Filo descended from the second floor to the dining room, where Bingpo’s parents sat at the table. Spotting her, Dad waved enthusiastically. “Over here! Come sit!”
His energy was so high, Filo felt awkward. He’d been all “stranger danger” before, but now she was practically family. Weird, but better than the nervous vibes.
Filo slipped into Salted-Fish King mode, minimizing her presence—a skill honed from awkward family dinners in her past life. (Surrounded by old dudes or grandpas, no convo, just vibes. So, she mastered fading out, eating fast, and bolting.) She thought her [Presence Reduction] was maxed out, but…
Three minutes after sitting, Filo peeked up. Bingpo’s parents were staring. Dad’s eyes blazed with excitement; Mom’s sparkled with curiosity. Both locked on her, making her squirm.
“Let’s… eat?” Filo mumbled.
“Bingpo’s not down yet. Let’s wait,” Mom said.
“Oh… okay.” Filo’s head dropped again. Wait, why am I so humble? I’m a guest—and the True Ancestor!
Steeling herself, she looked up, but their gazes hit like lasers. Nope! Head down again. Ahem, I’m a guest, gotta give them face. I’m the True Ancestor—big heart, vast as the sea, super chill!
Minutes later, Bingpo rushed down, embarrassed to be the holdup. She dashed to the kitchen, returning with a spread of dishes. “Sorry, sorry, was handling something. Dig in—these are my masterpieces!” she said, clapping proudly.
Dragons can’t taste, but Bingpo knew that. Her food wasn’t just pretty—it had effects. Her parents skeptically tried a bite, chewed slowly, and gulped. Their eyes popped, stunned.
“Ice, these dishes?!” Dad gasped.
Bingpo grinned, hands on hips, smug as hell. If you checked their stats, you’d see their EXP creeping up—tiny, but real. Her food gave EXP!
[Master-Level Cuisine: Grants EXP based on level]
Half a year from trash to master chef? Most would call that one word: freak!
Her parents, tasteless but thrilled by the EXP, scarfed it down. Filo tried it—damn, it was good, but no EXP for her. LV999, maxed out. If master-level food gave EXP at her level, the original Filo would’ve done it ages ago—she had [Cooking] at MAX.
Wait… how do I know her [Cooking] was MAX?
Filo clutched her head as unfamiliar memory fragments flooded in. The original Filo’s memories? Her lingering consciousness didn’t vanish—it’s fusing with mine! No wonder she was so chill talking to me. Once fused, her messages hit my brain like memory clips.
But… am I still me? True Ancestor, Ultimate Being… if we fully merge, am I Filo, the True Ancestor, or neither?
Too deep. Filo closed her eyes, pondered, then gave up. When in doubt, stop thinking. Water finds its channel, the wood’s already a boat. Fusion’s happening; can’t stop it. What’s the point of stressing?
Just don’t ruin my Salted-Fish King dreams.
Filo exhaled, standing abruptly. Bingpo jumped. “M-Master, what’s wrong? My food bad?” she stammered.
“No, it’s great. I just wanna cook. Lend me the kitchen—five minutes, I’ll whip something up!” Filo strode confidently to the kitchen.
Tons of ingredients, despite their lack of taste. Gotta keep up appearances—daily dish swaps for flair. Filo opened her skill panel, filtered to [Life Skills], and yep—[Cooking] was MAX.
Last time she cooked for Bingpo and Chiyan, she used her past-life skills, not her body’s instincts, so no skill triggered. This time, she’d let it rip.
Filo breathed deep, relaxed, grabbed a knife and a one-meter-long mystery meat slab. She tapped it lightly—crack!—it split into 50 equal slices, each upgrading from “high-tier” to “top-tier” ingredients.
“This is [Cooking] MAX? Like a cheat code that won’t get you banned? Love it!” Filo’s knife flashed, cooking like a rocket. In five minutes, she plated a dish straight out of Cooking Master Boy’s set.