The worker struggled to open the crate, and a blast of intense cold air poured out.
Inside, chunks of frozen-solid, dark-colored meat had been stacked neatly.
The meat's packaging was extremely crude—just thick, yellowed greaseproof paper, also printed with blurry Cyrillic lettering and dates.
"????? Are they trying to treat me like some Japanese guy?" Ian's eyesight was excellent. Even from a distance, he could make out one of the dates—1923.
The satisfied smile on Ian's face instantly froze, and his mind buzzed. 1923? Soviet-era markings? Frozen meat? Combined with that unusually soft, mushy yet distinctive texture... a term that made his stomach churn suddenly sprang into his mind—Zombie Meat?!
And this wasn't ordinary Zombie Meat.
This was the king of Zombie Meat!
The Soviet Union had only collapsed a few decades ago, yet the meat sold by this restaurant was fucking from the early Soviet era!
Wizards were doing the same things Muggle capitalists did too!
This meat might have been stored for decades, preserved from spoilage by ultra-low temperatures, but its nutritional value and safety had long since been severely compromised. It might even contain harmful substances!
"Damn it! The wizarding world's version of Xibei!" Ian felt as though the bowl of Delicious Broth he had just eaten had turned into a heavy block of ice lodged in his stomach. He had even used Alchemy Tools to inspect the inn's food, yet he had never imagined that in a marketplace in the wizarding world, he would fall victim to a "historical leftover issue" from the Muggle World!
He watched as the worker hauled out another crate of frozen meat in the same style. The proprietress took it skillfully and began thawing ingredients for dinner.
He was completely dumbfounded.
Ian Prince felt as though more than a dozen Billywiggans