain, golden and crispy, coated with a glistening sauce, and sprinkled with white sesame seeds and chopped green onions.

The cola was chilled, with water droplets condensing on the outside of the bottle. When it was opened, there was a "pop" sound as bubbles rushed up.

Zhang Yangqing and Youyu Weiyi started eating, both praising the food highly.

He ate with a greasy mouth, drank several mouthfuls of ice-cold beer, let out a loud burp, and most of the melancholy on his face disappeared.

When Zhang Yangqing ate his third chicken wing, he noticed something unusual.

The problem isn't with the chicken wings, it's with the chicken itself.

He felt something inside him being activated, like some kind of potential being briefly awakened.

My strength, speed, and reaction time are all slightly better than before; it's not obvious, but you can feel it.

He asked the strange chef what was going on.

The eerie chef wiped his hands and explained, "It's my body's ability. I can imbue ingredients with some energy, and those who eat them will experience a short-term boost. If the ingredients are good, the boost will be even greater. It's nothing special."

This gave Zhang Yangqing a sudden inspiration: "The three of us seem to have abilities. If we combine our strengths, wouldn't we be even stronger?"

The enigmatic chef became interested: "Oh? What abilities do you two have?"

The melancholy and eerie man put down his beer glass and said, "I can paint and summon the things in my paintings to fight. They can be animals, armor, or weapons. As long as I can paint them, they can appear."

Zhang Yangqing said, "I have absolutely invincible combat experience, but this body limits my combat ability."

The eerie chef didn't believe him and chuckled, "Dude, you're really bragging. Absolutely invincible? I feel like you couldn't even beat me. I'm not exaggerating."

Zhang Yangqing smiled confidently: "Now that we've eaten and drunk our fill, why don't we give it a try?" The strange chef, also wanting to know Zhang Yangqing's skills, agreed.

He took off his apron, tucked the kitchen knife into his waistband, and cracked his wrists.

They moved to another place, to a spacious, empty room next door.

The room is big enough for two people to fight.

The floor was cement, the walls were white, and there was nothing there except a light hanging from the ceiling, the bulb swaying back and forth.

The two separated, and the eerie chef made the first move, this time it was hand-to-hand combat.

He rushed over quickly, his fist whistling through the air, aiming straight for Zhang Yangqing's face.

Zhang Yangqing sidestepped the fist and slapped the strange chef on the shoulder with his backhand.

The force wasn't great, but the angle was tricky; the strange chef's body spun uncontrollably, almost causing him to fall.

He steadied himself and charged forward again, alternating between left and right punches, his speed increasing.

Zhang Yangqing had one hand in his pocket, using only his right hand to deal with the situation.

His hands seemed to have eyes, accurately blocking the strange chef's attacks every time, and each counterattack hit the strange chef's most vulnerable spots: wrist, elbow joint, lower edge of ribs, and side of knee.

It wasn't a matter of overwhelming strength, it was a matter of overwhelming skill.

The strange chef fought Zhang Yangqing for more than a dozen rounds but failed to land a single punch. Instead, he himself was slapped several times.

Each strike was light, but each one perfectly disrupted his rhythm, rendering him powerless, as if his fists were hitting cotton.

He took a few steps back, panting, and looked at Zhang Yangqing.

His gaze changed, from "Let me see what you're made of" to "This guy's got something."

Defeated in the first round, the eerie chef was unconvinced: "We just fought hand-to-hand, but I'm actually quite good with weapons. Why don't you pick one too and we'll have a contest?"

As he said this, his hand had already reached for the kitchen knife at his waist.

Zhang Yangqing waved his hand casually, "No need, this time I'll fight you with one finger."

The strange chef's expression changed: "Hmph, you said it yourself, but I'll stop here."

He felt humiliated, snorted, and pulled out a kitchen knife, the blade gleaming coldly under the light.

His swordsmanship wasn't just for show; he had actually practiced it. Every move—slashing, chopping, cutting, and flicking—was accompanied by the sound of wind, aimed at Zhang Yangqing's neck, chest, and arms.

Zhang Yangqing used only one finger, his index finger.

He flicked the back of the cleaver with the side of his index finger, touched the strange chef's wrist holding the knife with his fingertip, and pressed the numbness in the strange chef's elbow joint with his fingertip.

Each contact was made casually, but the strange chef's knife just couldn't cut through.

His wrist was tapped, and his entire arm went numb. His elbow was pressed, and he almost dropped the cleaver. His knee was poked, and he stumbled forward and fell to the ground.

After ten rounds of fighting, the eerie chef was beaten ten times.

The knife fell to the side with a crisp sound.

Zhang Yangqing bent down, picked up the knife, and handed it to him.

The strange chef sat on the ground, stunned for a long while, before taking the cleaver.

He looked up at Zhang Yangqing, all the resentment in his eyes gone, replaced only by admiration.

Zhang Yangqing reached out and helped him up.

The eerie chef dusted off his pants and said sincerely, "I'm impressed, bro. You're really awesome. Your combat experience is amazing."

He paused, then continued, "But I'm curious, why didn't you unleash your demonic energy just now?" (End of Chapter)