Moving the Capital's Cake

"Not even daring to give me your bathwater to drink, and you still have the nerve to open a shop?! Compared to Boss Wang, you're absolute garbage!"

Splash—

The originally crowded and noisy crowd seemed to have been hit by some kind of group soul skill.

Centered on that burly man, an absolute vacuum zone formed within three meters in every direction.

The auntie who had just been weeping with emotion now covered her grandson's ears in terror, backing away repeatedly.

The big brother beside her silently put away his freshly bought burger, staring at him like he was an alien.

Even Wang Er, who had been wiping his mouth, froze, his mouth twitching.

Brother, sure, you're on our side, but isn't your approach a bit too wild?

The older Sheriff's face darkened. He silently picked up the soul-guide communicator hanging from his shoulder and spoke low into it:

"Hey, headquarters? This is the entrance to Nezha Burger."

"Yeah, hygiene's fine."

"But we caught a pervert who managed to make a lewd crime sound refreshingly original."

"Yeah, send two more over. Take him for a psychiatric evaluation. If he's not crazy, just lock him straight into North City Prison. Don't let him out to harass the boss lady anymore."

As that burly man who'd demanded to drink the boss lady's bathwater was dragged away like a dead pig by two arriving deputies, the farce didn't cool down at all. Instead, it pushed the atmosphere to another bizarre climax.

"Sure, that big bro was a bit twisted, but his words were crude but not wrong! Only Nezha Burger dares to be this tough!"

"Long live Boss Wang! Long live Nezha Burger!"

The crowd's roar erupted like a tsunami. Luo Bu stood in the middle of the crowd, listening to the praise, and found it nothing but noise.

This world...

It's gone mad!

"Master Luo, that should be enough."

The older Sheriff patted Luo Bu on the shoulder, his eyes carrying seven parts amusement.

"Since you have such an extreme pursuit of food safety, even going so far as to bring us here for a lesson... then, for the sake of fairness..."

The Sheriff pointed across the street at the Flavor Gathering Pavilion, a grand restaurant decorated in gold and splendor.

"Since we're here anyway, let's drop by your family's restaurant for an inspection too, shall we? Surely, with Master Luo's high standards and strict demands, your own kitchen must be even cleaner than this place, and the toilet water even tastier, right?"

"Huh? No... ugh... no need, right?"

As soon as Luo Bu heard this, his already pale face turned the color of pig liver, and even his urge to vomit was scared away.

What his own kitchen was really like—did he have any illusions?

That place was a biochemical weapon testing ground!

"How could that be? Law enforcement must treat everyone equally!"

The Sheriff didn't give him any chance to refuse. Without another word, he hoisted Luo Bu, whose legs had gone as weak as noodles, and under the crowd's jeers of "Inspect him! Inspect him!", dragged him without argument toward the Flavor Gathering Pavilion across the street.

Ten minutes later, the Flavor Gathering Pavilion's kitchen.

When the Sheriff pushed open that greasy door—its handle coated in a layer of black grime—a composite stench of aged oil mixed with rancid slop and dead fish and shrimp rushed out.

"Cough, cough, cough!!"

The two deputies nearly got taken out on the spot by that smell.

Under the dim light, the floor was black as if painted with asphalt, and every step pulled sticky threads.

The stove was caked with thick grease, and the rags were so black their original color was unrecognizable.

But the most shocking thing was the biodiversity here.

At the chopping station, five or six huge, glossy black rats were huddled in a circle.

When they heard strangers enter, they didn't scatter in panic. Instead, they all turned their heads in unison, their bean-sized eyes flickering with displeasure.

The leader even stood upright, its front paws on its fat-laden hips, whiskers twitching, and let out a couple of "squeaks" at the Sheriff.

"This... this is your hygiene management?"

The Sheriff's hand was already on his baton, his voice trembling.

"Misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding!"

Luo Bu, drenched in sweat, rushed forward, trying to block the view with his massive body, stammering an explanation:

"These... these are the quality control officers for our restaurant's ingredients! They have keen noses, specially used to test whether the ingredients are fresh!"

But before Luo Bu could finish, an even more explosive scene unfolded.

At the main stove in the back, flames roared.

A thin chef with a mess of hair like a chicken nest was brandishing a ladle, in an utterly frenzied cooking state.

His eyes were glazed, his lips muttering nonstop, the iron wok flipping up and down in his hands, his movements so fast it looked like he was performing a shamanic dance.

And perched atop his messy head sat a tiny mouse wearing a miniature chef's hat!

The mouse's expression was solemn, its two pink little paws gripping tightly to the two tufts of hair on either side of Chef Wang's head, as if piloting a giant mecha.

"Squeak! (Hard to port!)"

The mouse yanked the left hair hard.

Chef Wang's head instantly lurched left, and his left hand followed the motion, grabbing the salt shaker and precisely sprinkling a pinch of salt.

"Squeak squeak! (Increase the heat!)"

The mouse frantically tugged at the hair in the middle.

Chef Wang winced in pain, let out a roar, stomped his right foot on the ground, and burst forth with Soul Power. The stove flames shot up three feet high!

"Squeak—! (Toss the wok!)"

The mouse yanked backward hard.

Chef Wang's waist flexed, the ladle swung up sharply, and the dish in the wok arced through the air in a perfect parabola before landing steadily back in the pan.

This seamless, perfectly coordinated man-and-rat operation left the crowd at the doorway stunned, their worldview shattered.

"What... the hell is this thing now?!"

The Sheriff felt his sanity points plummeting.

Luo Bu covered his face and groaned in despair:

"That... that's our executive chef... his Martial Soul is his hair..."

"Because of a Martial Soul mutation, it has no offensive capability. Its only trait is that it completely cedes control of his body. As long as you grab his hair, you can control his movements!"

"This Martial Soul was completely useless! He spent fifteen whole years in the back kitchen just chopping scallions! Fifteen years!!"

"Until that day... when he was dumping swill in the back alley and met Rat."

A hint of reverence for fate actually flickered in Luo Bu's eyes:

"In that moment, the gears of their souls clicked together."

"Rat has a godlike sense of taste and ultimate control over cooking fire, but he's a Soul Beast without human hands; Old Wang has a powerful body but lacks the brain for cooking!"

"Rat jumped onto his head and grabbed his hair."

"A miracle happened!"

Luo Bu waved his hands excitedly, as if describing a divine revelation:

"Old Wang was no longer the waste who could only chop scallions—he became Rat's—high-level soul transmission vessel!"

"We call it simply—the Gundam!!"