Dressed in black with a black umbrella in hand, his flawless gray hair tied neatly at the back of his head, Shen Cang entered the restaurant expressionlessly.
He chose a corner seat and sat down. A waiter came with a menu, and he casually ordered a meat dish, a vegetarian dish, and a bowl of rice.
When the dishes were served, Shen Cang glanced at them but did not touch his chopsticks.
He sat there as guests came and went. He remained there without touching his meal, and the waiters felt uneasy about asking him to leave. The staff looked at him with strange expressions.
Initially, they thought he was a stylish and very cool Old Handsome Guy, but now they thought he was a... weirdo!
The restaurant was about to close. The cashier mustered the courage to approach him, "Sir, we are closing soon. Would you like your meal to be packed?"
Shen Cang glanced at the untouched meal and shook his head, "No need."
"Then, you..." The cashier looked towards the door and then at him, obviously implying: Are you going to leave?
Shen Cang replied indifferently, "Where is the boss?"
"You want to see our boss?"
The cashier frowned, thinking he had ordered food without touching it and now wanted to see the boss. Could he be trouble? The cashier sternly said, "The boss isn’t here."
Shen Cang’s gaze shifted towards the kitchen just as the boss came out.
The boss’s coincidental appearance embarrassed the cashier, who scurried away.
The boss, not expecting any guests still in the hall, noticed the untouched dishes and frowned, stepping forward to inquire, "Is there something wrong with the food?"
His culinary skills were appreciated by all taste buds.
Yet, he exchanged his supernatural power for the skill to satisfy everyone.
He couldn’t understand why anyone would reject his cooking.
"I haven’t touched it."
Hearing this, the boss realized the situation.
If anyone had tasted even a bite, they wouldn’t have been able to stop until full.
"Try it, you should be satisfied," he suggested.
Shen Cang shook his head.
The boss frowned, "Are you here to cause trouble?"
To the boss’s surprise, Shen Cang actually nodded.
The boss rummaged through the food with chopsticks but found no hair, cockroach, or anything suspicious.
Troublemakers usually plant such things in their food, then demand compensation or threaten to escalate the issue.
The boss narrowed his eyes menacingly, his demeanor turning cold.
He told the staff still hanging around and watching the commotion to go home, "Leave, I will handle this myself."
Once the boss had spoken, those who were eager to watch could only leave.
The boss pulled down the roller shutters, closed the door, and slowly approached Shen Cang. He recalled how he had dealt with such situations in the past—those people all became "nourishment" for the Formation.
Those who came to cause trouble and wanted to ruin his business would be turned into aids, their flesh reinforcing the Formation, their souls nourishing it, making the restaurant flourish even more!
The boss pulled out a heavy cleaver, his eyes sinisterly fixed on Shen Cang, and he ominously spoke, "Guess how many fish, chickens, ducks I have to kill each day, or how many bones I have to chop?"
Shen Cang’s gaze was solemn as he met his stare, "This knife hasn’t killed fish, chickens, ducks, but it has been stained with quite a bit of human blood."
The boss’s hand tightened around the knife, his gaze turning vigilant.
Shen Cang picked up a chopstick and swiftly shot it across, striking the boss’s wrist. The sudden numbness forced the boss to drop the heavy cleaver, which thudded to the ground, the blade embedding deeply into the floor.