[Iron Cloth Shirt +2]
Time flew by. The sun slowly sank from directly above Chen Zhuo, turning into a salted egg yolk hanging on the horizon.
Seeing that it was getting late, Chen Zhuo finally lowered his fists and stance, then looked back at the panel.
[Training Method: Iron Cloth Shirt: 120/150 (Proficient)]
"Not bad."
Chen Zhuo nodded in satisfaction.
He had practiced martial arts for less than two hours in total today, yet his progress had increased by thirty-two points.
Such rapid progress was something he wouldn't have dared dream of before.
The main limitation was his stamina.
If he could practice the Iron Cloth Shirt nonstop for twelve hours a day without sleep, he would probably have reached Minor Achievement long ago, or even Major Achievement.
But reality wouldn't allow it.
"I wonder if Senior Brother Yan has any more of that liquid from last night."
Chen Zhuo pondered.
Although it had been painful and hard to endure at first last night, the boost it gave the Iron Cloth Shirt had been downright terrifying.
If he could soak in it every day...
Chen Zhuo shook his head and immediately crushed the thought.
Anything that could help with martial arts training so much—even if it wasn't some heavenly treasure—was bound to be an exceedingly rare good thing.
It could only be expensive. Nothing but expensive.
"I'm still poor."
Thinking of the pitiful five taels or so of silver in his pocket, Chen Zhuo let out a helpless sigh.
After getting dressed, he glanced up at the sky and hurried toward the kitchen.
"I'll ask him later."
As usual, the entire kitchen sprang into action like a battlefield.
Chen Zhuo's Vegetable Chopping Technique had reached the pinnacle.
Whatever meat or vegetables landed on his chopping board could be turned into the beginnings of a delicious dish.
As a result, the kitchen now had quite a few flashy new dishes.
He had practiced martial arts with all his might that afternoon, burning through his stamina. After all that rushing around, he was utterly exhausted.
He had thought the kitchen's work was done, and that he could finally eat a proper meal and replenish his energy.
He hadn't expected Yan Ming to toss another seven chickens in front of him.
"Kill the chickens. Don't keep the heads or tails. Separate the breasts, wings, legs, feet, offal, and necks. Pay special attention: none of it can get blood on it, or it'll stink."
"Keep the blood separately."
Chen Zhuo froze for a moment.
"I used to handle all this work. Now I'm giving it all to you. Got a problem with that?"
Yan Ming glared at him.
Remembering that he still had a favor to ask, Chen Zhuo helplessly spread his hands. "Wouldn't dare."
"If you wouldn't dare, then get to work. When you're done, bring everything to the courtyard. I'll inspect it myself."
"Don't say I didn't warn you. If I find any blood on it, you won't get dinner tonight."
With that, Yan Ming picked up his lunchbox and left the kitchen first.
"Why's he suddenly being so harsh?"
Chen Zhuo frowned at the seven chickens on the ground. After thinking it over, he could only do as he was told.
"Forgive me."
After murmuring that, Chen Zhuo snatched up the cleaver, gave it a quick practice swing, then grabbed a chicken by the neck and neatly cut a slit in it.
Blood trickled down from the wound, dripping into the bowl he had prepared.
Then he plucked the feathers and separated the meat, all in one smooth sequence.
But while handling the offal, Chen Zhuo discovered that the livers, kidneys, and intestines had all bled to varying degrees.
"Didn't all the blood drain out?"
Chen Zhuo frowned slightly. Thinking it over, he realized that Yan Ming's requirement sounded simple, but was exceptionally difficult to carry out.
Could anyone really drain every last drop of blood when killing a chicken?
It was completely impossible.
Just as Chen Zhuo was at a loss, a line of tiny text suddenly appeared before his eyes.
[Dissection Technique +1]
"Hm? Dissection Technique..."
Chen Zhuo immediately looked at the chicken on the chopping board.
At the same time, a warm current flowed into his mind.
He had gained some strange knowledge.
Apparently, cutting up a chicken counted as dissection too.
"Got it."
A flash of inspiration struck Chen Zhuo. He suddenly thought of a great idea that would ensure none of the meat or offal he separated got blood on it.
With that in mind, he reached out and caught another chicken, placing it on the chopping board.
He didn't choose to slit its throat again. Instead, he turned the cleaver in his hand halfway around.
With a smack, he knocked the chicken unconscious.
"Now this is proper dissection."
Chen Zhuo took a small knife from the side and carefully began cutting from the chicken's breast, opening up its chest and belly with one long incision.
First he removed the offal, then plucked the feathers and cut away the meat.
With his foundation in the Vegetable Chopping Technique, having a steady hand was the least of his concerns. What mattered most was the incredible precision of his cuts.
In just a few strokes, he had removed the still-twitching intestines, followed by the other organs.
But he misjudged a cut, rupturing a blood vessel. Blood spilled out at once.
"Again!"
Chen Zhuo realized his approach was sound; he just lacked experience. A few more tries should do the trick.
[Dissection Technique +1]
[Dissection Technique +1]
One chicken, two chickens, three chickens...
By the time he reached the final chicken, Chen Zhuo was completely focused. At last, he succeeded.
As his Dissection Technique continued to improve, his experience and technique advanced rapidly.
He deftly avoided the blood vessels and finally met Yan Ming's requirement.
"Something's wrong. This isn't right. Who goes to such lengths over a chicken? If they really did this, the kitchen would need to hire a doctor."
Chen Zhuo wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It suddenly struck him that Yan Ming's exacting standards were eleven out of ten kinds of wrong.
"Forget it. I'll go back first. I just don't know if I'll still get dinner."
Looking at the neatly separated pieces of chicken on the chopping board, Chen Zhuo sighed. Assuming he wouldn't get a meal when he returned, he searched the kitchen high and low and finally found two leftover steamed buns from lunch.
He wolfed them down, and his stomach felt a little better.
Then he took the last batch of chicken, which hadn't been touched by blood at all, locked the doors and windows, and hurried back to the courtyard.
As soon as he returned, Chen Zhuo set the roasted chicken meat and offal in front of Yan Ming one by one.
Yan Ming stared at the chicken and offal on the table for a long time without saying a word.
"Seven chickens, and you actually managed it?"
Yan Ming inspected everything carefully, then stated the obvious.
Chen Zhuo nodded and cautiously asked, "You went to all this trouble to make me cut up chickens. Does that have something to do with demon food?"
"Didn't you read the booklet I gave you?"
Yan Ming sighed in exasperation.
Perhaps it was because Chen Zhuo had passed the test with just seven chickens, or perhaps it was because he hadn't taken the seemingly iron-but-not-iron booklet seriously enough.
"You don't seem to be in a good mood."
Chen Zhuo blinked his big eyes, not quite understanding.
"Eat first. Read the booklet carefully, then come find me."
Yan Ming didn't look at him. He rose and went straight into the room where his master's spirit tablet was kept.
With a bang, he shut the door.
Did middle-aged and elderly men go through menopause too?
Chen Zhuo shook his head, too lazy to ask any further.
"Eat first."
Although he had swallowed three steamed buns and his stomach felt a little better, with his current appetite that was barely enough to plug a tooth. Besides, he'd walked a few more steps on the way back from the kitchen.
After a thorough sweep of the food, his stomach was finally full.
Then Chen Zhuo took the booklet from inside his shirt, set it on the table, and opened it to the first page.
"Blade-Catchers have frail bodies. They eat demons to glimpse the Heavenly Gate. They do not devour the flesh, but swallow the soul."
"They do not devour the flesh, but swallow the soul..."
Chen Zhuo mulled over those two lines, then turned to the second page.
Four large characters greeted him.
"Five Desires Demon Soup"
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