Package

"Sizzle..."

Vivid red strips of meat, enveloped in golden-yellow oil, released wisps of a unique, rich aroma that made the stomachs of several diners sitting nearby begin to rumble.

This small Japanese canteen had no tables or chairs, only a horseshoe-shaped counter. Diners could directly observe the entire process of the chef preparing dishes from their vantage point inside.

"It smells so good!"

Several people stared at the fresh, plump red meat chunks on the hot plate before them, unable to stop themselves from swallowing.

The sound of two slightly curved blades rubbing against each other created a "swish, swish, swish..." noise.

This drew the eyes of the diners in front of the counter sharply to the young man, who looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old.

He wore a clean, neat chef's uniform and had a short, bristly haircut, giving him a sharp and capable appearance. At this moment, a cold glint flashed in the corner of his eye as he reached into a wooden bucket beside him.

"Whoosh!"

A fish with a blue back and a slender, round body was grabbed from the bucket by the young man. With a flick of his blade, he immediately scaled it, gutted it, and filleted it.

Three strokes and two quick movements later, the fish bones, organs, meat, and even the scraped scales were neatly arranged on the counter in three separate rows.

His focused expression and meticulous, familiar movements, when performed by this young man, transformed the ordinary into something magical, evolving into a unique form of art.

The precision, perfection, from the smallest fish scale to the largest internal organ, was a masterful technique that turned dissection into a precise and rapid surgical procedure.

The entire process captivated the diners seated at the counter, making them exclaim that their visit was truly worthwhile. This was a private kitchen, and reservations to dine there were already booked until the following spring.

What was even stranger was that the restaurant's operating hours only began at midnight, and the prices were steep. There was no menu; everything depended on the ingredients the chef had procured. Yet, despite these factors, the restaurant's business was booming.

The meat chunks, already seared on the hot plate nearby, were quickly wrapped in the freshly sliced raw fish. A touch of white vinegar was added, and the dish was placed in an exquisite dish, garnished with a mint leaf.

"Fish Sea Pan-Fried."

The vivid red meat, golden brown on both sides, was encased in the pure, jade-like slices of raw fish, a combination of red and white that exuded a unique and alluring charm.

"Mmm!"

One diner took a gentle bite, their eyes immediately lighting up. They tried their best to control the joy spreading across their face. The smooth, white raw fish had none of the expected fishiness; instead, it melted in the mouth. With a light bite, the cubed red meat inside offered a different kind of chewiness, tender and flavorful, making one wish they could swallow their own tongue.

Even the female diner, who prided herself on her composure, couldn't fully control her emotions after eating. The taste was truly unforgettable, with multiple layers of flavor erupting on her taste buds simultaneously, an unimaginable sensation.

"May I ask what kind of meat this is?" someone finally inquired curiously. The red meat was so chewy and delicious, yet it didn't resemble beef, lamb, or pork.

"It's beef tongue!"

The young man replied without looking back. After meticulously cleaning the steel knife he had used for the fish, he wrapped the blade with tape and casually tossed it into a separate trash bin nearby.

He casually pulled open a drawer, revealing an array of brand-new, neatly arranged blades inside. Each one reflected a cold light and had unique patterns. Such a set of knives would not be cheap on the market.

After cleaning the new set of knives, Zhao Ke began to prepare other ingredients.

Wrapping the blades with tape was to prevent garbage collectors from accidentally cutting themselves.

Some people didn't understand why he would discard such good-quality knives. Shouldn't every chef cherish their own tools more?

But Zhao Ke didn't think that way. No, or rather, he couldn't stand the lingering fishy smell on the blades, even though these odors were completely gone after thorough cleaning.

According to his psychologist, this was a form of paranoia stemming from a psychological disorder.

Was that really the case?

Perhaps...

The dinner party lasted only about two hours before the diners, fully satisfied, got up to leave. Each of them wore a different expression, but they shared one commonality: after eating, they immediately booked their reservations for the following year.

He neatly placed the used dishes into a wooden bucket beside him. Early the next morning, someone would come to collect and process them.

"Rumble..."

The rain outside grew heavier, pattering noisily against the clay tiles of the roof, a sound that was chaotic yet full of emotion—a kind of ambiance unheard of in the big city.

Standing by the windowsill, Zhao Ke untied his chef's apron. He took the silver cross hanging around his neck and gently wiped away the dust.

Listening to the rain, he closed his eyes slightly, savoring the pitter-patter, as if listening to a concert.

There was another reason, too. The heavy rain would wash away everything that had settled on the dust, whether it were traces or scents, a thorough cleansing. After the rain, not a single trace would be found.

He took out a silver cigarette case from his pocket, extracted a cigarette, and brought it under his nose to sniff.

"Jingle..."

At that moment, Zhao Ke's ears twitched. A ringing sound came from inside the room. It was the bell hanging outside the door, which only rang when the door was opened. But strangely, the door hadn't opened.

"Broken??"

The bell was still ringing, but not with its usual calm sound. It was ringing frantically, as if someone were deliberately shaking it. The rapid ringing of the bell made him feel very uneasy.

Zhao Ke frowned, slipped a fruit knife into his hand, and strode towards the door. He pressed himself against the door and gently pulled it open a crack with his fingers.

He scanned upwards. The bell on the door had stopped ringing and was now hanging silently, as if it had never made a sound.

"The wind?"

With a hint of doubt, Zhao Ke's gaze swept around. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. A box had appeared at his feet. It was a package similar to a delivery box, but instead of a shipping label, it had a stamp attached.

"A delivery?"

Looking at the box in front of him, his brow furrowed, and his expression became serious.

He never shopped online. Although he ran a restaurant, the people who came there, besides the diners who only knew the restaurant's name, were few and far between who truly knew his real name.

Zhao Ke carefully picked up the package. It was light. He shook it gently a couple of times, and it didn't seem like there was anything inside. Upon closer inspection, the stamp on it was also strange.

It was a 7-cent stamp with a bronze border. It looked intricate and dense, but looking closely, one could see the finely carved textures. The design on the stamp was a very abstract eye, and no matter from what angle he looked, the eye seemed to be silently watching him.

His gaze fixed on the stamp, the intricate patterns made him feel a tightness in his chest. He couldn't help but let out a long sigh. However, the moment he lowered his head, the single eye on the stamp actually blinked at him.

A chill crawled up his back like a centipede, making Zhao Ke jump. He shook his head and looked closely, only to find the eye on the stamp was back to its original appearance.

"Did I imagine it?" Zhao Ke shook his head, scoffing inwardly, "Tch, have I been doing too many bad deeds? When did I get so jumpy?"

He put the package away, casually opened the door, and prepared to go inside to open the package and see what was inside.

However, the moment he opened the door, he saw a decaying face appear before him inside the room.

The eyes, sewn shut with thread, slowly opened, the thread tearing the eyelids apart to reveal empty sockets. The mouth opened, and pointing to its hollow mouth, it asked, "Where is my tongue?"