What Made It Special? How Utterly Ordinary It Was.

Chen Shanzang rolled up his sleeves, tied on an apron, and, though he was bald, put on a chef's hat. Then he started measuring water, mixing the dough, and adding yeast.

The young driver stood off to the side, quietly watching the little bald man at work, but his brow gradually furrowed.

How should he put it? It was ordinary.

Extremely ordinary.

People in this era didn't all practice martial arts, but most famous chefs had impressive martial arts skills. It wasn't that there was any strict requirement; it was just that cooking was physically demanding and required great stamina. On top of that, the "techniques" needed to handle ingredients gave martial artists a major advantage in the kitchen.

For example, a master could slaughter an ox without spilling a drop of blood or juice using the Fierce Ox Azure Dragon Slash, while an ordinary chef could only take a knife and cut carefully, bit by bit. A master could hit pressure points and drain the blood directly, while an ordinary chef could only use the live-blooding method and then age the meat slowly. A master could force the flavor of spices into ingredients with the strength of his palm, while an ordinary chef could only inject water into them a little at a time.

Even if you ignored the quality of the ingredients, the difference in preparation time alone was enough to set them apart. As this advantage accumulated, it gradually became a tradition—and then a necessity.

After all, when every recipe said things like "use Internal Force to break apart the meat fibers" and "knead the dough with soft force to develop the gluten," anyone who didn't practice martial arts had no choice but to leave the culinary profession.

As for the middle tier, ordinary people clearly couldn't