Tap water rushed from the faucet in the sink, washing away the sauce clinging to the ceramic bowls.
Zack Vance squeezed out a bit of dish soap and patiently scrubbed the bowls with a sponge.
The monotonous narration of a wildlife documentary drifted in from the living room, punctuated by the occasional clicking of Joanne’s tongue out of sheer boredom.
Listening to these quiet noises, Zack felt a sense of absurd tranquility settle over him.
Over the next half month, this sense of peace gradually evolved into a tacit understanding between them.
Early autumn in New York was deepening, and the leaves of the sycamore trees lining the streets were turning yellow and falling.
This high-rise apartment in Queens had completely become the private cafeteria and underground sanctuary of Vought International’s top hero.
Joanne’s arrivals were always spontaneous.
Sometimes, in the evening, she would land on the balcony in her flashy, star-spangled suit, carrying with her the biting chill of the upper atmosphere.
Other times, late at night, she would change into an oversized gray hoodie, throw on a baseball cap and sunglasses, and knock on the apartment door like an ordinary celebrity dodging the paparazzi.
Zack never asked a single question about Vought.
He focused all of his energy on the square footage of his kitchen.
On Tuesday evening, his radar showed Joanne’s baseline emotion as [Anxious/Impatient].
Zack immediately abandoned the light recipe he had originally planned.
He coated sliced premium pork tenderloin in starch, fried it in boiling oil until golden and crispy, and simmered a thick, rich sweet and sour sauce.
When the sweet and sour pork, fully glazed in a bright red sauce, was brought to the table, the intense sweet and sour flavor directly stimulated Joanne’s taste buds, suppressing the nameless fire simmering inside her.
From that meal alone, the system quietly deposited 800,000 USD into his account.
Late Thursday night, the radar flashed a blinding [Exhausted/Self-Doubt].
Zack knew this was likely because Madelyn Stillwell had assigned her another soul-crushing PR script.
He used a clay pot to simmer a thick, velvety seafood congee, served alongside a few plates of refreshing side dishes.
As the warm congee slid down her esophagus and into her stomach, Joanne barely said a word that night.
Once she finished, she wrapped herself in a blanket and fell asleep on the couch.
That time, Zack’s account grew by another 1.5 million USD.
Zack was gradually figuring out the pattern.
The more violent Joanne’s emotional swings, the greater the psychological contrast once she was pacified by food, and the more generous the funds generated by the system.
On Friday night, a steady autumn rain began to fall outside the window.
The temperature plummeted, and the glass windows became coated in a fine mist.
Two dull knocks sounded at the apartment door.
Zack wiped his hands dry and went to open it.
Outside stood Joanne, wearing a black trench coat.
Her blonde hair was a little messy, and her pale face was expressionless, but her deep blue eyes held an impenetrable gloom.
The radar panel in the top-right corner of his vision instantly flashed a crimson warning.
[Current Emotion: Suppressed Rage (85%) / Boredom & Disgust (70%)]
[Mental State: Destructive impulses could erupt at any moment]
Zack stepped aside to let her in, taking the trench coat she shed and hanging it on the coat rack in the entryway.
The coat was heavy, and the fabric bore faint, barely noticeable scorch marks.
“What kind of big show did Vought put on today?” Zack asked casually, turning toward the kitchen.
“Cleaning out an out-of-control underground mutant nest,” Joanne said, walking over to the couch and sitting down, her voice dripping with undisguised disgust.
“It was full of disgusting things with tentacles and pustules.
Madelyn insisted that I burn them all to ashes with my heat vision to showcase Vought Security’s absolute military might.”
She paused, a faint redness rimming her eyes.
“The smell of burning flesh…
it’s been stuck in my nose for five whole hours.”
Zack’s hand paused slightly as he opened the refrigerator.
He could imagine the scene.
The Vought executives merely watched the surveillance data from their safe rooms, while Joanne had to personally face that hellish massacre and smile for the media cameras afterward.
No wonder her emotions were suppressed to such an extent.
Zack closed the refrigerator door, pulled a split hot pot from the bottom cabinet, and set it on the induction cooktop on the kitchen island.
“That’s part of your job.
If you take Vought’s money, you have to do the dirty work,” Zack said, his tone as calm as ever, devoid of any pity or sympathy.
“Go wash your hands.
We’re having something with a real kick tonight.”
Half an hour later, an aggressively spicy fragrance permeated the apartment’s living room.
The pure beef tallow hot pot base that Zack had made a special trip to Chinatown to buy rolled with a bright, enticing red sheen as it heated on the induction stove.
Dried chili peppers, Sichuan peppercorns, and various spices danced up and down in the boiling red broth.
The other half of the split pot held a milky-white bone broth, with a few red dates and goji berries floating on top.
The marble surface of the island was covered in paper-thin slices of marbled beef, fresh and crispy tripe, clean shrimp paste, and various vegetables.
Joanne walked over after washing her hands.
Looking at the bubbling red soup before her, she furrowed her brow tightly.
“Are you sure this is edible?
It looks like a boiling pot of red lava.”
Although she possessed a Body of Steel and was impervious to high temperatures, this mysterious liquid emitting a pungent, spicy odor was clearly beyond her understanding of food.
“Sit.”
Zack slid a small bowl toward her.
Inside was the dipping sauce he had prepared: minced garlic, sesame oil, a touch of cilantro, and oyster sauce.
“Watch me.”
Zack used a pair of long chopsticks to pick up a slice of beef, lowered it into the boiling red broth, silently counted to seven in his head, and quickly pulled it out.
The originally bright red meat had turned an enticing grayish-brown, its surface coated in a layer of glistening red beef tallow.
He swirled it in his dipping sauce and popped it into his mouth.
The rich aroma of beef tallow, combined with the numbing, spicy kick, instantly exploded on his taste buds.
Zack exhaled a breath of hot air in satisfaction.
Dubious, Joanne copied his actions, picking up a slice of beef and dropping it into the pot.
She didn’t count the seconds, leaving the meat to cook for nearly half a minute before pulling it out.
She dipped it, then put it in her mouth.
Joanne froze instantly.
It was a sensory bombardment unlike anything she had ever experienced.
The fiery heat of the chili peppers and the numbing buzz of the Sichuan peppercorns pierced her tongue, forcefully washing away all the disgusting odors that had lingered in her senses from earlier that day.
The richness of the sesame oil perfectly neutralized a portion of the spice, allowing the sweet savoriness of the beef to gradually release as she chewed.
“Cough…”
Joanne choked slightly on a peppercorn, and her pale cheeks instantly flushed red.
Zack pushed a glass of iced lemon water toward her.
“Eat slower.
You can’t rush this.”
Joanne took a large gulp of the ice water.
But instead of putting down her chopsticks, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside her.
Giving absolutely no thought to her image as Vought’s premier superheroine, she began to voraciously sweep through the ingredients on the table.
She stuffed the tripe into her mouth the moment it curled slightly in the pot, chewing it with a satisfying crunch.
She dropped half a plate of shrimp paste in all at once, and didn’t even spare the vegetables in the bone broth side.
As the speed of her eating increased, a fine layer of sweat beaded on her forehead.
The black, form-fitting sweater she wore as a disguise began to look a bit tight as her body temperature rose.
Zack sat opposite her, unhurriedly adding ingredients to the pot to keep the pace of the meal going.
Outside, the autumn rain drizzled, bringing a biting cold.
Inside, however, was steaming hot.
The spicy aroma, accompanied by the bubbling of the pot, painted a remarkably cozy picture of everyday life.
Joanne’s lips were flushed red from the heat, and even slightly swollen.
Her eyes were no longer dark and icy like they had been when she walked in; instead, they shone with a bright intensity focused entirely on the food.
She even got into a brief chopstick battle with Zack in the red broth over the very last piece of beef.
Seeing the competitive glint in her eyes, Zack voluntarily yielded and let go of his grip, giving the piece to her.
“Smart move.”
Joanne raised her chin triumphantly and swept the beef into her dipping bowl.
The hot pot feast lasted a full hour and a half.
By the time all the plates on the table were empty and the induction stove was turned off, only the slowly settling broth and a thick layer of red oil remained in the pot.
Joanne pulled a few tissues and wiped her mouth, completely abandoning any sense of decorum.
She stood up, wobbled over to the living room, and collapsed onto the gray fabric sofa with a thud.
The massive influx of carbs and high-calorie food left her body in a lazy, “carb-drunk” state.
After clearing the mess on the counter, Zack walked over to the sofa holding two glasses of iced sparkling water, handing one to her.
Joanne took the glass, sinking deeper into the cushions of the sofa.
Zack sat down beside her.
The distance between them was less than half an arm’s length.
The television was still on, playing some nameless late-night news.
Coincidentally, a segment featuring Vought’s official report from this afternoon came on.
The screen showed the female Homelander heroically incinerating mutants with her heat vision, accompanied by a stirring orchestral soundtrack.
Joanne glanced at the screen.
Her eyes didn’t flicker at all, as if the god-like figure on the television had absolutely nothing to do with her.
Her breathing became deep and steady, her body completely unguarded.
Perhaps she was too full, perhaps the sofa was too soft, or perhaps the temperature in the apartment was just right to make her drowsy.
Joanne’s body tilted slightly.
Her head leaned over.
A few golden strands of hair brushed against Zack’s neck, tickling him slightly.
Then, a heavy weight rested against his left shoulder.
Zack’s body stiffened instantly.
His nose was filled with the scent of her shampoo, mixed with the faint, smoky aroma of hot pot.
He could feel her steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Just as he was hesitating over whether to warn this dangerous woman to mind her boundaries, a tiny, deliberately muffled sound reached his ears.
“Burp.”
Leaning against his shoulder, Joanne let out a loud, hot-pot-flavored burp without a care in the world.
Afterward, she even rubbed comfortably against Zack’s shoulder, adjusting to a more pleasant position, and closed her eyes.
At that moment, the radar panel at the edge of his vision burst with a brilliant green light.
[Current Emotion: Extreme Satisfaction / Absolute Sense of Security / Strong Sense of Belonging]
[Mental Defenses: Completely disarmed]
The system’s glowing blue text poured down like a waterfall.
[Target’s emotional fluctuations have triggered the core mechanism.]
[Conditions met.
Extracting funds…]
[Obtained Legal Funds: 8,000,000 USD]
Eight million dollars.
Looking at the string of numbers and feeling the actual weight resting on his left shoulder, Zack curled the corner of his mouth into a small smile.
“You really are heavy,” Zack said, turning his head to look at Joanne, who was resting her eyes against his shoulder, his tone carrying a perfect touch of feigned annoyance.
“Eating this much…
if you tear your Vought uniform, Madelyn is going to dock your PR points again.”
Joanne didn’t even open her eyes.
She merely snorted, her voice thick with post-meal drowsiness and a bit of slurring.
“Shut up.
Keep making noise and I’ll burn this crappy sofa of yours down.”
Despite the threat, her head showed absolutely no sign of moving off Zack’s shoulder.
She even curled her legs up, taking up most of the sofa’s space as if she owned the place.