Everyone froze.
Return the cause?
What did that even mean?
Lin Feng simply lifted his chin and pointed at the pile of untouched, fresh ingredients beside the grill.
"Gu Rong.
You will personally grill a skewer."
"When it's done, give it to Devil Bear."
Devil Bear Douluo's eyes lit up instantly.
He could already imagine Bone Douluo fumbling for ten minutes and producing nothing but a tragic lump of charcoal.
Even if Gu Rong somehow grilled a passable skewer, he, Devil Bear, would still be getting a skewer out of this.
A win either way!
But then Lin Feng continued—
And every person present forgot how to breathe.
"If the skewer you grill isn't worse than the one you just ate…"
Lin Feng's lips lifted into a faint curve.
A chill ran straight down Bone Douluo's spine.
"Then Devil Bear will stand still and not move."
"To let you return the favor—fairly."
BOOM.
The whole place practically combusted.
The Titled Douluo's eyes bulged out like copper bells, mouths open wide enough to lay eggs.
Holy—
You can play like THAT?!
What "returning the favor" meant… no one needed an explanation.
The joy on Devil Bear Douluo's face shattered immediately.
Terror replaced it.
He instinctively clamped his legs together so hard the fabric strained, a cold wind breezing past his vital regions as if the future pain had already arrived.
And Bone Douluo?
After one heartbeat of stunned silence—
A fiery, radiant hope exploded in his eyes.
The hope of revenge!
Vengeance for the earlier crotch attack!
This was his moment!
"Senior!" Bone Douluo's voice trembled with excitement. "Is this… really true?!"
"I never joke," Lin Feng said calmly.
In that instant, every gaze locked onto Bone Douluo.
Sympathy.
Pity.
Mockery.
Anticipation.
And a very deep, very evil expectation.
Everyone knew grilling a perfect skewer was ridiculously difficult.
But if—if—Bone Douluo succeeded…
Then what would happen afterward would be the most legendary, egg-shattering scene in the entire history of Douluo Continent.
The pressure crashed onto Bone Douluo like a mountain.
He looked at the fresh meat skewers…
then at the blazing-hot grill…
then at Devil Bear's trembling, terrified expression.
A surge of determination rose from deep in his soul.
It was only grilling.
As Spirit Masters—
What challenge had they ever feared?
For a man's dignity!
For cold, sweet revenge!
"Good!"
Bone Douluo gritted his teeth, voice grim and heroic—
like a tragic general marching toward the Yi River.
"I'll grill!"
He marched to the grill and took a deep breath.
Around him, a dozen Titled Douluo crowded forward, necks stretched like hungry geese.
Bone Douluo grabbed a skewer.
Today—
he would fight for masculine dignity!
He placed the skewer on the grill.
"Sizzle—WHOOF!"
A pillar of black smoke burst upward.
Flames jumped.
Three seconds later—
Bone Douluo was holding a pitch-black piece of charcoal, still smoking faintly.
It smelled like despair dipped in burnt tragedy.
Devil Bear Douluo's terror instantly disappeared.
He relaxed completely—
even stepping forward to mock him at close range.
"That's it?"
"That's it?"
"Bone bag, can you even do this? If not, just admit defeat and kowtow to me now!"
Bone Douluo went red from forehead to neck.
He stiffened his neck and roared back stubbornly:
"A mistake! Pure mistake! That was just a warm-up!"
"This time—watch carefully!"
He grabbed a second skewer.
This time he didn't dare put it directly on the grill.
He stood half a meter back, cautiously sending out spirit power, trying to gently adjust the heat.
He imagined his spirit power becoming a soft spring breeze.
He forgot that his spirit power was meant for combat—
domineering, destructive, and absolutely incapable of "gentleness."
One minute passed. The meat was still red.
Three minutes passed. It barely turned white.
Five minutes passed—
and droplets of thawed frost still clung to the skewer.
It looked like he had just taken it out of the freezer.
The surrounding Titled Douluo began whispering mercilessly:
"Does he even know what he's doing?"
"His heat control is tragic. Using power meant to kill gods to cook a skewer? A dog would shake its head."
"How embarrassing… a dignified Titled Douluo can't even grill meat…"
Bone Douluo's forehead began dripping cold sweat.
He panicked.
He increased his spirit power just a tiny bit.
That tiny bit—
was a disaster.
The strange flames inside the grill abruptly surged upward as if finally given freedom.
"WHOOSH—!"
A half-meter flame shot out—
straight at Bone Douluo's face!
He yelped and leaned back violently.
The flame grazed the top of his head.
A burnt protein smell filled the air.
Bone Douluo's already thinning hair now had a fresh bald patch—
right in the center of his crown.
A single, tragic puff of smoke rose from his newly formed Mediterranean.
There was one second of silence.
Then—
"Hahahahahahahaha—!!"
"I—I can't! My stomach!! Devil Bear, you might not get revenge today, but we all did!"
"He's bald! He's bald! Gu Rong, this hairstyle—this is cutting-edge! You're leading continental fashion!"
While the group howled in laughter—
A completely different scent rose into the air.
Soft, not overly strong, with a slightly burned edge—
yet compared to the charcoal massacre around them, it was like—
A firefly in the night.
A spring in a desert.
A miracle descending.
Meat.
Real meat aroma.
The fragrance of cumin and chili.
The sizzling sound of perfectly seared juices.
Every laugh died instantly.
Their heads jerked toward Lin Feng—
but he only stood with arms folded, watching the chaos.
Not him.
Then who—
who among these culinary disasters could produce that aroma?!
Their necks slowly turned…
toward the source.
In a corner, squatting by a side table, was a petite figure.
Her back to them.
Wiggling happily.
Completely absorbed.
Ning Rongrong.
She had slipped out quietly, starving, unable to bear watching these monsters fight while she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday.
Seeing two abandoned raw skewers, she simply mimicked Lin Feng's earlier actions.
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
She watched the colors shift—
from red
to white
to golden.
She sprinkled seasoning, just as Lin Feng had.
Done!
Two skewers—
one perfectly golden
one slightly burnt but edible.
She felt proud.
Barbecuing was easy!
What were these old men whining about?
But she didn't realize—
What this meant to the Titled Douluo watching her.
They had suffered all night.
They had sacrificed hundreds of skewers.
Their best product was Devil Bear's accidental success.
And this little girl—
this delicate, fragile girl—
succeeded on her first attempt.
Not one.
But two.
And their appearance—
golden, shimmering, dripping with juices—
was far superior to Devil Bear's sole lucky survivor.
More than a dozen Titled Douluo looked at Ning Rongrong's two glowing skewers…
Then at their own pile of charred, tragic black lumps.
A massive wave of humiliation—
like a tsunami—
crashed through their hearts.
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