Chapter 10: “Want to Eat Together?”

Although An Luo was just an ordinary office worker, the abundant material wealth of modern society had long accustomed him to all sorts of conveniences and delicacies.

Compared to the tasteless white bread he’d been eating lately—which was so hard that it had to be soaked soft before he could even swallow it—even the pre-made frozen meals he used to complain about now seemed delicious.

No, forget pre-made meals. At this point, even a pack of instant noodles would be a state banquet to him!

An Luo wasn’t a master chef; his cooking skills were limited to basic home-style dishes.

The flavors were ordinary too—not bad, but nothing to write home about.

The new skill he’d developed after starting work was mainly to save money.

Ordering takeout or eating out every day would empty his wallet.

An Luo separated the magic plants and magic beast meat from the bag, washing them one by one as he tried to process them.

He disinfected the small knife he’d used for lab specimens and used it to skin them, trimming away the rotten outer layers of the magic beast meat and keeping only the cleaner inner parts.

Magic beast meat didn’t taste good; it had a strong gamey flavor. Boiling it directly would undoubtedly be a disaster, so it needed proper handling.

Many magic plants couldn’t be used as main ingredients due to their overpowering flavors; they could only serve as seasonings.

As An Luo processed the ingredients, he couldn’t help but regret it.

The Supreme Wizard was a web novel focused on progression and power fantasy—pure wish-fulfillment.

As a result, An Luo had never depicted any mundane details of daily life like food, clothing, housing, or transport.

What was the point of writing about that stuff? Readers wouldn’t want to read it, and he didn’t even want to write it.

The focus was always on the plot.

How the protagonist leveled up, fought monsters, slapped faces, and so on.

He’d occasionally described banquets or balls, but aside from vaguely mentioning some desserts, the emphasis remained on the plot.

Who would’ve thought he’d transmigrate into his own novel one day!

He sighed, his mind filled with “If only I’d…” thoughts.

He didn’t know if it was because he’d never written about these things, leaving a blank spot in the world that made it feel barren, or if the medieval setting was just like this.

These magic plants and magic beast meat required effort to prepare, but once done right, they actually tasted pretty good.

Many of the magic plants were clearly seasonings. With so many on hand, mixing them in the right proportions and marinating could make even shoe leather delicious.

So why throw them all together without any processing and just stew them haphazardly?

Even the protagonist did that…

Was that reasonable?

An Luo, as the author, thought it wasn’t.

He’d originally wanted to ask about it, but he worried it might backfire—like if someone said it was blank because he hadn’t written it.

While An Luo handled the ingredients, Meieruita occasionally lifted his head to glance at him.

Not out of curiosity, but to figure out An Luo’s intentions.

Meieruita thought white bread dipped in some jam already tasted quite good.

Magic plants were either unpalatably awful or, if decent, had already been snatched up by the wizard apprentices pushing the cart—they never made it to the leftovers.

The magic beast meat was the same; it had been screened once, leaving only the gamey or tough pieces.

Even he couldn’t stomach the taste of these magic plants and magic beast meat, so what about An Luo?

A guy who could barely swallow plain white bread was suddenly enthusiastic about even worse food. What was he plotting?

Meieruita’s gaze remained calm.

Though these magic plants and magic beast meat weren’t poisonous, An Luo was the author. Did he know some special recipe to mix non-toxic ones in certain proportions and create a poisonous compound?

The more Meieruita watched An Luo’s movements, the stronger his suspicions grew.

An Luo sliced, washed, and occasionally took small tastes of the magic plants, sorting them into categories. He picked some to mince and smeared them onto the magic beast meat.

He even soaked the outer skins of some magic plants in water.

He bustled about busily, his actions extremely methodical.

This level of complexity couldn’t possibly be cooking.

It looked more like preparing some kind of potion.

Even stronger evidence was those two long, thin wooden sticks.

Meieruita had done some basic experiments after entering the Wizard Tower and recognized them at a glance as stirring rods.

Though he’d once been an ordinary servant, he’d often warmed himself in the kitchens as a child and watched the cooks at work, so he knew the processes.

Meieruita straightened slightly in his seat, a hint of wariness in his eyes.

An Luo planned to make two dishes: pan-fried meat cutlets and meat soup.

Though he only had a single hanging iron pot for cookware, it was enough.

First, he put the cut fat into the pot to render the oil, then added the marinated magic beast meat to fry.

Soon, the aroma from the marinated meat wafted through the air.

An Luo took a deep breath, his mouth watering.

He flipped it a few times with his homemade long chopsticks, and once fully cooked, he took it out, sliced it into thin strips for easy eating.

The pot still sizzled with oil, mixed with bits of marinade that had fallen from the meat.

Perfect—it saved on extra seasoning.

An Luo poured water into the pot, added the processed magic beast meat, and tossed in some of the skins from the magic plants that he’d fished out and rinsed clean.

The magic plants had intense flavors, but their skins were milder and, with some processing, could barely pass as vegetables.

Great—in the time it took for the soup to simmer, he could eat the meat.

An Luo wasn’t used to knife and fork, so he whittled himself a shorter pair of wooden chopsticks and prepared to dig in.

The air was filled with the fragrance of the fried meat cutlets. An Luo picked up a piece and tasted it.

Delicious!

It wasn’t some heaven-shaking delicacy, but it was worlds better than the flavorless white bread!

He wolfed down one piece, feeling like he’d come back to life, and was about to attack the cutlets again.

As An Luo reached for a second piece, he suddenly remembered the protagonist was right beside him and politely asked, “Want to eat together?”

He’d assumed Meieruita would refuse.

The reason was simple: Meieruita was someone with very few desires, be it for food or material things. Anything that didn’t help improve his strength held no interest for him.

An Luo was just a fragile ally at the moment, so even out of caution, Meieruita would decline.

“Sure.”

An Luo: “Alright…?”

Huh?

He looked at Meieruita in surprise.

Meieruita closed his book and walked over, sitting down at the table and quietly watching An Luo.

An Luo: “…”

His plan had been to eat it all himself. It wasn’t stinginess; he’d predicted Meieruita probably wouldn’t eat any, and making extra would just be waste.

The author eyed his protagonist, feeling like the character was breaking persona a bit.

“Here.”

An Luo flipped the chopsticks around and used the clean end to push half the plate over to Meieruita.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Meieruita stared at An Luo’s right hand.

What he’d thought were stirring rods turned out to be eating utensils.

Slender fingers manipulated them with practiced ease, bending and lifting. The thin sticks opened and closed flexibly under the control of index and middle fingers, efficiently picking up pieces of aromatic meat.

Meieruita realized his judgment had been wrong.

The intoxicatingly rich aroma filled the air, accompanied by sizzles, and Meieruita noticed his own mouth watering involuntarily.

With his back to him, An Luo used the thin sticks to stir in the pot, turning the magic beast meat to heat evenly.

He’d never seen cooking like this before.

The once gamey, stomach-turning magic beast meat lay on the plate, its surface slightly crispy, still glistening with hot oil from the pan.

It looked incredibly appetizing.

Meieruita watched as An Luo eagerly ate a piece, showing an expression of pure enjoyment with no discomfort.

He hadn’t offered to share.

It made sense—precious food wouldn’t be given away lightly. An Luo had shared the white bread casually before because it wasn’t valuable to him.

Like a rich man tossing spare change to a roadside beggar.

But these dishes were made by An Luo with his own effort and care.

Why would he share them?

Nobles might toss scraps to servants, but they’d never let them sit at the table.

Meieruita lowered his eyes, returning his gaze to the book.

“Want to eat together?”

Meieruita looked up, slightly startled at An Luo.

A full half-portion had been pushed onto his plate. An Luo’s face showed no reluctance or offended anger—it seemed perfectly normal.

Father…?

Did he truly see him as his child, and that’s why he shared without hesitation?