Bu Fang sat in a chair, his brows furrowed.
There was something wrong with his cooking. He could not sense his spirit sea nor use his mental force. It was a great blow to him.
As his strength grew, he had begun to use his mental force when cooking. It could control the energy in the food so that the dish would be very tasty.
Perhaps he was used to using his mental force, he felt somewhat uncomfortable now that it had disappeared. But he did not spend any time pitying himself, though his condition deteriorated by day.
At first, he was able to taste his dishes, but later, he found that his sensitivity to the ingredients also had a problem. His tongue began to fail to taste anything, and his other senses, such as his sense of smell and touch, also gradually left him.
"What the hell…"
Bu Fang frowned and felt speechless. As a chef, when these senses left him, it was like sending him to hell. He did not even want to hold a kitchen knife now.
