My Years as an Ingredient in the Cultivation World

I transmigrated into the first tomato the protagonist crushes to pulp in a wish-fulfillment novel aimed at male readers.

With the male lead about to squeeze the juice out of me with his bare hands, I shouted in desperation, “Wait! I’m the Ancient God of Cooking System!”

The male lead stared at me, lost in thought, then suddenly stir-fried me with eggs.

When the goddess ate it and her cultivation soared, the whole sect started placing orders like crazy:

“Senior Brother Tomato, can you add a fried egg?”

“Why didn’t today’s spicy tomato hot pot make anyone’s clothes explode?”

Lying in the pot, I pondered: Does this cultivation world have some kind of misunderstanding about food novels?