"It's a real feeling to restore the ghost world of Shiwei Mountain, so that everyone who can't go back for special reasons can enjoy the unique feeling of the ghost world, the answer you want to know is in that book, and I can give it to you when I still have time, but my companion may not last too long here, so you have to hurry."

It left the first half of the sentence that I didn't understand very well, and the second half of which I heard very well, and then left here, and now I was left alone in the huge kitchen, sitting at the table facing the bottomed out noodles and bowls on the table, and the surroundings were quiet again.

It was strange in his heart, why did he have such superb cooking skills and ask outsiders to make food for it. Although there is nothing strange on the surface, what deep meaning should be hidden inside, and what is that deep meaning? I couldn't tell, or even capture, for a moment what was going on, but maybe I could find the answer in his favorite kitchen.

Then I didn't blindly cook, but began to carefully observe the surrounding situation, in addition to the neatly placed kitchenware, I also saw the spices that were full of cabinets, but the strange thing is that each bottle is clearly marked with their names, as if it will be muddy, a basic chef does not need to read the words to identify the seasoning, they are most proud of their unique sense of taste, will not be limited to this, but why here on the spice bottle, Each one is clearly labeled, what does it really represent?

I looked at the bottles and jars in front of me and fell into deep thought.

"Wow"

Suddenly there was a cry from my shoulder, and one flew up with a gentle flapping of its wings, and flew around the house, and suddenly stopped above a cupboard beyond my reach, and after a few shouts at me, a pamphlet that looked like it was some years old.

"Smack!"

It had fallen on the ground not far in front of me, it was a little old, but it looked very well preserved, I hesitated to step forward, reached out and opened a few pages of one of the books on the ground. I was instantly shocked by the contents of this, this is a very strange booklet, each book clearly records the number of grams used in the seasoning, which makes me more and more strange. There is also a record of each of them.

For example: In the thirteenth year of the ghost calendar, I lost to that person because I put an extra gram of salty ingredients, so I was unwilling

There are a lot of dense records in the back, which makes me sincerely admire the perseverance of this one, if I have never tasted its craftsmanship. I didn't dare to say anything, but once I ate it, I realized that it was really a kind of hard work, a kind of harvest, without hard work, there would never be a harvest, and the current ability to make such delicious noodles will never be made overnight.

I've always believed that it wouldn't be a ruthless ghost to make such delicious noodles, but for some reason, maybe because of the noodles, I'm starting to believe in it a little.

Of course, none of this is true, if it can put the seasoning in the right proportion without trying, then it can know that the food it makes is delicious without tasting. But what is it that motivates it to do this, a good chef has always had an enviable sense of taste, and they will even make their own tasting after making a new food innovation, and the one in front of him obviously doesn't do that, so is it?

I always feel like I'm one step closer to the truth, but I can't always catch it, but I firmly believe that the more impeccable perfection is, the more unexpected the truth behind it.

I sat on the floor and let the minutes tick by, and I needed more than just time at this moment. And my brain was racing through every detail that had happened since I met this one, and I was confident that I would definitely get the answers I wanted from them.

Soon, soon, I kept urging myself to walk through the door that was close to the truth. Only if I can leave no gap between myself and it can I truly appreciate what it really thought at that time.

Holding the pamphlet tightly in my hand, and putting the contents on my body and the note in front of me, an idea came to my mind, and now it was up to me to verify that my idea was correct.

I have in my hands my hope for this moment. He walked out of the kitchen and came to the side of the one that was once again crouching impatiently on the shore of the oil sea, fishing for something.

Cautiously opened his mouth: "After so long, aren't you tired?" Drink some sugar water! ”

"No"

I handed it the water and looked at it hopefully.

"What's going on?"

It swarthyly reached out and took the porcelain bowl in my hand and asked strangely.

"There is a custom in my hometown that if you meet someone you admire, you must give him the sugar water you have boiled yourself, so that you can bring yourself good luck, so you must drink this bowl of sugar water."

I continued to look at him, hoping that he would be able to drink the bowl of water.

It didn't say anything, and tilted its head to drink the sugar water I brought.

"It's sweet! Ever since I was a child, my father said that the sugar water I boiled was very sweet and could be sweet to my heart. “

I asked with a smile.

"It's sweet and greasy."

It just frowned slightly, and said it to me without hesitation. Looking at its reaction like this, I thoughtfully took the bowl in its hand, turned around and walked towards the kitchen again, of course, it will never see the expression on my face when I turn around, it can be described as an expression that is uglier than crying, this food appreciation I am afraid that no matter what I do, the final answer will never be positive, unless

But is that really possible? If you let a ghost with no sense of taste have a sense of taste, I'm afraid it will be more difficult than making me kill myself, I think so, at least at the moment I don't have any way to make it sing about flavorful food, just now I deliberately confused its sense of smell and smeared a lot of sugar on the edge of a bowl full of tasteless water, and it really smelled the bowl of tasteless water into a bowl of sugar water, so that if two bowls of water with different tastes can be muddyed like this, I'm afraid I can't find any explanation except that it can't distinguish the taste.

Hesitating, at the moment my brain was like boiling paste, all kinds of meridians were sticky, and in the end all that was left was a puddle of sticky paste-like substance, slowly dried, and finally completely messed up in the air, ignored in this damn and weird Sunless Mountain.

Knowing the cause of the disease, but not curing it, that is the most distressing problem for doctors, and what I am facing at the moment is not an unsolvable problem, so I racked my brains and could not find an answer. (To be continued.) )