socalfunplaces Chapter 131 The Feast Cult, Continuing with the Five Flavors
Chapter 131 The Feast Cult, Continuing with the Five Flavors
Chapter 131 The Feast Cult, Pursuing the Five Flavors
The chef swallowed the meat of unknown composition, his Adam's apple bobbing instinctively, and his face immediately turned ashen.
Feeling suffocated, he frantically patted his thick neck, but when that didn't work, he grabbed the teapot from the table and swallowed the scalding tea in large gulps.
The scalding hot tea flowed into his mouth, immediately causing several large blisters. Even so, the piece of meat with bone was still stuck in his throat.
It wasn't swallowed, but rather left stuck in the middle.
The chef's face turned as red as a pig's liver, his eyes wide open, like a fish about to suffocate. He had no choice but to look at the proprietress with pleading eyes.
"Niu Er, open your mouth quickly, I'll help you get the meat out."
The proprietress was also anxious. Ignoring the dirt, she directly shoved her slender hand into the chef's mouth.
Modi remained calm and composed, sitting motionless on the bench, still picking and sifting through the pile of meat with his chopsticks, and soon picked out some more black hairs.
The old blind man at the table in front of him looked at him with surprise, his eyes, though covered by a black cloth, clearly staring at him. He asked in astonishment:
"I never thought I would misjudge you and not discover that you had a hidden weapon skill... No, that's not right, I'm blind, so it's not really my fault."
The waiter snapped out of his daze, glaring at him with a fierce but inwardly timid expression, involuntarily taking a half-step back. "What is the meaning of this, sir? Why have you resorted to such a cruel act?"
As he spoke, his hand quietly reached for the short knife strapped to his back.
On the surface, he appeared very tough, but in reality, he was filled with lingering fear, afraid that next time it would be his turn to be "fed," and even more worried that next time what would be shot at him would not be flesh, but something else entirely.
"What do you mean? I'd also like to ask why you served me this kind of food. Are you trying to make fun of me?"
Modi stared at the black hair tangled in the chopsticks. After a moment, he flicked the chopsticks again, throwing the clump of hair at the waiter's face.
"Do you really think I can't tell what the ingredients are?"
With a splat, the hair slapped the waiter in the eye. Even though he was prepared to retreat, he couldn't dodge the sudden attack.
His sensitive eyes were irritated, and he screamed in pain. He quickly reached out to pull out the clump of hair attached to his eye, only to find that the hair had already pierced his eyeball.
At that moment, the chef next to him had just escaped unharmed.
The proprietress, as expected of someone who had practiced "butterfly hands," reached into his throat with her slender and nimble hands, so soft and boneless, and easily removed the piece of meat with bone in it.
After she finished, she wiped her hands on the wooden table with disgust and threw the piece of meat into the chef's hands.
The chef didn't waste any time; he quickly devoured the meat, spat out the bones, and turned to look at Modi with a sinister expression.
"You're not going to eat it, huh? You also think there's something wrong with the food I cooked?"
He grabbed the kitchen knife that had fallen to the ground, and as if his pride had been hurt, he pointed the knife menacingly at the customer in front of him.
"If you can't give a coherent explanation, then we've got our extra meal sorted for tonight."
Although he was still upset about being fed, he only thought it was because he was careless.
Otherwise, with his mastered ox-splitting knife, he could easily have blocked the incoming hidden weapon.
After wiping her hands, the proprietress also looked gloomy and gave Mo Di a malicious look, making no attempt to hide the greed in her eyes.
This kind of greed includes lust, but even more so, it is the desire for food.
She licked her lips, giving off the aura of a venomous snake. "Sir, you'd better give an explanation. Is our food not delicious enough? Or is this dish not to your taste?"
At that moment, the waiter pulled out the hair, along with his own eyeball.
His face twitched and contorted in pain, his features scrunched up, and a stream of blood flowed from his eyes.
But he didn't care at all. Instead, he trembled and revealed a sinister smile, swallowing his own eyeball along with the clump of black hair.
While laughing, he uttered chilling words: "I haven't even tasted myself yet, this is a great tonic!"
pat.
Modi put down his chopsticks, and finally raised his eyes, which had been lowered, to look directly at the three strange people in front of him.
He had noticed from the beginning that the three of them had a strange focus.
Their focus is not on the ingredients, but on the taste of the dishes. It seems that for them, the type of ingredients is not important, only the taste of the food matters.
"You seem to take cannibalism for granted," Modi said indifferently, his gaze carrying a hint of coldness.
"So what?" The chef grinned, revealing a mouthful of disgusting yellow teeth, with various filth stuck between them. "As long as it tastes good, who cares about the ingredients!"
The waiter burst into laughter, drawing a short knife from his back. "The meaning of food, besides filling one's stomach, is simply to make one feel its deliciousness, nothing more!"
The proprietress smiled sweetly, and with a flick of her right hand across her dress, several silver needles appeared between her fingers. "Pursuing the ultimate in the five flavors, this is the doctrine of our Food Cult."
"So they were a bunch of cannibalistic lunatics."
Modi remained calm, whereas in the past he might have felt a little angry about it.
But not now; he only feels murderous intent.
"The Feast Cult?" Upon hearing this name, the blind man at the table in front of him changed his expression. "The Feast Cult was wiped out by the Five Sects five years ago. I didn't expect there to be a few survivors here."
Mentioning the Food Cult, a hint of fear appeared on his face.
"I didn't expect anyone to still remember our religious name," the proprietress said with a wistful expression. "Although the Food Church is long gone, our pursuit of flavor is never satisfied."
"Alright, what's the point of saying so much? Yuan, hurry up and give me your brilliant idea. If you can't, then you'll be fish on my chopping board."
The chef brandished the cleaver in his hand, the cold blade reflecting a chilling light.
Modi glanced at him warily, but didn't say anything. He simply put his hand inside his clothes.
The three chefs just watched him, and he slowly pulled out a strange thing that looked like an iron rod from his pocket, and they all laughed in unison.
"An iron rod? It doesn't even qualify as a magical artifact, let alone a divine weapon. Is this all the confidence you have? Hahaha—"
Boom!
The gunshot rang out, and the chef's laughter stopped abruptly, his smile freezing on his face.
He looked down in disbelief at the shattered kitchen knife and his own obese body, which had lost a lot of flesh and blood, with wisps of bloody flames still entwined on it.
A sharp pain surged through him, overwhelming his reason, and he belatedly cried out in agony, "Ugh! U ...
The other two were also startled and moved aside in unison, keeping their distance from the cook and the eerie blood-red flames. The blind man reacted the fastest; the moment the gunshot rang out, he grabbed his erhu, leaped to the left, and landed on the roof beam, bow in hand, as if about to begin playing.
"That's my confidence; within seven steps, my gun is both fast and accurate."
Modi raised his gun again, aiming it at the waiter. "You're welcome to try and see if your legs are faster or my bullets are faster."
As soon as the threatening words were uttered, the waiter stopped abruptly, a forced smile on his face, and stiffly turned around.
Judging from that shot, no matter how fast his agility is, it can't outrun a bullet.
"Haha, sir, we were just joking with you. Don't mind us."
"What a coincidence, me too. I just didn't expect you guys to be so easily fooled. Back in my hometown, taking a bullet is a piece of cake."
"Where we live, everyone shoots themselves with small-caliber bullets from a young age to train their bullet resistance."
Glancing at their tense faces, Mo Di slowly moved the Dragonfire Hunting Rifle towards the landlady, and said with dissatisfaction:
"Laugh, why aren't you laughing? Don't you find my jokes funny?"
Upon hearing his words, the proprietress and the waiter exchanged a glance, first letting out two dry laughs, then their laughter grew more continuous and louder.
"I see, I see."
"I knew it! It turns out you were joking with us too."
The awkward laughter of the two echoed in the inn, briefly drowning out the chef's cries of pain.
Modi then reached into his robes and pulled out three ropes, which he threw in front of the three men.
Looking at the rope on the ground, apart from the chef who was still wailing, the waiter and the proprietress both froze, as if they had thought of something bad.
"Don't be nervous, I'm just joking with you guys."
Modi maintained his indifferent expression and said to the old blind man on the roof beam, "Old man, would you mind coming down and helping them tie themselves up?"
The old blind man paused slightly, then, thinking of his strange weapon called a "gun," he agreed with a headache: "That's no problem."
But when you asked me to do this, did you really consider my blindness?
He then jumped down from the roof beam and, as if he were a sighted person, walked up to the three men, picked up the rope, and began to tie them up.
The whole process was so smooth that you couldn't tell he was blind at all.
"You lot, your father-in-law helped you so much, and you don't even thank him?"
Seeing the landlady and the others looking timid, Mo Di frowned and spoke with dissatisfaction.
Apart from the chef who was still lamenting, the other two changed their expressions and thanked him repeatedly.
The old blind man looked at him strangely. When he got to the cook, he glanced at the burly, dark-skinned man who was still writhing and screaming in pain, and said with difficulty:
"This person might be difficult to tie up."
"Difficult to tie? That's easy."
Modi snapped his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, the chef's blood flames spread all over his body, and his wounds quickly healed.
The only price was that the chef went from being a fat man weighing several hundred pounds to a skin and bones weighing less than a hundred pounds.
Hearing that the cook was silent, the blind man thought he was dead and tied him up without saying a word.
After finishing his business, the blind man stepped aside, picked up his erhu, and carefully asked:
"Well, young man, I just remembered I have something urgent to attend to at home, so I'll be going now."
"What's the rush? Old man, aren't you curious how many members of the Food Cult have escaped their grasp?"
Modi stopped him in his tracks with a single, casual remark, and even though he didn't really want to know, he had no choice but to back down.
"I suddenly remembered that the matter wasn't really urgent, haha, old people's memories just aren't good. I'll stay a little longer, young man, I hope you don't mind."