Chapter 68: Bad Women (Part 1)
Having finally “reclaimed” the position of head chef, which symbolized the throne of the harem, Jenna was in high spirits as she cooked, while directing this helping hand, Jima.
“Jima, please wash the vegetables; they’re not clean enough.”
“Jima, could you bring me a sprig of rosemary and some nutmeg?”
Ha, foolish sweetie, you’ll end up crying out in bed sooner or later… but forget it; I still need to utilize her to ignite the flames of the harem later, so let her enjoy herself a little.
Jima endured it and handed over the vegetables and ingredients.
Jenna mixed all the ingredients together—cream, nutmeg, rosemary, and fine salt—and poured them into the frying pan.
“Sizzle sizzle sizzle!”
A wonderful aroma wafted through the kitchen.
Jima felt uncomfortable all over.
This isn’t a game where you combine ingredients by just mixing them together and cooking them to produce a finished product! Timing, timing!
“Jima, where’s the butter?”
Great, now even the trouble is gone; whatever.
“We need more water; add some.”
Are you too lazy to even say its name? And why on earth would you add water while stir-frying vegetables?
Helpless, Jima lifted a hand and poured a spoonful of boiling water into the hot pan.
“Jima, the water you added is too hot; that’s not good.”
“…..”
You’re insulting the cabbage you brought!
The corner of Jima’s eye twitched as she said, “You’re right.”
“It seems like there’s too much broth; pour a bit out.”
Jenna lifted the pan and poured the milky broth into the sink. The originally fried meat turned pale, its edges charred; rather than fried, it looked more like it was boiled.
Poor pork, despite being frozen, and raised by those fools from Melon Village, it didn’t deserve this fate!
“Wonderful.” Jenna poured the “fried meat” onto a plate, wiped nonexistent sweat from her forehead, and adjusted her ill-fitting magical apron, pushing it up an inch, “I’m feeling fantastic today.”
Jima blankly praised, “Sister Jenna is amazing.”
“Jima, bring some cherry tomatoes, and, um, add some broccoli too.”
After Jenna received the vegetables that Jima handed her, she used a knife and fork to cut them and arranged them on a silver platter. After three to five minutes, she exclaimed delightedly, “Done.”
Jima stretched her head to take a look.
Unexpectedly, it looked quite good; the “fried meat” was enhanced by the contrast of green vegetables and red tomatoes, greatly stimulating one’s appetite.
“What do you think? I applied some of my flower arrangement skills to the plating.”
Jima sincerely complimented, “That’s impressive; it’s like you cast a spell.” To transform terrible cooking into this was as effective as Photoshop, rivaling the food pictures in advertisements.
Jenna blushed a little: “Actually, I did use some extraordinary abilities to enhance the shine.”
Jima glanced up and down Jenna and said, “You’re truly a genius.”
“Jima, you’re not mocking me, are you?”
“I mean it.” Jima instinctively clutched her chest—her hands felt far more substantial than before as she vowed, “I truly mean it.”
In Jima’s eyes, Jenna’s plating technique was so strong that it could turn a lump of cow dung from the roadside into an appetite-inducing matcha cake. If Jenna wasn’t born in the twenty-first-century Earth, it was a major loss for numerous food companies.
Jenna smiled brightly, saying, “Even you, a pretty decent cook, praise me like this; it seems I’ve completely overcome my childhood traumas and conquered my inner demons.”
Perhaps the inner demons are hidden deep within you in subtler ways, or maybe it’s not even the fault of the inner demons; maybe you were simply born this way.
“That’s great.”
“Jima, would you like to try a bite?”
Jima stared at the appetizing white “fried meat,” her heart surprisingly wavering. She thought perhaps she was being too prejudiced; ever since Jenna turned Isis to ashes in Marin City, she hadn’t eaten Jenna’s cooking.
“Um… maybe not.” Jima said, “If I take a bite, it will ruin this perfect dish. Am I supposed to serve a flawed dish?”
“True, do you think it tastes good?”
“Delicious.” Jima stated firmly, “As a seasoned chef, I can tell at a glance that it’s very tasty.”
Jenna smiled again; a beautiful woman’s smile is always refreshing, especially a well-endowed one.
“Fantastic, my teacher always says the same.”
Could it be that she’s trying to avoid the tasting phase? But if her cooking were that bad, wouldn’t that be a good thing?
Just imagining others, seeing the visually appealing dish, eagerly stuffing it into their mouths, only to clutch their throats and vomit a second later, must be quite a joyful scene.
What a sin, it must be because I’ve been influenced by the “Painful Succubus.”
As Jima thought this, she grasped Jenna’s hand and said, “Congratulations!”
“Same to you.”
Jenna smiled happily, revealing her bright teeth, and continued cooking. The white steam rose and brushed against her chin and oval face, while her long golden hair was piled behind her, the apron she wore splattered with a few drops of oil. Once a lofty and untouchable goddess, now she radiated the charm of a married woman, making her even more beautiful.
Anyway, Jima felt her tail twitch and couldn’t help but move forward, giving her a playful slap on the bottom.
Jenna leaned forward, turning back to complain, “Jima, I almost dropped the pan.”
“Your future husband will be very happy.” Jima hugged Jenna from behind, pressing against her back, her hands boldly exploring upward as she whispered in her ear, “I truly envy George.”
Saying this, she shook her buttocks playfully.
Jenna giggled, “Jima, stop it; I still need to cook.”
“Ah, there’s no way a saint who can’t cook isn’t particularly attractive.” Jima said, “George will definitely be unable to resist hugging you like I do; just remember not to let the food burn when that happens.”
“You’re such a pervert.”
“If a woman isn’t lewd, a man won’t love her.” Jima whispered enticingly in Jenna’s ear, “Would you like me to teach you a few moves? A master teaching personally.”
Jenna’s face turned crimson, and she looked down, completely oblivious to the sizzling meat.
“Um… that’s not very good; would George think I’m too promiscuous?”
“Of course not.” Jima coaxed softly in Jenna’s ear, her tail wagging faster, “After all, with a succubus wife, the other wives will become much more skilled in bed—doesn’t that make sense?”
“This…”
Agree, agree.
Jima’s tail wagged like a puppy’s when it sees its owner.
“Jima, Jenna, are you two cooking?”
A calm male voice called from behind; it was George.
Oh no, I forgot I invited George to the dream palace ten minutes ago.
Jenna, in Jima’s arms, panicked momentarily, easily breaking free from Jima’s embrace. Turning to see George, her face flushed like a shy deer, she lowered her head, not daring to look at him.
She looked just like a wife caught in the act.
George, with his blue eyes, looked at Jenna in confusion.
Of course, Jima knew Jenna was just embarrassed that George might have overheard their earlier intimate conversation.
However, this also filled Jima, who enjoyed lewd married women, with a mixed excitement and tension.
Jima hugged Jenna again from behind, smiling, “We were just sharing some secrets from the boudoir, but it’s something hard to talk about with you; it’s something I really enjoy.”
Saying this, she even lifted Jenna’s breasts right in front of George.
“You’re so clever…” Jima raised her tail to her jutting, crimson lips, tilting her head and giving a light peck, “You must be able to guess what it is.”
Jenna’s face reddened further, her body feeling soft, letting Jima have her way.
George stepped back, “Ahem, I won’t disturb you two.”
At that moment, Jima felt her tension release, a pleasure rushing to her head, making her dizzy with joy. Only when Jenna gently pushed her away did she come back to her senses.
Such a feeling; I haven’t experienced it in a long time. In my memory, once I became stronger, the thrill of infidelity had no risks and no longer brought joy.
Jenna whispered, “Jima, how could you say it so directly?”
Jima smiled, saying to Jenna, “Since George has already caught on, you might as well agree, unless you want to run to George and explain everything…”
“You’re truly wicked, Jima.”
“Flattery, how are you considering it?”
“I…” At that moment, a plume of black smoke rose from the frying pan. Jenna turned and exclaimed, “Oh no! It’s burnt!”
“Let’s switch to another piece of meat.” Jima was unusually eager and quickly cut a piece of meat for Jenna, saying, “Here.”
“Thank you.”
An hour later, with Jima’s stomach grumbling as a background score, dinner was finally ready.
This included five perfectly baked small cakes made by Jima herself, with great care. It wasn’t just because she was in a good mood and wanted to lure Jenna to bed; the greater reason was that she thought this would make others believe the main course was extremely delicious.
This was called foreshadowing, just like giving someone a glimmer of hope before complete despair, to truly make one despondent, heart-wrenchingly so, regretting their very existence.
It was also a practice for herself as a “Painful Succubus” to inflict pain.
Jima thought this, giving herself a good title.
As expected, Eve Frostleaf was the last invited “guest,” appearing after the last platter of small cakes was placed on the table.
Eve Frostleaf appeared in the spacious dining room.
The dining room was semi-open, one side had no wall, leading directly to a terrace. In the distance on the terrace were lush green woods laden with red fruits; the sun shone brightly on the sparkling small river, slanting onto the crimson carpet rolled out in the dining room, stopping ten paces away from the dining table.
A round brown dining table was surrounded by four high-backed chairs, intricately carved with elven-style statues and designs.
Jima was the first to stand up, pointing at the elven-style high-backed chair, smiling broadly, “Frostleaf, that’s your chair; you’re a bit late.”
Eve Frostleaf didn’t respond, merely walked straight to her chair and sat down.
Jima picked up the orange cat, Lianxi, with one hand while holding the fifth flaky small cake with the other, feeding it to the cat, which gorged on it and even burped.
“Look, such a delicious cake, even the cat is enjoying it so much.” Jima smiled, “I hope there will be something even happier later.”
Eve Frostleaf grew up in a political struggle-filled elven court and easily caught on to the implications in her words, unlike the other two.
She glanced at Jima, recalling the “accidental” discovery of the note linking the elven maid to Jima. Hidden under the dining table, her hand tightened momentarily, then relaxed. She raised her hand and asked:
“Madam Jima, did you create this table full of delicious dishes?”
Madam… how pretentious!
Jima replied, “Only the small cakes were made by me; the rest were made by Jenna.”
Jenna, laden with dishes from the table, nodded proudly.
“My honor.” Eve Frostleaf rarely smiled, elegantly pulling out a silver jar from her waist, containing devil peppers. Shaking it, she lavishly sprinkled the chili powder over the golden cakes.
Jima watched, her scalp tingling, staring intently at Eve Frostleaf.
Eve Frostleaf raised the small cake and took a big bite impolitely, without a speck of cake crumbs touching her lips. As she chewed and swallowed, she gave Jima a satisfied smile: “Thank you for the treat.”
Jima felt as if her tongue was pierced by a thousand needles, her hand softened, and Lianxi fell to the ground.
Oh great, to desecrate the cake I made right in front of me; don’t blame me for being merciless.
Jima’s expression remained unchanged as she smiled back, “It’s also my honor.”
