Chapter 1: Is My System Legitimate?

“Ugh!”

Agonizing pain!

It felt as though every bone in his body had been crushed by a tremendous force, every inch of flesh wailing in torment.

Fan Tong jolted upright, his chest heaving as if he were a battered bellows, greedily gulping down air.

Instinctively, he clutched at his neck—there was no trace of the torn wound he remembered, only a swollen sensation as if something foreign had forced its way through.

No, this wasn’t right!

He clearly recalled the moment the runaway truck cab was smashed to pieces, the soul-rending pain that could never be mistaken for a dream.

But here...

He looked around in bewilderment, his gaze shifting from post-traumatic haze to outright terror.

This wasn’t a hospital reeking of disinfectant, nor the chaotic carnage of an accident scene.

He found himself inside a shabby military tent, patched together from oilcloth and animal hide. The air was thick with the pungent blend of earth, sweat, rust, and blood—so acrid it nearly made him retch.

Outside, the muffled groans of wounded soldiers drifted through the cold wind like restless spirits.

Bzzzz—

His head throbbed as if struck by a hammer. A torrent of unfamiliar images and information flooded his consciousness with brutal force.

He was now a man weighing some 250 pounds, a gluttonous giant who had reportedly choked to death on a stolen half-loaf of cornbread.

Fan Tong looked down, his sight blocked by his own rotund belly; all he could see were thighs as thick as elephant legs.

He wanted to cry, but tears would not come.

In this war-torn era, with famine everywhere, to reach 250 pounds was nothing short of a walking miracle—and a walking crime.

It was no wonder everyone in the army suspected him of embezzlement, of stealing the rations. This body’s fat was evidence enough—original sin.

“There’s no going back…”

Fan Tong slumped to the ground, hollow-eyed.

The agony of the accident, the alien surroundings, this bloated body—each weighed on him like a mountain, threatening to suffocate him.

After a moment gripped by despair, he slammed his fist into the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Damn it!”

He growled low. Better to figure out how to survive than waste time cursing fate.

He’d been an orphan in his past life, a worthless existence. Now, he’d been gifted a new life—what was there to lose?

A fierce determination replaced the confusion in his eyes. “Since I’m here, I’ll settle in!”

Just then, a violent hunger roared from his stomach, as if an invisible hand was clawing at his organs with burning pain.

“Boss Fan, you’re awake? Time to eat!”

The tent flap lifted and a small, wiry soldier poked his head in—Baonianfeng, the original owner’s trusted follower.

Fan Tong steadied his dizzy head and followed Baonianfeng outside.

Beyond the tent, a great banner embroidered with the character “Xu” snapped in the cold wind. Countless soldiers in Ming Dynasty uniforms bustled about, killing intent thick in the air.

Fragments of memory stitched themselves together—this was the second year of the Hongwu reign, in the Ming Dynasty. General Xu Da’s Northern Campaign!

And he himself was a cook in this grand army—Fan Tong, same name, same fate.

The so-called kitchen was nothing but a few iron cauldrons set over an open fire, filled with black, sour-smelling gruel. Another pot held a watery soup with a few floating greens, grandly called “vinegar cloth soup.”

Suppressing his nausea, Fan Tong took a bowl. The black bread was gritty with sand, scraping his throat raw as he swallowed.

But the fire in his belly only burned fiercer, as if a blaze raged inside him.

The hunger in this body far surpassed anything normal.

Just as he thought he’d faint from the pain, a cold mechanical voice rang in his mind.

“Beep! Strong desire for food detected. Ogre Hatchling Cultivation System activating…”

“Binding complete! Eat well, eat with soul, those who eat are the chosen!”

“Newbie Task Issued: Prepare a meal that truly satisfies your hunger and brings you contentment, and offer it to the God of Gluttony.”

“Task Rewards: 1. Strength Enhancement; 2. Newbie Gift Pack: Giant Bone-Cleaver.”

Ogre Hatchling Cultivation System?

Fan Tong roared in his mind, “System, did you get lost? I’m human—purely, thoroughly Chinese!”

System: “What? In China? Now, that’s a treat! Listen up, hatchling, I’m starving! Pork liver stir-fry, spicy intestines, imperial pork, Buddha Jumps Over the Wall—bring me your best dishes! I’ve had nothing but half-cooked junk for ten thousand years—if the ogres here manage to cook meat through, it’s a miracle!”

Stunned at first, Fan Tong’s heart soon surged with wild joy.

A transmigrator’s golden finger—finally, it had arrived!

He tossed aside the inedible black bread and plunged back into the kitchen tent.

To make a satisfying meal, he’d need ingredients first.

His eyes, wolfish with hunger, locked onto a slab of pork belly wrapped in oiled paper in the corner—the special rations of a centurion.

Steal it, or not?

If caught, the punishment would be a flogging or worse—he might lose his head.

If he didn’t, this body’s ravenous hunger might burn him alive from the inside out.

Damn it, either way I die—better to die with a full belly!

With that thought, a resolute gleam flashed in his eyes. He snatched the pork belly and gathered some common military seasonings.

He started the fire and, drawing on his past life as a fitness chef, deftly prepared the ingredients.

No cooking wine? Substitute with the army’s cheap rice liquor. No good soy sauce? He caramelized sugar for color instead.

Sizzle—

Crude brown sugar melted in hot oil, turning to amber caramel that coated the pork belly. As the meat hit the searing iron pot, a rich aroma exploded, blending the savory scent of meat with sweet caramel, tearing through the camp’s miasma of blood, sweat, and death like an invisible hand.

The irresistible fragrance poured through the tent, drowning out the groans of wounded men and stopping the soldiers gnawing on black bread in their tracks. Their Adam’s apples bobbed, eyes alight with a desperate, incredulous longing.

While the meat simmered, he mixed dough and baked several golden cakes.

Soon, a pot of glistening red-braised pork, thick with sauce, was ready. He quickly ladled out a clay bowl.

Fan Tong could barely wait—he picked up a trembling piece of meat with his chopsticks, deep red sauce dripping down its marbled grain.

He didn’t even bother to blow on it before shoving the entire piece into his mouth.

The fatty pork melted instantly on his tongue, unleashing an incomparable, savory sweetness. The lean meat, stewed until tender yet still chewy, was wrapped in a rich, sweet-savory sauce that overwhelmed his taste buds, awakening every memory of good food from his past life.

“…This is… absolute bliss!”

The words squeezed out, hoarse and trembling, as the warm juices seemed to heat his very eyes.

This was the skill that had sustained him in his previous life, the proof of countless lonely nights.

In this moment, he was not the 250-pound Fan Tong, not the bullied army cook.

He was simply himself.

This bite of meat filled not just his stomach, but also the heart that had hung suspended and fearful since his arrival in this strange world.

He ate ravenously, devouring meat and cakes alike, cleaning his bowl with a final sweep of bread until not a drop of sauce remained, and offered a portion to the system.

A warm current rose from his stomach, surging through his limbs and bones. The burning hunger vanished, replaced by an unprecedented sense of fullness and strength.

“Newbie task complete! Oh my, that was divine! So this is the legendary red-braised pork? Oh, I’m in love!”

“Rewards issued: 1. Strength enhancement complete! 2. Newbie gift—Giant Bone-Cleaver granted!”

“Item: Giant Bone-Cleaver.”

“Note: This is a special kitchen utensil, never dulls or chips, crafted for handling massive bones.”

“Giant Bone-Cleaver?” Fan Tong read the note, a chill running through him. “Crafted for massive bones…” He hefted the cleaver, as large as a horse-chopping sword, and couldn’t help but recall the system’s ominous name—Ogre Hatchling Cultivation.

Was this system truly planning to have him process ogre-scale ingredients?

He walked over to the chopping block, eyeing the massive blade stuck in it. Tentatively, he gripped the handle with both hands and heaved.

Nothing.

But that warmth still surged through him, and he felt his fat compressing, forged into solid strength.

He gripped the handle again, pouring all his might into his right arm—

Voom!

A clear metallic ring sounded—the blade, weighing over a hundred pounds, rose inch by inch from the block in his single hand!

Veins bulged on his forearm, but he did it—he’d actually lifted the blade!

Fan Tong stared in disbelief at the massive cleaver in his hand. It seemed he’d become a powerful, albeit still fat, man.

At that moment, a rough, angry voice boomed from outside the tent: “What the hell is that smell? I’m risking my life on the front lines and some bastard’s feasting back here!”

Before the words had faded, the kitchen curtain was ripped aside by a muscular, brute hand.

A burly officer, face full of scars, stormed in. The centurion’s badge glinted at his waist—it was Li Hu, the centurion of the neighboring Rui Battalion.

Li Hu had long disliked Fan Tong. His own soldiers were starving, while this cook grew fat and smug. Smelling the intoxicating aroma now, past grudges and fresh anger surged together.

He immediately spotted the enormous cleaver in Fan Tong’s hand, sniffed the lingering aroma, and sneered, “Caught red-handed! Men, seize this thieving pig and report him to the commander for army justice!”

His guards stepped forward at once.

Fan Tong barely had time to explain when a calm, authoritative voice sounded from the doorway, tinged with curiosity.

“What a marvelous aroma—better than what I eat myself!”

The air in the kitchen froze.

Li Hu and his men’s arrogance evaporated, replaced by terror. They spun around and dropped to their knees.

“Commander!”

At the entrance stood a middle-aged general in black armor, his face stern and commanding, radiating authority with every breath. Behind him stood several personal guards, all with sharp, hawk-like eyes.

It was none other than the Duke of Wei, Commander of the Northern Expedition—Xu Da himself!

Xu Da’s gaze swept the kitchen, finally locking on Fan Tong like a hawk. He studied Fan Tong’s massive bulk, then the equally massive blade—an ordinary soldier would need two men to lift it. The interest in his eyes faded, replaced by an icy scrutiny.

Li Hu, seizing the chance, cried out, “Commander, justice! This cook, Fan Tong, has stolen army rations for his own use and brandishes a deadly weapon. Surely he harbors evil intentions! I beg you to execute him on the spot, as a warning to others!”

Xu Da’s lips curled in a cold smile, his voice steady, carrying the weight of an entire army.

“A mere cook, wielding a horse-chopping blade my own guards can barely lift.”

He paused, his tone turning frigid, each word slicing through the tent like a winter wind.

“Tell me—this fat flesh of yours, are you planning to rebel, or do you intend to serve as rations for my army?”