It wasn't quite as Liu Zheng had imagined.
The kitchen of the Bloody Restaurant didn't have a trace of blood to be seen, rather it was clean and bright.
It was even overly clean, appearing as if it was just renovated.
About a dozen chefs of different shapes and sizes were busy with their work, none of them speaking, communicating only with gestures and glances.
Rather than a kitchen, the place resembled the assembly line of a factory.
"Napoleon, we're here,"
Niu Ma called out.
The White Feather Chicken, who was cooking soup, looked up and then passed the long-handled soup ladle to a horse-faced person beside him.
Dressed in a black Levite suit and wearing a chef's hat, the White Feather Chicken hopped down from the high stool and strutted over to them.
"Is this the new guy?"
It looked toward Liu Zheng.
The voice was low and resonant, powerful.
"How about it, better than those guys you have under you, right?"
Niu Ma said proudly.
