Package

"Sizzle..."

Strips of bright red meat, coated in golden-yellow oil, released 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 U-shaped counter. Diners could directly see the entire process of the chef preparing dishes from beneath the counter.

"It smells so good!"

Several people stared at the fresh, plump red meat sizzling on the griddle in front of 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 about 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 his peripheral vision as he reached into a wooden bucket beside him.

"Splash!"

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.

In three swift cuts, the fish bones, organs, meat, and even the scraped scales were arranged on the counter in three distinct rows.

His focused expression and meticulous, familiar movements transformed into something extraordinary in this young man's hands, evolving into a unique form of art.

Precise, perfect, from the smallest scale to the largest organ, his flawless technique turned dissection into a precise and rapid surgery.

The entire process captivated the diners, who couldn't tear their eyes away. They inwardly exclaimed that their visit was truly worthwhile. This place was a private kitchen, and reservations to eat here were already booked until next spring.

What was even stranger was that the restaurant only opened at midnight, and the prices were steep. There was no menu; everything depended on the ingredients the chef had procured. Despite this, the restaurant's business was booming.

The meat sizzling on the griddle nearby was quickly wrapped in the freshly sliced raw fish. A dab of white vinegar was applied, and it was placed in an exquisite dish, garnished with a mint leaf.

"Fish Sea Pan-Fried."

The bright red meat, golden brown on both sides, was encased in translucent, jade-like slices of Autumn Fish. The combination of red and white exuded a unique, alluring charm.

"Mmm!"

One diner took a bite and his eyes lit up. He tried his best to control the joy on his face. The smooth, white raw fish had none of the expected fishiness; instead, it melted in his mouth. With a gentle bite, the diced red meat inside offered a different kind of chewiness, tender and fragrant, making him want to swallow his own tongue.

Even the discerning female diner couldn't quite control her emotions after eating it, because the taste was truly unforgettable. The multi-layered flavors exploded on her taste buds simultaneously, an unimaginable sensation.

"May I ask what kind of meat this is?" someone finally inquired, curious because the red meat was so chewy and delicious, yet unlike beef, lamb, or pork.

"It's Beef Tongue!"

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

He then pulled open a drawer nearby, revealing a neat row of brand-new blades, each reflecting a cold light and possessing unique patterns. Such a set of knives would not be cheap on the market.

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

He wrapped the blades with tape to prevent the trash 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. Or rather, he couldn't stand the lingering fishy smell on the blades, even though it was completely gone after thorough cleaning.

According to his psychologist, this was a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder stemming from a psychological illness.

Was that really the case?

Perhaps...

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

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

"Rumble..."

The rain outside grew heavier, pattering against the roof tiles with a chaotic yet emotional sound, a mood 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 covered by dust, traces and smells alike, a thorough cleansing. After the rain, there would be no sign left.

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

"Jingle..."

Suddenly, Zhao Ke's ears twitched at the sound of a bell from inside the door. It was a bell hung outside the door, which only rang when the door was opened. But strangely, the door hadn't opened.

"Is it broken??"

The bell was still ringing, not with its usual gentle chime, but with an urgent, frantic sound, as if someone were deliberately shaking it. The rapid ringing created a sense of unease.

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

Glancing upwards, he saw that the bell on the door had stopped ringing and was now hanging silently, as if it had never made a sound.

"Was it the wind?"

With a hint of doubt, Zhao Ke scanned his surroundings. His gaze suddenly fell upon a box at his feet. It was a package similar to a delivery box, but instead of a shipping label, it had a stamp on it.

"A delivery?"

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

I never shop online. Although I run a restaurant, the people who come here are mostly just customers who know the restaurant's name. Very few actually know my 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. Looking closer, the stamp on it was also strange.

It was a 7-cent stamp with a bronze border. It looked very intricate and dense, but upon closer inspection, one could see the finely carved textures. The stamp depicted a very abstract eye, and no matter from what angle he looked, this 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, like a centipede crawling up his back, made Zhao Ke jump. He shook his head and looked closely, only to find the eye on the stamp was back to its original state.

"Did I imagine that?" Zhao Ke shook his head, mocking himself. Hmph, have I been doing too many bad deeds? When did I become so jumpy?

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

However, the moment he opened the door, a rotten face appeared before him.

The eyes, sewn shut with thread, slowly opened. The thread tore at the eyelids, revealing empty sockets. The mouth opened, and pointing to its empty mouth, it asked, "Where is my tongue?"

Due to revisions to the work, there are significant content gaps in the first three volumes, making it difficult for new readers to follow. Therefore, if you wish to read this book, please find resources online yourself.