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

A cold, hard voice echoed through the Michelin three-star kitchen, filled with the cold light of stainless steel.

The impact on the towering ventilation ducts even drowned out the exhaust sound of the range hood.

Chen Yuan held the borrowed Chinese-style wide-backed kitchen knife in his hand.

The old, pure black cotton apron clung to his tall, straight waist, exuding the aura of a master who lives in seclusion amidst the city.

Alan, standing opposite, heard this merciless pronouncement.

The fat on his face twitched violently twice.

He crossed his arms, his tall white chef's hat swaying with his disdainful gesture.

"state banquet?"

Alain spoke French with a heavy nasal accent, his voice filled with arrogant superiority.

"That piece of scrap metal you're holding is only fit for slaughtering livestock in France!"

The sous chefs nearby immediately burst into unrestrained laughter.

A blond sous chef pointed to the piece of silken tofu on Chen Yuan's cutting board.

"You're planning to use that cleaver to cut that piece of bean curd that's so soft it'd crumble at the touch of a finger?"

"This isn't cooking; it's a farce resembling a slaughterhouse!"

"Wait till this poor piece of tofu turns into a puddle of mud, then let's see how you clean it up!"

Mocking laughter echoed throughout the kitchen.

Several young apprentices even took out their phones and turned on the recording function.

They couldn't wait to capture the comical moment when this Asian man was utterly humiliated.

Then post it online and ridicule this arrogant and ignorant person.

Chen Yuan ignored the cacophony that sounded like greenbottle flies.

He stood in front of the kitchen counter, his back straight.

His dark eyes lifted, peering through the semi-transparent glass door to the kitchen.

It landed precisely on the slender figure outside the door.

Shen Wanzhou stood outside the glass door.

Her fair hands gripped the edge of the door frame, her fingertips turning a faint pink from the force.

She was not intimidated in the slightest by the mockery of the French chefs inside.

Those sparkling peach blossom eyes held only bright anticipation and unwavering trust.

That was her man.

As long as he stands in front of the stove, there is no situation in the world he cannot win.

Chen Yuan looked at her possessive yet obedient appearance.

The thousand-year-old ice in his eyes melted into a pool of warm spring water.

He gave a barely perceptible nod to the small woman outside the glass door.

Then, he looked away.

My gaze fell on the piece of translucent, slightly wobbly silken tofu on the cutting board.

Murderous intent and tenderness were perfectly intertwined in him.

Chen Yuan raised his left hand.

Five long, strong fingers with distinct joints gently press on the edge of the tofu.

There were no extra preparations.

He gripped the broad-backed cleaver in his right hand and suddenly pressed his wrist down.

"Tap tap tap tap—!"

A rapid, ear-numbing sound of chopping vegetables suddenly erupted in the kitchen without warning!

The sound didn't sound like a kitchen knife cutting into a solid wood cutting board at all.

It was more like a heavy Gatling gun, relentlessly unleashing its ammunition.

It was continuous, without the slightest pause.

Alan's cold smile froze instantly.

He suddenly took half a step forward, his gray-blue eyes fixed on Chen Yuan's hand.

That heavy, wide-backed Chinese kitchen knife.

In Chen Yuan's hands, it completely lost the physical form that a knife should have.

It turned into a silvery-white afterimage!

fast.

It was so fast that it exceeded the limits of human optic nerve detection.

The blade's movements, rising and falling, even created a slight whirlwind.

A drop of water rolled up the edge of the cutting board and shattered into a white mist in the air.

"What...what is that sound?!"

The French apprentice, who was recording with his phone, had his wrist swaying uncontrollably.

The image on the screen was a blurry mess.

He felt a chill run down his tailbone and straight to the back of his head.

This isn't chopping vegetables at all!

Chen Yuan's gaze didn't even fall on the cutting board.

His deep eyes were fixed on the metal wall in front of him.

It all comes down to the muscle memory and ultimate control that the Dark Web Asura has honed through countless life-and-death battles.

Blind cut.

The depth, force, and spacing of each cut.

All of this has been compressed into errors at the nanometer level.

"God……"

A sous chef dropped his whisk on the floor with a loud clang.

He opened his mouth wide, and a hissing sound came from his throat.

The mockery on his face was completely replaced by an emotion called horror.

This is the kind of terror that comes from watching a miracle unfold right before your eyes.

Thirty seconds.

In just thirty seconds.

The dense "thump-thump" sound stopped abruptly.

The final sound of the blade striking the wooden board was crisp and clean.

Chen Yuan flipped his wrist.

The broad-backed kitchen knife twirled beautifully in mid-air before coming to a steady stop on the edge of the cutting board.

The kitchen was deathly silent.

Only the low-frequency hum of the freezer compressor is heard.

All the French chefs craned their necks, their eyes fixed on the tofu like searchlights.

On the cutting board.

That piece of white, tender silken tofu remained quietly lying there.

It is perfectly square and intact.

It wasn't even broken into a pile of mud; there wasn't even a noticeable crack on the surface.

It's like a piece of fresh tofu just poured out of its packaging, completely untouched by a knife.

After the deathly silence.

Alan exhaled the breath he had been holding in his chest.

His face, which had turned pale with shock, flushed a deep purplish-red.

Then, a burst of laughter, ten times more ear-piercing than before, erupted.

"Hahaha! This is the Chinese state banquet you were talking about?"

Alan pointed at the perfectly intact piece of tofu, laughing so hard that tears almost streamed down her face.

"What a bluffing act! Did you just slice through thin air?!"

"They didn't even cut through the skin of this soft tofu!"

The sous chefs also breathed a long sigh of relief and joined in the commotion.

"I thought it was some kind of powerful magic!"

"Turns out he's just a clown who only knows how to bang wood on a chopping board!"

"Get out! Take your rotten, uncut bean and get out of our kitchen!"

Outside.

Shen Wanzhou gripped the door frame tightly with both hands, her fingernails digging a shallow mark into the wood.

She couldn't understand the French.

But the arrogant mockery on their faces felt like needles pricking her protective instincts.

She bit her lower lip, just about to push open the door and rush in to protect her man.

But then he saw Chen Yuan turn his head away.

There was not a trace of embarrassment at being mocked in Chen Yuan's dark eyes.

He looked at the girl outside the door.

A soothing light flickered in his eyes, while a cold, hard curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.

That was the look one gives when looking at a group of dead people.

He turned around and glanced at Alan, who was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

"It wasn't cut open?"

Chen Yuan's voice was deep and cold, conveying a sense of ruthlessness that trampled Western arrogance into the mud.

He didn't waste a single word.

He picked up a transparent glass basin filled with clean water with his left hand.

Place it steadily in front of the cutting board.

He picked up the Chinese kitchen knife with his right hand.

The blade is flat against the solid wood cutting board, following the bottom of the tofu.

A light, effortless swipe forward, a flick of the wrist.

That seemingly perfectly intact square piece of tofu.

It was steadily supported by the broad blade.

There was no cracking or seepage.

Chen Yuan tilted his wrist slightly.

The tofu on the knife slid down into the basin of crystal-clear spring water, carried by gravity.

Alan's laughter sound was stuck in his throat.

His grey-blue eyes were fixed on the transparent glass basin.

The originally square tofu changes shape the moment it hits the water.

The water rippled.

It was as if they had been enchanted by ancient Eastern magic.

The solid white cube began to slowly disintegrate under the impact of the water flow.

One.

Ten.

Thousand roots.

Ten thousand roots.

Like millions of silver threads, each as thin as a hair and of absolutely uniform thickness.

It stretches and floats lightly in the water.

Each root is distinct, without the slightest bit of adhesion or broken residue.

Originally, it was a square, lifeless object.

In the clear water, it blossomed into a lifelike white jade chrysanthemum, swaying gently with the waves.

The diameter of each tofu strand is measured with an astonishing precision.

This is hardly knife skill.

This is clearly a surgical microsurgery that transcends the limits of human physics!

"Clang!"

A sous chef behind Alan had his legs go weak and knocked over a nearby shelf.

A dozen stainless steel basins were smashed on the ground, but they couldn't rouse the group of Frenchmen who were in a daze.

Alan stopped breathing completely.

His wrinkled old face was ashen, like a dead man's mask.

It felt as if every bone in my body had been forcibly removed in that instant.

The once square tofu, the moment it hit the water, transformed like a blooming white chrysanthemum, scattering into countless silver threads, each as thin as a hair and of perfectly uniform thickness. Alan's legs went weak, and he clung desperately to the edge of the kitchen counter: "My God... this is absolutely impossible for a human to possess!"