Chen Ze stood in the kitchen, lost in thought, while the flying squirrel continued to feast on chestnut rice, obviously very satisfied with the dishes Chen Ze had made.
The flying squirrel had devoured three bowls of miso soup, each drained completely. Chen Ze's decision-making this time had perfectly captured the flying squirrel's mood.
However, what sunk Chen Ze into contemplation wasn't this issue. After all, since the dish had already been made, if more customers arrived, he'd simply continue to make whatever dishes the customers requested.
What plunged Chen Ze into deep thought was the significance of today's date.
"The Qingming Festival, huh..." Chen Ze sighed. It was a shared time of mourning for the Huaxia people, a day set aside for remembering and paying homage to ancestors.
Moreover, this year was particularly special, which imbued the festival with an even deeper meaning.
