Master Mo’s eyes lit up as he savored the fried rice. Then a hint of surprise flickered in his gaze. He took another spoonful and chuckled. “Little girl, you really are hiding your talents well. I almost misjudged you.”
Most of the audience members watching the competition were also focused on the seven judges’ reactions. Spotting Master Mo’s response, one person exclaimed in surprise, “Master Mo actually took two bites!”
That stunned the other spectators. As everyone knew, an Immortal Chef had tasted tens of thousands of exquisite dishes. What ingredients or meals had they never tried?
Even when cooking themselves, they had to sample a bite each time. So the Immortal Chefs had long since ceased to be impressed by ordinary delicacies.
They were thoroughly sick of them—there was no novelty left. Unless it was for cultivation, they would at most take a single taste.
And Master Mo, as a teacher at a grand sect of culinary dao, had sampled countless classroom dishes and assignments made by his disciples.
To him, dishes that barely passed muster could even be considered unpalatable. Hence, he was the strictest among all the judges.
Under those circumstances, Master Mo had actually taken a second bite! No contestant’s fried rice had received such treatment before. What secret did that girl’s fried rice hold?
“Hmm, it truly is excellent. Almost every step was executed perfectly. If I were limited to Qi Refining, I couldn’t have made fried rice this flawless. The rising generations are formidable. Pass—no, it’s outstanding.” Master Mo gave an extremely high evaluation, then couldn’t resist eating another mouthful.
“Third bite!” Many onlookers couldn’t hear Master Mo’s assessment, but they could see him take that third bite. This was absurd. Did that fried rice have magic in it?
Master Mo’s actions also attracted another judge. Intrigued, he flew over and asked, “Master Mo, you’re that interested in this little girl’s fried rice? How’s her skill?”
He was a man in a purple suit, dressed rather flashy and exaggerated, with a shifty look that gave Mu Yanxi an uncomfortable feeling. She remembered that this judge was apparently a food blogger.
“Why did A Zhou come over?”
“This girl is really unlucky.”
“That guy just loves to stir up controversy for attention.”
The audience murmured; most had a poor impression of him.
This judge named A Zhou was a famous food blogger—more specifically, a food critic, or even a nitpicker. What he liked best was live-streaming restaurant visits on the Dao web, deliberately finding faults and spewing criticism.
His cultivation method excelled at guiding emotions through speech, making viewers unconsciously agree with him. Even when everyone knew he often exaggerated or didn’t tell the truth, they would still leave the criticized restaurant with a bad impression, sparking widespread negative reviews.
The only way for a targeted restaurant to deal with him was to pay up to make the trouble disappear.
If they bribed him with spirit stones, A Zhou would instantly switch his attitude, praising the hotel’s food as delicious regardless of the facts, extolling the effects of the spirit dishes with exaggeration, thus attracting more tourists.
A Zhou was a sly one. He never touched the real big hotels or the industries of grand sects of culinary dao—those were iron plates. Instead, he deliberately bullied small restaurants that had no way to resist him.
And he did have some professional food knowledge; ordinary Immortal Chefs couldn’t argue him down, so they had to pay to avoid disaster.
If Master Mo was merely strict, A Zhou was maliciously looking for trouble. Being targeted by him was also an unpleasant experience. Fortunately, as a judge this time, he wasn’t specifically picking on contestants.
“Little Zhou, you really should come taste what top-quality fried rice is. Otherwise, if you’ve never eaten anything good, how can you evaluate ordinary spirit dishes?” Master Mo said with a smile.
“Huh?!”
The crowd was stunned. Did Master Mo really say that? Top-quality fried rice? Such a high appraisal? Was he sure he wasn’t being sarcastic?
A Zhou was also taken aback. He looked at Mu Yanxi and then laughed. “Master Mo, you’re not joking, are you? A junior at the 20th Layer of Qi Refining can make top-quality fried rice? Could it be that she has some connection to you?”
His technique was already at work; everyone who heard him felt that a junior only at the 20th Layer of Qi Refining could never make such a delicious dish. Maybe she really was connected?
“Don’t talk nonsense. I just met her. You’ll understand when you taste it—this is no ordinary fried rice. If the preliminaries had rankings, this dish would at least be in the top three, and it’s even quite likely to take first place,” Master Mo said.
“Hiss!”
The crowd gasped. First place in the preliminaries? Master Mo actually gave such a high evaluation?
“Alright, let me taste it.”
A Zhou picked up a spoon and put a mouthful of fried rice into his mouth, but at the same time, he had already decided that since this girl had no connection to Master Mo, he would deliberately find fault.
But the moment it entered his mouth, the ultimate flavor rushed straight to his taste buds, causing the technique he was brewing to lose control. The fried rice immersed him in freshness, sweetness, and aroma; his spirit sense seemed to see a golden ocean.
And this wasn’t just one flavor at the entry. Soon, as he chewed, the fragrances of various ingredients were released in turn, a wave of deliciousness impacting his tongue one after another. They were completely different yet complementary, merging together—a perfect layering.
Perfect. A Zhou couldn’t think of any other adjective. He felt this was a perfect fried rice. No matter how much he tried to find a flaw, it was impeccable. Moreover, those who ate it wouldn’t even have the mood to nitpick; they would just instinctively want to keep eating.
“This is way too delicious!”
A Zhou blurted out his truest feeling. His technique transmitted his most genuine sensation to everyone present through language. In an instant, they could all experience the extreme flavor he had just tasted.
This was also the reason he could become a famous food blogger—A Zhou’s technique could, to some extent, let the audience eat together with him.
Crap!
The moment the words left his mouth, A Zhou regretted it, but his body was no longer under control. He scooped a second spoonful into his mouth, then a third, then a fourth. Each spoonful brought a different flavor.
“Wait, is he really eating? Towards a plate of fried rice?”
“No wonder Master Mo couldn’t resist a few spoonfuls earlier. Looks like Master Mo was actually holding back.”
“So envious. I want to eat some too.”
The audience commented one after another.
Not just the audience—even the chefs floating in midair simultaneously synced with A Zhou’s instant sensation of deliciousness. They looked at their own fried rice, thought it was decent, took another taste, and found it far inferior.
Some even had their culinary hearts shattered, dropped their spatulas, and drifted away, quitting the competition.
“See? Isn’t it top-grade fried rice? Little Zhou, you just haven’t eaten anything good before. Now you’ve seen the ocean,” Master Mo said, still ribbing him. It was clear he was in an excellent mood.
As a result, the other five judges were all drawn over by the commotion.
Mu Yanxi groaned inwardly.