It was a pair of bloody eyes. They were filled with thick blood. Veins covered the eyeballs, and clots of blood seemed to swirl in them.
Bu Fang had summoned all his mental force at this moment. In his spirit sea, the whirlpools spun at top speed as if they were about to explode. If that happened, it meant that he had failed.
The Artifact Spirits watched with complicated looks on their faces. To a chef, a success rate of twenty or ten percent was way too risky. Besides, it would increase the psychological pressure. The greater the pressure, the more nervous one would become, and in turn, one would be more prone to make mistakes.
When Bu Fang's eyes were completely shot with blood, the Artifact Spirits knew that their host of this generation was likely to fail.
