An hour later.
The cook's willow-like eyebrows were crossed as she grabbed on the wanton skin. Frustrated, she stuck her hands to her waist.
Billows of smoke wafted in the kitchen, as though someone had set fire to it, or the burning of a murdered corpse had just happened.
Under the stove and behind the pile of firewood, there was a moment of rustling before a person with distinct facial features crawled out, and he coughed while he dusted off his expensive light purple robes. Those robes were so black the original color could no longer be seen. That person held a piece of firewood in a dignified manner, and he frowned gracefully as he investigated why he could handle his inner energy and war situations, but not control a simple fire in the kitchen?
Meng Fuyao looked up dejectedly.
'Look at how bad his life skills are. If someone were to disguise as him and replace his position, how will he survive in the wilderness?'
