On a small computer desk covered in cigarette ash, the screen flickered faintly. The keyboard was worn and greasy, the letters on the "W,A,S,D" keys barely visible, while the overfilled ashtray resembled a porcupine with its protruding cigarette butts.
Next to it, a dusty PC frame struggled against the heat, its fan roaring in exhaustion.
In a spacious, hundreds-of-square-meters metal hall, only this solitary computer desk stood at the center, housing an ordinary, low-end gaming PC.
The keyboard was tilted, and even without anyone touching it, the keys seemed to tremble slightly. The mouse nearby moved with the agility of a professional gamer, darting quickly between pixels.
On the low-resolution screen, a line of text floated:
[World Boss is about to descend.]
Below it was a countdown:
[3:0:1:47]
Outside the sealed hall, a group of people watched the surveillance monitor, their expressions grave.
At the top of the screen was labeled: [Unit 007 - Doomsday Computer.]
"Any clues yet?" one asked.
"None at all, Sir."
After those two lines, an eerie silence fell. No one spoke; they all fixated on the monitor.
When the countdown hit [3:0:0:0], the pixelated text flickered momentarily.
[World Boss: Soul Devouring Beast, soon to descend in End City.]
As soon as the name appeared, a young man quickly pulled out a metal box marked [Unit 097], retrieving a wolf-hair brush from inside.
He then took out a piece of yellowed parchment from another box labeled [Unit 098].
The young man wrote [Soul Devouring Beast] on the parchment.
In an instant, his eyes turned completely white, and his serious expression morphed into one of confusion, his hand moving with the brush as he continued to write on the parchment.
[Soul Devouring Beast.
Trait 1: Devour.
—Devours souls.
Trait 2: Immunity.
—Immune to physical damage, immune to elemental damage, immune to environmental damage, immune to mental damage, immune to continuous damage, immune to poison damage, immune…]
His hand glided over the parchment, writing like he is possesed.
———
Ten minutes passed but it didn't stop.
Finally, a few minute after, all the writing vanished, and beneath the name of the Soul Devouring Beast, a new line appeared.
[Unique Trait: Invincible.]
In the next moment, the parchment spontaneously lit up in falmes, turning to ash in an instant.
After that two people came and dragged the unconscious young man away, leaving only the low hum of machinery remained in the room. Everyone wore a grim expression, and in the silence, someone whispered:
"Should we organize an evacuation immediately?"
———
Three days later.
Harry gripped a pair of disposable chopsticks, straightening his back and widening his eyes in disbelief as he pointed at the dish on the table.
"You're telling me this is Water-Boiled Beef? The improved version?"
Across from him, a plump chef in an apron twitched his eyebrows, barely containing his irritation. Upon hearing Harry's words, he could no longer hold back.
"What's wrong with it? This is the most authentic recipe! AUTHENTIC!"
Harry picked up a slice of beef, cut just right—not too thick or thin, the marbling perfect. It was tender, not chewy, well-cooked, and full of flavor, the freshness of the beef prominent; it was definitely the best cut available that day.
But the problem? The dish was barely glistening with a few drops of oil.
There were no chilies, no seasonal green Sichuan pepper, no signature layer of oil, and none of that characteristic spicy aroma.
"Shouldn't there be sliced chilies, minced garlic, and hot oil poured over after cooking? This time of year, adding some green Sichuan pepper would be perfect…"
He sighed, thinking, 'Even if it's an improved version, there should at least be hot oil poured over, right?'
'Isn't that what we call water-boiled beef?'
Harry couldn't hold back any longer. Without that step, it was practically just boiled meat.
Of course, he could have overlooked it if it had been cheap. He had just gotten a decent job and felt it was worth splurging on a meal to celebrate, ordering a 68-yuan Water-Boiled Beef.
But this?
And they dared charge him 68 yuan for this?
That was unacceptable.
"But, what kind of cooking is this?"
As he vented, the chef's eyelids began to twitch, and the anger in his eyes was almost overflowing.
"What did you say? What kind of cooking is this? This is the standard authentic method Paradise. We've never poured hot oil."
The chef's fists clenched, and the words 'Paradise Restaurant' printed on his apron shook with his fury.
Nearby diners couldn't help but look over.
One customer piped up, "This place's Water-Boiled Beef is absolutely the most authentic. It's been the same for decades."
Hearing that, others joined in, praising it as well.
"This is the restaurant's signature dish…"
"Yeah, this dish is the best and most authentic."
Harry glanced around and sighed helplessly, standing up to pay the bill.
He turned one last look at the Water-Boiled Beef and weakly said, "Pack it up. I'll take it with me."
'It is 68 yuan. There was no way I am letting it go to waste.'
After it was packed, Harry left the restaurant.
Once home, the more he thought about the restaurant,the more dissatisfied he became.
He grabbed his keys and headed straight to the market, buying fresh Sichuan pepper that was in season, a small bottle of rapeseed oil, chilies, and garlic.
Once back home, he scrubbed the rusty wok clean and heated it up. He added a bit of oil, some dried chilies, and a handful of Sichuan pepper, frying them slowly over low heat until they were fragrant. He chopped the chilies finely.
Next, he minced some garlic, paired it with the sliced chilies, and sprinkled it over the Water-Boiled Beef. He heated up some more rapeseed oil, tossed in a few green peppercorns to release their aroma, and poured the sizzling oil over the dish.
Instantly, the familiar smells of pepper, charred chili, and garlic wafted through the air.
He picked up a slice of beef, and the flavor exploded in his mouth, a mix of heat and freshness that made him unwilling to spit it out even though it was hot.
Harry's furrowed brows finally relaxed.
After eating two bowls of rice, finishing every last bit of the side dishes, and soaking the leftover broth in another half bowl of rice, he slumped on the sofa, completely satisfied.
"Every day is just… different…"
Later this morning, he woke up to find the world had changed.
At breakfast, in the familiar little breakfast shop, the tofu pudding was served without its usual toppings. There was no chili oil, no cilantro—just a bland, sweet tofu pudding.
When the owner heard Harry wanted to add hot and spicy soup to his tofu pudding, he looked a bit surprised.
But the customer is king, so despite his reluctance, the owner agreed.
The owner was quite concerned about his reputation. He didn't mind the strange requests from out-of-town visitors, and he only charged for the tofu pudding.
Next door, at the thirty-year-old shop selling oil-soaked buns, the special chili oil was gone, but the sign still boldly proclaimed "Oil-Soaked Buns."
At the stall selling crispy beef patties, the patties no longer had their signature crispy ring around the edges.
At noon, when he went to his regular Noodle Shop for some oil-splashed noodles, there were no garlic cloves on the tables. When he asked the owner for some, the man looked at him curiously and asked, "Where are you from? Is this how you eat? Bland?"
By afternoon, as Harry faced his plate of Water-Boiled Beef, he just couldn't take it anymore.
It felt like his whole familiar world had been torn apart.
On the way back, he saw a sign for Charcoal-Grilled Pig's Feet and spotted the electric grill's indicator light shining in the distance, so he didn't even bothered to go near it.
In just one day, the world had become unrecognizable to him.
Everywhere he looked, all the foods he loved seemed to have… lost their soul.