Chapter Twenty-One: Do You Really Think You've Got Cheat Codes? (Part One)

Mingtian knew that if he simply followed the typical tricks from novels and produced the gold token, there would never be a moment to show off and slap faces; that was just wishful thinking. In reality, things would end very badly.

So the key to this scheme was not to use the gold token to prove himself right away. Otherwise, the prefect would lose face, and, being in a prison cell, it was quite possible the prefect would kill both Mingtian and the impostor.

Only by first admitting he was an impostor himself would the prefect, eager to confirm whether the guest he had entertained for two days was also a fraud, agree to this contest. And once the prefect agreed, the impostor—whose credibility had already been weakened by Mingtian—would inevitably be caught in a predicament.

Caught riding a tiger, unable to dismount!

Those words seemed to be etched onto the impostor's face.

He glared at Mingtian with resentment so intense it was as if he wanted to devour Mingtian whole. How could Mingtian not know what he was thinking?

Want to eat me? Go ahead, try it! Come on! I doubt you have the stomach for it; don’t end up with indigestion!

“Lord Marquis, what do you think?” The prefect remained respectful. This was the way of an official: advance, and he could turn hostile; retreat, and he could apologize later. Having served for so many years, the prefect was no amateur.

“Fine!” The impostor shouted, as if throwing caution to the wind, staring fiercely at Mingtian. “Since you want a contest, I’ll open your eyes, you thief!”

As soon as he spoke, the prefect laughed loudly, tilting his head back. “Very well! Since Lord Marquis is willing to display his culinary skills, let’s set it for tomorrow at the hour of Si. Guards, take this man out, give him a bath and fresh clothes—make him presentable. We can’t have him embarrass Lord Marquis with that filthy appearance in the competition tomorrow.”

The prefect’s face darkened, his fox-like eyes radiating menace. “But let’s be clear: if tomorrow I find you lack culinary skill, I will have you executed by slow dismemberment.”

“You will not be disappointed, Prefect.” Mingtian smiled calmly.

Immediately, he was led away by soldiers.

The cell soon returned to quiet.

“Miss Yinchan, are you there?” Anluo scrambled to the wall, pressing himself against it to inquire about Yinchan.

“I’m here. What is it?” Perhaps tired of all this trouble, Yinchan listlessly played with her sleeve, leaning against the wall in a daze.

Anluo’s eyes were