My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

His tone was calm, as if he were exchanging tips with a chef, meticulous and unhurried.

"Then debone it. Use a small knife to cut from the wrist, following the bone seams, and remove all five metacarpal bones intact. The skeleton can be used to make soup, with bean sprouts and winter melon, for a light flavor."

Lu Yang stood to the side, his mouth agape, unable to speak.

He had heard the immortal master preach, discuss the Dao, and chant incantations, but he had never heard the immortal master recite a recipe.

Moreover, he wasn't reciting ordinary recipes; he was reciting recipes that used ghosts as ingredients, and he did so with such expertise that he was more professional than the chefs in those fancy restaurants.

Looking at the immortal master's calm and composed face, a ridiculous thought suddenly popped into his mind—could the immortal master have actually eaten it before?

He quickly shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"After the ghost hands are processed," Ye Qingfeng continued, "marinate them for half an hour with scallion and ginger water, cooking wine, light soy sauce, oyster sauce, and a little sugar."

Then coat with egg white and starch, fry in oil at 70% heat until golden brown, then remove. Increase the oil temperature and fry again to remove excess oil.

He glanced at the stall owner, a hint of criticism in his voice, "Sprinkle with salt and pepper, serve with garlic chili sauce, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, with a satisfying crunch. Can you make it?"

The stall owner's face was contorted, his lips twitching several times as he managed to squeeze out, "...No...no."

Damn it, Weird only sees that although he can eat each other, his strength is not high, so how dare he eat other ghosts!

And you, a human, what kind of monster eats yarn?!

Ye Qingfeng ignored him and continued talking.

"Ghost foot, you need the meat from the heel. That piece of meat has a lot of tendons and is chewy. First, blanch it to remove the fishy smell, then in a separate pot, add dark soy sauce, light soy sauce, rock sugar, star anise, cinnamon, bay leaves, and dried chili peppers, and braise it for three hours."

After braising, let it cool, then slice it. Don't slice it too thin, or it won't have any texture; don't slice it too thick, or it won't absorb the flavor. Arrange the slices on a plate and serve with vinegar—it's a great dish to enjoy with drinks. Do you have any?

The stall owner's mouth was gaping open, a dark hole revealing something unknown deep inside.

Ye Qingfeng seemed to get interested and changed to another part of his body.

"The skin on the back is the best. That part has the thickest skin, fewer fascia, and is easier to process. Scrape off the oil and hair, but don't scrape too hard, or the skin will break. After scraping, soak it in rice water for a day to remove the fishy smell and whiten it."

Then air dry, not in the sun, but in the shade, as sun drying will make it hard. Once completely dry, cut into palm-sized cubes and deep-fry. The oil temperature should not be high; fry slowly until the surface blisters and turns golden brown and crispy.

Take them out, sprinkle with salt and pepper while they're still hot, or you can soak them in broth—they're incredibly delicious. Do you have any?

The stall owner was completely dumbfounded.

He's been running a stall on this street for decades and has seen a lot of people.

When the living people came to his stall, they were either trembling with fear and begging for mercy, or they gritted their teeth and bought a skewer to eat, leaving a part of their own body as payment for the meal.

But this person is different.

He didn't come to buy anything; he came to teach him how to cook.

And they even use ghosts as ingredients.

The look in his eyes as he looked at Ye Qingfeng changed from greed to doubt, from doubt to shock, and from shock to something indescribable.

He looked at Ye Qingfeng with the same eyes one would use to look at a fellow traveler, and a thought suddenly popped into his mind—could this person be a cook from the underworld?

After Ye Qingfeng finished speaking, he looked at the stall owner with a calm gaze.

"You don't have any of these?"

The stall owner opened his mouth several times, and finally squeezed out a sentence from that dark hole: "No...nothing."

Ye Qingfeng sighed softly.

The sigh was very soft, but everyone present heard it.

His expression changed.

The smile was still there, but the joy had vanished from her eyes, leaving only a faint curve at the corner of her mouth, like a mask.

He looked at the stall owner, his gaze going down as if he were looking at a defective product.

"No, what kind of stall do you run?" His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a stone hitting the stall owner's chest.

"I've spent ages ordering food, from hands to feet to skin, and you can't cook a single dish. Aren't you just trying to fool me?"

The stall owner was stunned.

He'd been hanging around this street for so many years and had never been questioned like this before.

He suddenly realized that the human in front of him was toying with him, and his anger flared up instantly.

He slowly turned his head and looked at Ye Qingfeng.

But Ye Qingfeng didn't look at him. His gaze fell on Lü Yang and Shen Zhaoyue beside him. He opened his mouth slightly and uttered a single word.

"lift."

Lu Yang was stunned for a moment.

Did he hear that right?

The immortal master told him to overturn the stall?

I'm a little excited!

He subconsciously looked at Shen Zhaoyue beside him.

The two happened to make eye contact.

Lu Yang saw the same thing in Shen Zhaoyue's eyes—to take action.

They moved at the same time.

Lü Yang kicked over the oil pot.

With a loud crash, the iron pot overturned, spilling scalding hot oil all over the ground, splashing onto the bluestone slab and hissing as it rose into white smoke.

The fried skewers that were tumbling in the pot flew out, landed on the ground, rolled a few times, and revealed their true nature.

It's a finger, it's an ear, it's a tongue.

It was grayish-white, soaked in oil, and had been fried until it was golden brown, but it still retained its shape.

Those fingers were individual, some long and some short, with intact nails painted with dark red nail polish.

Those ears were individual, with distinct auricles, and some even wore earrings.

Those tongues, one after another, with their tips slightly upturned, seemed to be savoring some flavor.

Lu Yang's stomach churned again, but he didn't stop. He

He kicked over the wooden planks of the stall, and the skewers that were displayed on it scattered all over the ground, rolling in the oil and blood.

Shen Zhaoyue drew her sword, and with a flash of light, cleaved the stall's support frame in two.

The entire stall collapsed with a crash, wooden planks shattered, iron pots rolled away, and bottles and jars were smashed to pieces.

The chopped pieces of meat were scattered all over the floor, pink and still pulsating slightly, as if they had just been dug out of a still-beating heart.

The stall owner stood there, stunned. His blurred face looked at the mess on the ground, at the rolled-out fingers, at the burning oil, and at the stall he had painstakingly built up over decades that had turned into a pile of garbage.

He paused for a moment.

Then he let out a scream.

That wasn't a human voice.

The tone was too high and too sharp, making my eardrums hurt.

It sounded like it was coming from underground, like something was being torn apart.

The sound echoed in the night sky, circling and spreading throughout the entire street.

The stall owner's body began to swell.

It doesn't get taller, it gets wider.

His clothes were torn, revealing his skin underneath.

The skin wasn't human skin; it was grayish-black, rough like tree bark, and covered with greasy lines.

His head grew larger, and the features on that blurry face finally became clear.