Despair

"Neither of these two?" Chen Fei asked helplessly.

"There are so many in the basket. Why are you only selling these two? I want the others." The old woman looked at Chen Fei gloomily, her tone filled with chill.

"If it's the others, you'll buy them?" Chen Fei turned to look at the old woman.

"Buy!" The old woman nodded stiffly.

"Then I'll look!"

Chen Fei rummaged through the basket. Some fruits instinctively felt important to him, so he set them aside. After searching for a while, a small white sweet potato appeared in his hand.

Inside the white sweet potato, Chen Fei saw a figure standing before a stove, vigorously stir-frying food. He tried hard to make it out. Was that Fried Pig Liver?

But why did they only use a small slice each time to make Fried Pig Liver?

And besides, did a white sweet potato count as fruit?

Chen Fei was somewhat puzzled, but he still held the white sweet potato out before the old woman. The old woman took it directly.

The white sweet potato had skin, but the old woman did not peel it. She swallowed it into her stomach bite by bite, skin and all.

Watching the old woman finish the sweet potato, Chen Fei felt as though something had vanished from his mind. Thinking of the image inside the white sweet potato, was it experience from countless times cooking Fried Pig Liver?

Chen Fei thought for a moment, then imagined his right hand gripping a spatula, with an iron wok before him. He stir-fried through the air a few times.

He had forgotten Fried Pig Liver, but he could still stir-fry other food. Really, if one ignored flavor, cooking was nothing more than stirring and tossing. Even the step of adding salt could