Package

"Sizzle..."

Bright red strips of meat were enveloped in golden oil, releasing a rich, distinctive aroma that made the stomachs of the diners sitting nearby begin to rumble.

This Japanese-style eatery had no tables or chairs, only a U-shaped counter. From beneath the counter, diners could directly watch the chef inside prepare every dish.

"It smells so good!"

The group stared at the plump, crimson meat on the griddle before them and could not help swallowing.

Two slightly curved blades crossed and scraped against each other, producing a swish, swish, swish...

The diners at the counter suddenly fixed their eyes on the young man before them, who looked to be twenty-five or twenty-six.

His spotless chef's apron and close-cropped hair made him look sharp and capable. A cold glint flashed in the corner of his eye as he reached into a wooden bucket beside him.

Splash!

The young man pulled out an Autumn Fish with a blue back and a slender, rounded body. With one slash of his knife, he cut through the scales, gutted it, deboned it, and sliced it.

Three cuts and two flicks later, the fish bones, organs, flesh, and even the scraped-off scales lay arranged across the counter in three neat rows.

His expression was focused, his movements meticulous and practiced. Yet in this young man's hands, they displayed an ability to turn decay into magic, becoming a kind of unconventional art.

Precise and flawless, from every tiny fish scale to the fish's internal organs, his near-perfect technique turned dissection into a swift, exact operation.

The entire process left the diners at the counter unable to look away. They inwardly exclaimed that the trip had truly been worthwhile. This was a private kitchen, and just making a reservation required booking all the way into next spring.

What was even stranger was that the restaurant only opened at midnight, and its prices were steep. There was no menu; everything depended on what ingredients the chef happened to buy. Even so, business was booming.

The meat from the griddle was swiftly wrapped in the freshly sliced raw fish, brushed with a little white vinegar, placed in an exquisite dish, and garnished with a mint leaf.

"Fish Sea Pan-Fried."

The bright red meat was golden on both sides, wrapped within flawless, jade-like slices of Autumn Fish. The blend of red and white carried a uniquely alluring appeal.

"Mm!"

One diner took a light bite, and his eyes immediately lit up. He did his best to restrain the delight on his face. The pale, smooth raw fish had none of the fishiness he had expected. Instead, it melted in his mouth. With a gentle bite, the cubed red meat within revealed an entirely different chewiness—fragrant and soft, enough to make him want to swallow his own tongue.

Even the female diners, who tried to maintain their composure, could hardly control their emotions after eating it. The flavor was simply unforgettable. Layer upon layer of taste erupted over the taste buds on their tongues almost at the same time. The sensation was beyond imagination.

"May I ask what kind of meat this is?" someone finally asked curiously. That red meat had far too much bite, and its flavor was deliciously fresh, yet it did not seem to be beef, lamb, or pork.

"It's Beef Tongue!"

Without turning around, the young man carefully wiped clean the steel knife he had just used to cut the fish, wrapped tape around its blade, and casually tossed it into a separate trash bin nearby.

He pulled open a drawer beside him. Inside, rows of brand-new blades were arranged neatly, each reflecting a cold gleam and bearing its own distinctive pattern. A complete set of knives like this would not come cheap on the market.

After wiping down a new knife, Zhao Ke began handling the other ingredients.

The tape was there to prevent the garbage collector from accidentally cutting their hand.

Some people could not understand why he threw away such fine knives. Shouldn't every chef treasure their knives even more?

But Zhao Ke did not see it that way. No—rather, he simply could not tolerate the fishy smell left on a blade, even if that smell no longer existed after thorough cleaning.

According to his psychiatrist, it was an obsessive condition born from his mental illness.

Was that really true?

Perhaps...

The meal lasted only two hours. The diners left feeling thoroughly satisfied, each with a different expression on their face, yet with one thing in common: after eating, they immediately booked reservations for the following year.

He casually placed the used dishes neatly into a wooden bucket nearby. Someone would come to collect and handle them early the next morning.

Rumble...

The rain outside grew heavier and heavier, drumming against the clay roof tiles with a chaotic yet emotional sound. It was a kind of atmosphere that could never be heard in a great metropolis.

Standing by the windowsill, Zhao Ke untied his chef's apron and took the silver cross hanging from his chest into his hand, gently wiping away the dust on it.

Listening to the rain, he slowly closed his eyes. He greatly enjoyed the patter of the raindrops, as though he were listening to a concert.

Of course, there was another reason. Heavy rain washed away everything covered by dust, whether traces or scents. It cleansed everything completely, leaving not the slightest trace behind once the rain had passed.

He took out a silver cigarette case from his pocket, drew out a cigarette, and held it beneath his nose to smell it.

Jingle...

At that moment, Zhao Ke's ears twitched. A ringing sound came from the doorway. It was the bell hanging outside the door, which only rang when the door opened. Yet strangely, the door had not opened.

"Broken?"

The bell continued ringing, but instead of its usual gentle chime, it sounded agitated, as though someone were deliberately shaking it. The rapid peals made him feel deeply uneasy.

Zhao Ke frowned, slipped a fruit knife into his hand, and strode toward the door. Pressing himself against the wall beside it, he carefully pulled the door open a crack with his fingers.

Glancing upward, he saw that the bell above the door had already stopped. It hung there quietly, as though it had never made a sound.

"The wind?"

With suspicion, Zhao Ke swept his gaze around him. Suddenly, his eyes darkened. At some point, a box had appeared at his feet. It resembled a delivery package, except that instead of a shipping label, it bore a stamp.

"A package?"

Looking at the box before him, his brows drew together and his gaze became grave.

He had never shopped online. Though he ran a restaurant, aside from diners who only knew its name, there were very few people who knew his real identity.

Zhao Ke carefully picked up the package. It was very light. He gently shook it twice, but it did not seem to contain anything. Looking more closely, he found the stamp on it rather strange as well.

It was a seven-cent stamp with bronze-colored edging. It looked intricate and densely patterned, but on closer inspection, he could make out the finely engraved lines. The image on the stamp was an abstract eye, yet no matter from which angle he looked, that eye seemed to be silently watching him.

As he stared at the stamp, its intricate, delicate patterns made his chest feel tight, and he could not help letting out a long breath. Yet at the instant he lowered his head, the single eye on the stamp actually blinked at him.

A chill crawled up Zhao Ke's back like a centipede, making him shudder violently. He shook his head and looked carefully again, only to find that the eye on the stamp still looked exactly the same as before.

"Did I see it wrong?" Zhao Ke shook his head and could not help mocking himself. Have I done too many guilty things? Since when did I become so jumpy?

He put away the package, casually pulled open the door, and prepared to take it inside and open it to see what exactly was in it.

However, the instant he opened the door, a rotting face appeared before him from inside the room.

Its eyes, sewn shut with needle and thread, slowly opened. The thread tore through its eyelids, revealing hollow eye sockets. It opened its mouth, pointed at its empty oral cavity, and said, "Where is my tongue?"