O Primeiro Mestre de Fogão da Grande Ming
Durante o reinado de Hongwu, no acampamento principal da expedição ao norte. No exército, todos zombavam de Fan Tong, dizendo que ele era um inútil de cento e vinte e cinco quilos, bom para nada além de comer, campeão absoluto à mesa. Fan Tong: Obrigado pelo convite, estou na Grande Ming, acabei de atravessar para cá. O sistema disse que quanto mais eu como, mais forte fico! Enquanto os outros praticavam artes marciais, ele mexia a panela; enquanto os outros matavam inimigos, ele comia. Mas quando a cavalaria mongol atacou furtivamente os suprimentos de comida, Fan Tong ficou furioso! "Atrever-se a roubar minha comida?!" Com a mão esquerda ergueu uma espada pesada de cinquenta quilos, com a direita segurou um grande caldeirão de ferro, e sozinho derrotou a elite mongol! Xu Da ficou chocado: Este gordo tem força para erguer um tripé de bronze, é um general invencível! Zhu Di (o quarto filho de Zhu): Irmão Fan, estou com fome, quero comida!
O Primeiro Mestre de Fogão da Grande Ming
“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
