"Not a chance!" Xiang Xingchang tossed him the cigarette pack. "Everything's slowly braised. None of it has that smoky flavor of a quick stir-fry over an open flame."
"We're at sea. Who'd dare use an open flame? This is just how electric woks are." The chef clamped a cigarette between his lips and lit it. "Mine's already pretty good. Try another ship, and see if they don't feed you stew every day."
Xiang Xingchang shot him a sideways look. "Even if we dared eat it, would you dare make it for those researchers?"
The chef looked embarrassed. He really wouldn't dare. Those foreigners had picky mouths. Forget fobbing them off with stew—if there weren't enough dishes one day, the higher-ups would come over and nag him about it.
Xiang Xingchang turned away and blew out a puff of smoke. "Come to think of it, it's strange. Why haven't I seen that bunch of researchers today?"
"They ate early. They had dinner after four today. Why else do you think I'm so free?"
Xiang Xingchang froze. "Eating that early? What are they going to do?"
"You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask?" the chef complained. "Eating so early, maybe they'll have me make them a midnight snack later."
Lu Ao finished off the last plate of fried rice and asked, "Are they doing some kind of project?"
"What project could they possibly do this late at night?" The chef said it casually, then changed his tune. "Though, maybe it is possible. I heard those foreigners making phone calls at noon."
Lu Ao and Xiang Xingchang exchanged a look, both with wariness in their eyes.
Their phones had no signal at all once they were out at sea. The only way to contact shore was through a satellite phone.
The