Special Yingzhou Style Cold Buckwheat Noodles.

A stack of cold noodles and a bowl of dipping sauce were placed in front of Enrico.

In the protracted silence, Enrico's expression twitched. He bowed his head, looked closely at the plate in front of him, raised his head to look at Huai Shi, and then bowed again to look at the plate.

"What's this?"

"Special Yingzhou Style Cold..."

"I don't care if it's wind-cooled or water-cooled, but where are the buckwheat noodles?!"

Even someone as shameless as Enrico started to get angry in front of such watered-down cooking. "Where is the buckwheat!"

"Forgot to put it in."

Huai Shi was as composed as ever.

"Then why still call it Cold Buckwheat Noodles!"

"I already said it's special. Aren't you annoying?"

Huaizhi Sushi flicked cigarette ash with her hand, impatiently saying, "If you'd like, you can call it boiled cabbage, it doesn't matter—a name is just a designation; the content is the essence. You're getting it free and you still complain. Should I charge you instead?"

"Listen here, people need to eat to survive! Only when a dish is charged do chefs craft it with care. Stuff like this freebie is just to lure customers into the store, turning consumers into products, and then selling membership cards and beverage services at high prices—that's what trash is."

"Trash, you know? Just like your maggots! Experience the essence of freebies properly!"

Miss Huaizhi Sushi stubbed out her cigarette, placed both hands on the workbench, leaned forward, and looked down at him, commandingly issuing a crude order, word by word, "Eat it. Now. Immediately!"

With her fierce gaze upon him, he could almost empathetically understand her anger, and at the same time, he felt a terror akin to the Abyss.

Even Enrico couldn't help but freeze for a moment, feeling a bone-chilling cold.

At the same time, realization dawned on him.

He had to finish this bowl of food, whatever it contained; he had to eat it... otherwise, he might really... be killed by this woman.

Stiffly, he nodded in agreement.

And so, the murderous intent vanished without a trace, replaced by a smile as beautiful as flowers, full of satisfaction and gratification.

"That's more like it."

A pair of disposable chopsticks was handed to him, thoughtfully split apart and placed in his hand. "Go on, taste it, Enrico," she told him. "This is your Fate."

He found himself sitting helplessly in front of the dining table, chopsticks in hand. He lowered his head to look at the plate of cold noodles still emitting a chill, along with a sauce made without any care.

Smelling that pitiful and featureless scent that couldn't possibly bring any pleasure, his first thought was ironically not one of repulsion. It was a shared sense of helplessness.

"So shabby."

The words came out involuntarily.

"Yes, it's too shabby," Huai Shi said. He then took up the ladle and stirred the pot of pasta on Enrico's behalf to prevent it from overcooking and sticking. His movements were swift and direct. Baring all in a forthright manner, he took care of Enrico's worries without any underhanded tricks.

No foul play was involved.

Even Enrico, watching Huai Shi's solemn and earnest figure, couldn't help but say thank you.

"No need."

Huai Shi responded coolly, his back to him, "Wasting food is shameful. Enrico, whether it is throwing away food or maliciously tainting it into trash, both are unforgivable actions. While you waste food, there are people who have no choice but to rely on boiling noodles with water to survive... It's normal to be frugal; in fact, it's only right. Because they need to save money, because they need to put their money on things worth buying, in order to live better in the future, they can only be helplessly frugal now. Even if they live in such humiliation, wandering like stray dogs, being looked down on by everyone doesn't matter—living is about getting better, not mixing the good with rotten cheese."

Huaizhi Sushi tapped the ladle, casually placed it on the workbench, and looked back at Enrico.

Enrico had already picked up the first strand of pasta, dipped it, and put it in his mouth—predictably, it had no flavor at all.

The pasta was overcooked. It wasn't that the heat was too strong, but rather that such cheap pasta was just of this quality.

It spread in his mouth into a sticky mess, as tasteless as wax, difficult to swallow. Never in his dreams had Enrico imagined he would eat something like this.

No matter how he chewed, he couldn't taste anything else. Trying to find some solace, he imagined, "I'm eating beef flavor, lamb flavor, there are even Fish Balls under my chopsticks."

But what he imagined didn't exist.

He was merely sitting here eating noodles.

Thereupon, a sense of disquiet and sadness naturally surged within him.

Soon after, he tasted the sourness in the dipping sauce—too much vinegar had been added. And without any mitigation, the sourness was too strong, backfiring and making the premium vinegar taste like cheap acidic water.

His nose twitched.

The noodles became hard to swallow.

An undeniable and intense bitterness followed. He was lashed by the spreading saltiness of the roughly added ingredients; the coarse salt grains on the ginger and seaweed dissolved in his mouth, turning into an inescapable bitterness.

It almost seeped into his Soul.