In the kitchen.
Fang Yi roughly finished boiling the herbal medicine. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already half-past six.
Then Fang Yi continued to get busy.
He first classified the ingredients that Ying Zheng and Rong Quan had brought back, holding a cleaver in his hand and began to cut and dissect various ingredients.
Every ingredient in Fang Yi's hands underwent significant transformation, and these changes all stemmed from the cleaver held in Fang Yi's right hand.
Using just a cleaver, various beef, lamb, pork, seafood, and assorted vegetables all took on their proper appearance under Fang Yi's hand.
When Fang Yi cooks, he doesn't use a wide array of knives like other chefs; as long as the cleaver is sharp enough, that suffices.
In the kitchen, Fang Yi was alone in his work, and the place seemed quiet, with only the sound of the cleaver striking the cutting board, full of rhythm and cadence.
Clap clap!
Suddenly, the sound of applause echoed.
