Chapter Thirty-Seven: Empress of the Dark Culinary World!

Three hours had passed since Wan Feng sent that Weibo post.
Ren Qian’s fans had been waiting in front of their screens for three agonizing hours, but no matter how they tagged him or left comments under his post, he made no appearance, not even a sound.
It was as though he wished to remain uninvolved from start to finish; otherwise, why would he let so many hours slip by without making a single statement?
The fans’ once confident waiting transformed into sighs and discontent.
“Looks like Qian God isn’t coming out…
Others are slandering him, yet he seems unconcerned. Perhaps fame makes people more cautious, more evasive.
After all, for the sake of making money, some things are better left undone.
The image of the bold, spirited Qian God in my mind—the one who challenged the powerful single-handedly—has utterly collapsed.”
“I suddenly feel inexplicably bitter. We held the fort and fought for three hours, but he retreated. We even defended him of our own accord, but in the end, he doesn’t care.”
The language of those posting on Weibo was filled with sourness.
“Don’t panic, I believe Qian God won’t abandon us. Let’s wait quietly; maybe in the next moment, he’ll post something.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s disperse. Let the King’s fans curse him.”
As more dissatisfied voices flooded Weibo, the casual fans of Lin Ruowan and the Diva retreated like a tide, no longer posting.
They were never truly Ren Qian’s supporters, and some had only come to vent at the King for amusement. Now that the flame war had entered a lull, they found it dull and left Weibo to play games instead.
Wan Feng’s fans, who had been outnumbered, suddenly felt the pressure ease.
But now they were too frightened to act recklessly. It was like marching onto a quiet mountain path, the silence raising suspicions of an ambush.
Wan Feng’s fans endured the suspense, wondering if their rivals were preparing some major move.
The chaos of thousands had already been overwhelming, and now there might be a trump card on the way.
Wan Feng’s fans grew anxious, finding themselves more intimidated by the silence than by facing ten opponents at once. The comments stopped scrolling, screens ceased refreshing, and all seemed frozen in time.
Then, a message spread in Wan Feng’s fan group chat: [Ren Qian’s fans are fighting among themselves because he hasn’t appeared. Lin Ruowan and the Diva’s fans have withdrawn from the battlefield. The balance of power is shifting. Comrades, log into your Weibo and mount a beautiful counterattack!]

At these words, Wan Feng’s fans surged to the front lines, invigorated as if injected with adrenaline.
For a moment, Weibo was filled with their taunts and smears. They numbered a full ten million, while Ren Qian had only three million at most, his side severely lacking in fighting power. With morale flagging, Weibo was quickly overtaken by Wan Feng’s supporters.
“So arrogant, huh? You relied on your numbers to defend Qian God—why doesn’t he come out and explain himself? He’s dodging because he’s guilty. Your Qian God is nothing but a clown grabbing attention, daring to show off in front of the real King. He’s finished.”
“Come on, I’ll curse you once, and you can curse me back ten times. I’m not afraid of debating ten at once—I’ve got truth on my side.”
“Now it’s my turn to curse! )*%……*&%%￥#%……” (profanities)
At this moment, Ren Qian was nearly finished making his meme packs, just about to upload them, when the nurse girl suddenly called: “You have ten minutes to get to the campus gate.”
Ren Qian froze, sensing trouble in her grim tone. He hurriedly transferred the images from his computer to his phone and rushed to the school entrance.
The nurse girl stood at the gate, her face steely and frustrated, as if she’d suffered some grievance.
Ren Qian’s heart ached—he couldn’t bear to see her like this…
“What’s wrong?”
“Get in the car. This is a complicated matter, so brace yourself.”
Brace myself…
Ren Qian had an ominous feeling.
The nurse girl hailed a taxi and shoved him inside.
“Here’s the deal. Aunt Feifei, for reasons unknown, insisted on inviting you to dinner today—against everyone’s objections. She’s determined to cook herself, you understand?”
The nurse girl forced out the words “cook herself” through gritted teeth. Sitting beside her, Ren Qian detected a hint of murderous intent.
“You don’t know—Aunt Feifei’s cooking is a tragedy. It’s the darkest cuisine in history. You never know what ingredients she uses, and no matter what dish, it always tastes the same!” The nurse girl covered her face, recalling painful memories.
“Super salty?”
She shook her head expressionlessly.
“Super spicy?”

She shook her head again, still expressionless.
“Could it be extremely sweet?!”
Ren Qian was shocked—he hated sweet food, and after twenty years, he couldn’t imagine a dish dominated only by sweetness.
But the nurse girl gave him a contemptuous look, as if to say, Child, you’re still too naive.
“None of the above! Aunt Feifei’s dishes always end up as a plate of charcoal—whether it’s alluring purple onions or bright red carrots, even if you hand her the most colorful ingredients, the finished dish is pitch black, burnt beyond recognition. When I got home this afternoon, the whole house reeked of scorched food, while my dad sat on the sofa, grinning at his phone.”
The nurse girl was on the verge of tears. She regretted not preventing the Diva and her father from being together. Once, she thought it was a happy ending for lovers, but now it was a disaster, since the Diva insisted on cooking every few days, serving everyone charcoal.
Oh, ha ha ha…
Ren Qian could only laugh dryly. Why call him, then? Wasn’t this pushing him into the fire pit? Eating charcoal—would it still be glowing red, sizzling in the bowl?
“For decades, has no one told her the truth?”
“We have, but Aunt Feifei always pouts: ‘Look, I’m improving! Give me some encouragement, okay?’”
As she spoke, the nurse girl vividly mimicked the Diva’s tear-inducing tone and expression.
Oh, ho ho ho…
Ren Qian’s face twisted in disbelief.
“Looks like tonight will be a test of wits and emotional intelligence—a veritable feast of peril. But to be fair, my nurse girl’s cooking is truly delicious—color, aroma, and flavor all perfect, a model of a virtuous wife.”
Ren Qian took her hand, gently caressing it, cracking jokes and slipping in sweet words. What girl could resist such charm? The nurse girl finally smiled, her two dimples flashing like a fleeting vision.
Though she was happy, Ren Qian was filled with anxiety. Would he make the news tomorrow: “Talented, handsome musician from Jiangnan University dies after devouring three plates of charcoal, a tragic end to a promising life”?