Like Chen Qing, the cooks in the catering van had already sweated through several layers of clothes.
Everyone was worn to the bone.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The manager appeared, clapping his hands, suddenly all smiles.
"Everyone, prick up your ears and listen good! Hey—hands don't stop, just the ears listen."
"The chairman knows about this order! And he's given the word: get this order right, and it's a 10,000-yuan bonus for every one of you!"
"Whoa!"
"What?!"
"Ten thousand?"
"Awesome!! Long live the chairman!!"
"Damn it, I'll die on this catering van today if I have to!"
"Put your backs into it, brothers!"
The whole crew boiled over with excitement!
The head cook seemed to think of something, sidled over, and asked in a low voice, "So that young man's no small fry?"
"Nine times out of ten he's Ghost-Control Army."
The manager murmured, "The Ghost-Control Army's been busy lately—probably planning something big. This is likely all for the Ghost-Control Army to eat."
"Then why not just go to the base? Wouldn't cooking there be better?"
"You think I'd have to say so if it could be cooked on-site?" The manager shot him a look. "Matters of the jianghu—don't go prying."
As he spoke, his phone rang.
It was the chairman.
Even though he couldn't be seen, the manager's back bent a notch lower as he took the call.
"Little Jin, this has to—has to—has to be handled perfectly, understand?"
"Yes, yes, yes, chairman, rest easy—I'll stake my head on it!"
"I'd love to run over there myself, but they didn't come through official channels, so it's awkward for me to show my face. Just remember—handle this order right, and we might get a foot in that door!"
"Understood! I'll get it done, no matter what!"
Still uneasy, the chairman added, "Lots of Ghost-Control Army in the city lately. From what a few big shots are hinting, the Ghost-Control Army may be taking over Ximing City. Bottom line: whatever that young man says, do it without question!"
"Don't pry, don't be curious—keep your head down and do the job in front of you well. That beats a thousand bootlicks!"
"Understood! Understood!"
The manager set down the phone, ducked back into the van, and pressed the point: "Caps on tight! I know you're all hot, but hygiene has to be perfect! Not one hair is allowed to drop!"
"Ah-Yu, go get ten more gas canisters—and, uh, twenty catties of scallions, two hundred catties of potatoes. Pick them yourself; only the best."
"Little Qin, cut the pork dice finer..."
Chen Qing, already half-yawning, suddenly slapped his forehead.
Still collecting dishes with one hand, he opened his phone with the other.
Chen Man loved KFC most, and he'd forgotten to order it.
So, at all 21 outlets across the city, he ordered 100 family buckets each.
Then he called the manager to help set them on the conveyor belt.
The manager's attitude was off the charts.
You could all but hear him bowing nonstop over the phone.
Chen Qing was baffled.
"Is the service industry this cutthroat now?"
Only, soon a call came in:
"Sorry, sir, our outlet doesn't have 100 family buckets. Could you cancel, or order 50 instead..."
He got several calls like it.
But in the end he still ordered over 1,600.
After a moment's thought, Chen Qing figured he might as well go by the delivery menu and order one of everything.
Skewers, braised snacks, fried chicken, ice cream, milk tea, fried rice, pastries...
All in staggering quantities!
At the KFC by the North City Plaza, eight delivery riders were a bit puzzled.
"You headed to Warehouse Zone C too?"
"You are too?"
"Unbelievable! Is it trendy now to eat KFC at a banquet?"
"Come on, let's all go take a look."
The farther they went, the more astonished they grew.
Because more and more delivery riders kept merging into the convoy.
Soon it swelled into a whole army of e-bikes!
"Warehouse Zone C?"
"You too?"
The closer they got to the High-Tech Zone, the more stunned everyone was.
After a while there was no need to ask anymore.
"When I was in elementary school I wrote a story with a tycoon in it. To show how rich he was, I said he ate a hundred family buckets a day. And now, in my own lifetime, I'm actually watching it happen!"
When they reached Warehouse Zone C, the e-bikes were jammed into one great snarl!
The manager had to start directing traffic, then directed everyone to set their goods on the conveyor belt.
Nearly every single one of them asked who this "Mr. Chen" who'd placed the order was.
But the manager only kept a straight face and said, "Matters of the jianghu—don't go prying."
"Matters of the jianghu—don't go prying."
***
Around nine at night, a batch of helpers arrived from other hotels.
The pace picked up considerably.
At last, at two in the morning, it was all done.
Everyone was slumped with exhaustion, Chen Qing included.
A full day of intense mind-force use had left his brain itching, as if something were about to grow in it.
The manager's voice had gone hoarse, but he still dialed Chen Qing.
"Mr. Chen, the order's all complete. Could you sign for it?"
Chen Qing came out to the warehouse front quickly, but seeing dozens of cooks—their uniforms not matching, clearly from different hotels—he couldn't help but pause.
"Good grief. Who knew the hotel trade was this united. One in trouble, and eight come to help?"
Without any fuss, he signed straight away.
"So then..."
"Oh, I'll wire the money right now."
"No, no, no, no—no rush, whenever suits you."
???
The service industry had gotten this cutthroat?
They weren't even in a hurry to collect the money?
In that moment Chen Qing felt his brain had a defect.
He didn't understand it, but he was glad to oblige—installments would be even better!
The manager and head cook directed the crew to start clearing the wreckage-strewn ground.
They were fast, and soon left with a truckload of trash.
Once everything settled, a single delivery e-bike rolled slowly up, checking and rechecking the address, and asked in confusion, "Mr. Chen, who's Mr. Chen?"
"That's me..."
"Your package—er, your delivery. Enjoy your meal!"
Chen Qing took the milk tea, then handed it back to the rider.
"Bro, mind giving me a lift back? Milk tea's on me."
"And the skewers..."
"Those too, for you."
"And the spicy little..."
"Also yours."
The rider was a bit dazed. He'd just had the most bizarre night of his career.
He dropped Chen Qing off at the hotel, took another sip of milk tea, and murmured, "Arigato, Mr. Chen-sama."
Back at the hotel, Chen Man stirred groggily awake.
"Good night, Chen Qing."
"Good night."
Chen Man flopped over and was out, snoring in an instant.
Something occurred to Chen Qing, and he took out the lottery tickets.
25 million!
He'd made it big!
24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 33!
These were the numbers drawn on the 24th, starting with 24!
No need to check—he'd surely won.
This set of numbers was too distinctive! Impossible to forget.
He seemed to recall there was a tax—20 percent?
Should he wear a helmet when he claimed the prize, too?
Chen Qing mumbled to himself and idly searched up the winning numbers.
Then...
He froze.
4, 6, 9, 18, 24, 27, 32.
Had he misread?
He checked the numbers carefully.
Then checked the date.
July, the 24th.
That was right too!
So where had it gone wrong?
"Nice."
"Real nice."
He tore the tickets to shreds.
And fell asleep hugging Chen Man.