Chapter 372: Don’t Rupture the Dumpling Filling
We arrived at Baek Eung-ji for a meal.
After eating a few of the meals I’d cooked at the occupied inn, Sword Demon—my oldest brother in spirit—seemed to be developing a sense of existential despair, so I suggested we eat out.
Of course, this wasn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood you’d casually stroll into just for food. But I used it as a substitute for my light footwork training anyway.
In other words, I was training just so I wouldn’t starve to death. It’s the ideal form of martial cultivation: run for your life to eat, and do it every morning and noon. Your muscles firm up, and your soul withers away. Perfect.
Life is suffering, after all.
The more you run, the hungrier you get. The hungrier you get, the better the food tastes. On the way back, you digest faster, so it's all a positive feedback loop. Sword Demon, for his part, seemed to hate the food I made, since he followed me without complaint.
Remember this well—bad food is terrifying. Even a man called the Sword Demon would rather run just to avoid my noodles. That means my cooking is scarier than the entire demonic cult army.
“...What should we eat?”
Sword Demon glanced at me.
“Pick whatever you want. Anything's fine.”
As long as I didn't make it, it was fine by both of us. We wandered down the street in Baek Eung-ji, casually window-shopping.
Our preferences for restaurants were similar.