Starting with the flesh-based stimulant

Li Ping paused, a puzzled look on his face, as he turned to look at Zhou He:

"Huh? Didn't I say that?"

His expression looked somewhat blank, which didn't seem fake.

Zhou He suddenly wondered if his earlier guard and speculations were unnecessary.

He nodded somewhat speechlessly and hummed in agreement.

Cook Li Ping scratched the back of his head again and muttered another question:

"You really didn't say anything?"

Zhou and "um" loudly:

"I really didn't say that."

"Ahem, this," Li Ping rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a pair of chopsticks, handing them to Zhou He.

"Those who hold chopsticks are diners; our chefs' dishes won't harm them."

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple." Li Ping nodded confidently and reached out to lift the pot lid.

Zhou He quietly propped up his legs, which were sitting on the ground, and gently opened the black leather bag, pinching the knife hidden inside.

A pot of water was bubbling away in the pot.

The bubbles, large and small, resembled transparent peony flowers, constantly bursting.

"Brother, try it quickly. No, blow on it before you drink it, be careful not to burn yourself."

The cook took out a porcelain bowl, emptied the water from the pot, and handed it to Zhou He.

Zhou He watched as the originally clear soup fell into the bowl and gradually turned black.

It was as if ink was hidden at the bottom of the bowl, spreading extremely quickly. By the time the bowl reached Zhou He's hands, the soup had become incredibly black.

It absorbed all the sunlight, leaving not a single shadow on the soup noodles.

Zhou He carefully sensed it and could feel the craving and the anticipation of the food in his throat, but he didn't feel the same way he had before, as if he were being controlled.

He wasn't in a hurry. Holding the bowl, he looked at the cook. The cook didn't pay any attention to Zhou He's gaze. He took the stone pot off the makeshift stone stove, his hands burning from the heat, but he didn't dare to put it down. He grimaced and stared intently at the pot of hot soup.

After finally managing to put the soup pot on the ground, the cook pinched his earlobes with both hands and shouted loudly:

"Hey hey hey, it's hot hot hot."

After calling out a few times, he simply knelt on the ground, pouted, and blew on the pot. Once the steam subsided a little, he immediately picked up the pot, put his mouth to the side, and gulped down the hot soup.

After pouring the wine down to the bottom, Li Ping, still feeling unsatisfied, turned to look at Zhou He.

Seeing that Zhou He was still holding the bowl and hadn't eaten, she asked somewhat anxiously:

"Friend, hurry up and eat! It won't taste good if you don't eat it soon."

Seeing that he was alright, Zhou He was also attracted by the aroma in the bowl and tried to taste a little bit by sticking his hand to the rim of the bowl.

Taste buds rejoice.

Zhou He didn't know how to describe the soup for a moment.

As for the taste? It seems to have all five flavors: sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and salty, but they are blended too perfectly, so perfectly that Zhou He doesn't even know which one to taste.

Why do you say your mouth is dry?

It was just a bowl of plain water, with no particularly special taste, but it was smoother than I could have imagined. It didn't feel like I was drinking a sip; rather, it felt like my body was parched land, and this soup was like sweet rain, falling down and melting into my body.

What shocked Zhou He even more was his body's craving for the soup. For a moment, he even felt that if he had this bowl of soup, he could suppress his body's craving for "meat" when he first started out on the road.

With his pupils dilating, Zhou He used his last bit of willpower to look at Li Ping sitting next to him. The other man didn't show any reaction, but seemed somewhat... reluctant to part with him?

He immediately realized that the other person was reluctant to part with the soup in their bowl.

It seems there are no problems.

Without further hesitation, Zhou He closed his eyes, placed the rim of the bowl to his lips, and slowly swallowed the dark soup.

After drinking until the bottom of the bowl was completely empty, Zhou He suddenly felt a sense of loss.

After calming down a bit, he cupped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Li Ping:

"Thank you, Mr. Li Ping. I am only being generous for accepting this undeserved reward. It is Zhou He who is shameless."

Li Ping's Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes vacant like Zhou He's, his regret deepening, yet his words remained pleasant:

"It's nothing special, Brother Zhou. I'm a cook; making good food is my way of life. I forgot to ask, what's your profession, brother?"

Zhou He was slightly bewildered.

He heard the word "spiritual practice".

So the power system in this world can actually be cultivated?

Then I recalled what I had seen in the old hunchback's memory: the rule that meat carriers had to carry meat three times a month, and I slowly began to understand.

Perhaps, here, spiritual practice is about each profession doing what it's supposed to do, according to the way each profession should be?

The cooks prepare the food, the carpenters craft the pieces, and the butchers carry the meat.

Qiu Shen... Zhou He recalled the words "respect the gods" that his father had written in the letter.

How should we worship God?

Lost in thought, he noticed the cook staring at him, so he shook his head, smiled, adjusted the brim of his hat, and answered:

"You're following the path of Qiu Shen, Mr. Li. Where are you headed?"

Li Ping nodded. "Judging from Brother Zhou's appearance, he is a learned man. His approach to the Qiu Divine Sect is clean and straightforward, and it is indeed suitable for you."

He did not answer Zhou He's question.

This guy is a seasoned veteran.

But Zhou He's question was merely a polite formality; he didn't intend to delve deeper. He nodded and changed the subject:

"Thank you again for the soup, Mr. Li. I'm not very familiar with the rules of this business, so I don't know how much this bowl of soup should cost."

Li Ping chuckled and slowly began clearing away the pots and pans:

"I really didn't expect it. Meeting you is fate. Brother Zhou, you don't need to be so polite. Consider it my treat."

Zhou He did not comply with his wishes, but instead took out a hundred-yuan bill from his pocket and handed it to the cook.

The cook's eyes flickered as he looked Zhou He up and down, then smiled, accepted the money, and said:

"Brother Zhou, I've taken on a banquet job and am heading to Mubu Mountain. What about you?"

Zhou He had intended to point in the direction of Jincheng, but as soon as he raised his hand, he lowered it again, smiling and saying:

"That's quite a coincidence. I'm also going to Mubu Mountain. We're going the same way, so we can keep each other company."

The two exchanged a glance, each lost in their own thoughts.

After the cook finished tidying up and put the things on a wooden rack, he squatted down and carried the rack on his back. The pots, pans, chopsticks and spatulas on the rack jingled as he moved.

They became companions, and along the way, the cook was very talkative and chattering. Zhou He followed him and learned a lot about the rules of the martial arts world.

This was the first time he had ever seriously followed someone into the world of martial arts.

Zhou He retraced his steps, walked to the dilapidated temple, turned in another direction, entered the ditch, and then walked up a path overgrown with vegetation.

Upon reaching the mountaintop, there was a sizable village, bustling with people coming and going.

The cook was hired by a family surnamed Tian. The Tian family is a prominent family in Mubushan. Most of the people in this village are surnamed Tian.

The banquet was a wedding feast. The Tian family's daughter had married a man from another place. The Tian family was powerful, and although there were no male heirs in this generation, they still made the wedding feast a lively affair.

They even hired a skilled chef to cook at their home to prepare the feast.