"The apocalypse won't come for at least eight to ten months; why rush these few minutes?" Lu Wenwu casually seasoned the kidney, "Instead of waiting idly during your fortune-telling, why not do something proactive?"
"But..."
"Stop babbling, are you going to eat or not!"
"...Just go easy on the chili."
In the end, the old Daoist surrendered.
Even though Lu Wenwu hadn't extensively studied foods other than egg pancakes, he had long immersed himself in the path of the Spirit Chef.
With years of influence, any regular dish he prepared in a world without professional Extraordinary Chefs would be a significant downgrade in culinary standards.
Thus, what should have been two furrowed brows deeply engaged in research in a dimly lit, dingy room, working tirelessly on useless maps and a wall of inexplicable photos and connections, arguing vehemently over clues, was twisted by a chef's craving into what it was now.
