A-Fang was the owner of a street food stall. His business used to be mediocre, but ever since he received guidance from a mysterious figure, it suddenly took off. His specialty was soy sauce chicken claws, and he limited his daily servings to just ten portions. This made it quite challenging for customers, and if you arrived late, you'd miss out. On one such day, I couldn't sleep at all, all because of a craving for those chicken claws. However, even more peculiar than his limited servings was the fact that his kitchen was surrounded by black curtains. Nobody understood how he prepared his dishes. What was even stranger was that I had never seen him buy chicken claws from anyone, and he didn't even own any chickens. So, where did he source his ingredients?
Unable to contain my curiosity, I secretly hid on his rooftop one day and lifted a corner of the roof, hoping to learn his secret. What I witnessed through that crack is an image that I will never forget in my entire life. I saw a hand, a human hand, still partially attached to a person. This individual was far from whole; they were alive, their face contorted in agony, but they couldn't scream. Their body was nothing more than skin and bones, but their hand was fleshy. That hand was nailed to the wall, a sickly pale gray, with traces of blood, and it was trembling. At that moment, someone outside called for a serving of chicken claws. A-Fang expertly sliced a piece from that hand, rapidly chopped it up, cooked it with some sauce... and in no time, a plate of chicken claws emerged, sizzling and aromatic. A-Fang then carried it outside. As he did, I noticed him give a slight smile in my direction, and then there was a resounding thud. I was so frightened that I tumbled from the rooftop, right into A-Fang's kitchen...