You got your marriage certificate and then abandoned me? I'll feed the richest woman in the wor

The agonizing screams that ripped through his throat were crushed into powder by the rumbling of the press.

The yellowish television screen flickered twice before going completely black.

The screen switches.

Sunlight pierced through the thick clouds and shone on the Cloud Top Manor halfway up the mountain in Jianghai City.

In the study, a faint scent of sandalwood wafted through the air.

Chen Yuan sat behind a large rosewood desk.

His slender fingers toyed with the gold trophy, which he had just received from the awards ceremony and which symbolized the highest honor in Jianghai City's commerce.

The pure gold cup reflects a cold luster in the sunlight.

He didn't even have the interest to glance at it again.

With a flick of his wrist, he casually tossed the trophy into the wastebasket under his desk.

A crisp "clang" sounded.

In his eyes, something that others were fighting tooth and nail for was less valuable than a bunch of fresh water spinach at the market.

He was more concerned about the woman upstairs who was taking a nap.

Although Shen Wanzhou's anorexia has improved, her long-term damaged stomach is too weak.

Even if I eat something hard or cold, I still end up curling up in a ball in the middle of the night, clutching my stomach.

Every time he saw her sweating profusely from the pain, Chen Yuan felt as if his heart was being pricked by needles.

While medicinal cuisine can regulate the body, the loss of cell activity during food processing remains a problem.

Click.

The study door was gently pushed open from the outside.

Uncle Fu walked in carrying a cup of cold brew black coffee, his footsteps very light.

"Mr. Chen, we have found out what you asked me to inquire about."

Uncle Fu placed the coffee on the table, and condensation from the glass dripped onto the mahogany table surface.

He pulled out a black and gold cardboard invitation from the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

He respectfully handed it to Chen Yuan.

"The triennial Asian Underground Chef Competition will be held tomorrow night on a cruise ship in international waters off Jianghai City."

"The grand prize this time is the legendary, peerless chef's knife, 'Dragon Scale'."

Chen Yuan's deep black eyes instantly focused.

His gaze was fixed on the invitation.

He took the card and ran his fingertips along the gold-embossed knife-shaped design on it.

"Dragon Scales".

This knife was forged from the core of a meteorite that fell in Siberia.

The blade is as thin as a nanometer.

The moment the food is cut, the cell walls are locked in completely.

This ensures that not even a trace of the nutrients and activity of the ingredients are lost before they are cooked.

This thing is practically a miracle product tailor-made for Shen Wanzhou to prepare medicinal meals for her stomach ailment.

Even if he were to spend all of his trillions of dollars from Star Ventures to buy it, the current owner of this knife would never sell it.

The only way is to win it back honorably in the cooking competition.

"Have you completed the registration procedures?"

Chen Yuan stood up, opened the drawer, and threw the invitation inside.

"It has already been submitted in your personal capacity."

Uncle Fu hesitated for a moment, then wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"However, all the participants this time are Asia's top Michelin chefs and successors of royal chefs from various countries."

"I heard that even Watanabe, the Japanese master swordsman who is known as the best in the world, has brought his team here."

Chen Yuan walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the manor's neatly trimmed lawn.

A cold, emotionless smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Number one in knife skills?"

"Then borrow his knife to cut fruit for my Wanzhou."

The following evening.

In the high seas of Jianghai City, a giant luxury cruise ship costing one billion yuan is brightly lit.

Beneath the panoramic glass dome on the top deck of the cruise ship lies the arena for this culinary competition.

Hundreds of professional stoves made entirely of steel are lined up in a row.

The air was filled with the aroma of expensive spices and various top-quality ingredients.

The audience was filled with the wealthiest and most influential gourmets and food critics from all over Asia.

Chen Yuan was wearing a plain gray cotton casual T-shirt and loose-fitting trousers.

With his hands in his pockets, he walked slowly down the passage to stove number 99 at the very edge.

The other contestants around him were all dressed in crisp, white chef's uniforms.

They wear various Michelin star badges or state banquet medals pinned to their chests, representing their status and honor.

Chen Yuan, dressed like a tourist who had wandered onto the wrong film set, blended in with the crowd.

He seemed out of place.

"Who is this kid? The organizing committee must have made a mistake!"

"Dressed like a food delivery guy, he dares to participate in this level of epic battle?"

"He's probably just a guy some coal mine owner sent in to broaden his horizons. Ignore him; he won't even make it past the preliminary rounds."

Several French and Italian chefs around him, speaking broken Chinese, pointed and gestured at Chen Yuan's retreating figure.

His eyes were filled with undisguised contempt.

Chen Yuan walked to stove number 99.

They ignored the buzzing flies.

He reached out and touched the burner ring, testing the damping of the heat control valve.

Just then, the "click" sound of wooden clogs on the floor tiles came from behind him.

A strong, fishy smell mixed with the pungent taste of wasabi.

It forcefully rushed into Chen Yuan's nasal cavity.

A middle-aged man dressed in a traditional Japanese chef's uniform and wearing a white headscarf stopped in front of stove number 98.

This man was none other than Watanabe, the foremost swordsman in Japan.

Behind him followed four bowing apprentices, each carrying several temperature-controlled briefcases filled with ice.

It's filled with top-quality bluefin tuna and Kobe beef that were air-freighted in today.

Watanabe glanced at Chen Yuan's empty stove.

Then I looked at Chen Yuan's cheap T-shirt.

He let out a disdainful snort.

"Hey, Chinese kid."

Watanabe spoke broken Chinese, arms crossed, chin held high.

"Where's your food supply box? Are you planning to win the competition with these few rotten onions?"

He pointed to the two ordinary scallions that the production team had distributed to Chen Yuan on the cutting board.

Chen Yuan pulled his hand out of his pocket.

He turned to the side, his cold, sharp black eyes sweeping over Watanabe indifferently.

Just one glance.

Watanabe felt a chill run down his spine for no apparent reason, as if he were being watched by a lone wolf on a snowy plain.

But he quickly suppressed this strange feeling.

He stood tall, trying to overwhelm the young Chinese man with his imposing manner.

"True knife skills and culinary expertise don't need to be built up with expensive, dead meat."

Chen Yuan's voice was deep and calm, without a trace of emotion.

"If you're skilled enough, even a roadside weed can beat you."

These words exploded on the edge of the quiet stadium.

Several chefs in the vicinity heard it clearly.

Then a burst of shrill laughter erupted.

Watanabe seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world.

He stepped forward.

A Japanese cuisine master, a strong favorite to win the championship, looked down at Chen Yuan and sneered, "Is this the kind of competition a stay-at-home dad should be involved in?"