Chapter 73: A Crowd of Guests Pays a Late-Night Visit
With all three stockpots of braised delicacies steadily simmering away, Boss Ling’s stomach let out a hollow rumble.
She hadn’t even eaten dinner yet. The moment she closed up shop, the system had chimed with notifications; first she had to claim her little robot, Caicai, and then she had immediately thrown herself into orchestrating the second-floor expansion.
Braised dishes needed ample time to steep and absorb the deep seasonings. The second she came down from the second floor, Ling Jing had marched straight back into the kitchen.
Her mind had been so completely wrapped up in how to feed her patrons well and rake in the profits that Boss Ling hadn’t spared a single second to feed herself.
She strolled to the front counter and pulled a roasted sweet potato straight from the roaster.
A quick bite would have to do for now.
Tonight was bound to be an exhausting grind.
The new offerings weren’t even close to finished; getting the master stock simmering was barely half the battle, and Ling Jing intended to whip up several more dishes.
Once the new items were cooked and taste-tested, she still planned to venture back out into the wastes for another monster hunt to harvest whatever beast and plant cores she could scrounge up.
If all went well, she wanted to clear a few more plots of arable soil and, ideally, set up a proper chicken coop.
Operating without fresh eggs was simply too inconvenient; far too many classic dishes were completely off the table without them.
The System Mall carried them, of course, but Ling Jing vastly preferred the method of relying on herself (meaning: free of charge).
After all, every single point in her account had been scraped together copper by copper.
Complex, multi-step seasonings were one thing, but as for the raw ingredients… she pinched every penny she could.
Nibbling on her sweet potato, Ling Jing pulled up the system panel once more.
Time to purchase tableware.
The second floor was positioned as a relatively “premium” dining experience.
On top of the braised platters, Ling Jing intended to introduce wok-tossed stir-fries.
Paired with bowls of fluffy steamed rice, it would evoke the classic, comforting mom-and-pop diners found on every street corner back before her transmigration.
For that kind of service, relying on disposable takeout containers forever was out of the question.
[White Porcelain Plate – 20.6 cm] — 9 points.
Ling Jing tallied up the figures in her head and bought a flat hundred.
A full house on the second floor held forty-six people, and hardly anyone would order only a single plate.
Factoring in table turns, breakage, and washing efficiency… Ling Jing planned to delegate dishwashing entirely to Caicai.
Caicai was already tasked with greeting, ordering, and table service; it might not be able to scrub every cleared plate the instant it came back.
A hundred plates would do for a baseline; she could always restock based on daily foot traffic.
[White Porcelain Bowl – 12.7 cm] — 5 points.
Following the same logic, she bought eighty.
With bowls and plates squared away, Ling Jing began browsing for utensils.
She checked the knives and forks first.
—Back when she first rolled out the one-pot stew, she had set out disposable utensils for the diners.
Both plastic forks and disposable bamboo chopsticks had been provided.
The overwhelming majority had reached for forks, while only a curious few had attempted chopsticks, fumbling with awkward, unpracticed fingers.
Evidently, the locals were accustomed to Western cutlery.
When in Rome, adapting to local customs was fine in theory… but a standard set of metal fork and knife in the Mall cost ten whole points?!
Ling Jing glanced back at the chopsticks.
The standard 24-centimeter black alloy chopsticks used across countless diners back home cost a mere 12 points for ten pairs!
Forget “when in Rome”—let the guests adapt to the house rules of a Chinese restaurant instead.
Staring down a tenfold price gap, Ling Jing decisively ordered one hundred pairs of black alloy chopsticks.
With the points she “saved,” she even thoughtfully purchased one hundred matching black alloy soup spoons for her patrons.
A hundred spoons set her back a meager hundred points anyway.
Besides, chopsticks were infinitely easier to wash than knives and forks.
When business had wrapped up that afternoon, Ling Jing held over four thousand points. After expanding the second floor, brewing the master stocks, and ordering the tableware, she had exactly 1,140 points left.
And she hadn’t even bought a dish sanitizing cabinet yet.
Finishing her sweet potato, Ling Jing began crunching the numbers on her system screen with razor-sharp thrift.
Daily restaurant upkeep was 100 points, and recharging Caicai would run another 100, meaning she had to reserve at least 200 points as an absolute baseline.
She needed another 200 points for emergencies; in case she ran out of critical spices or needed to make an urgent purchase, she couldn’t leave her pockets bone-dry.
That left precisely 740 points to play with.
She combed through the catalog with meticulous care, finally settling on a 100-centimeter-wide, four-tiered commercial sanitizing cabinet. It could accommodate one hundred pairs of chopsticks, one hundred spoons, eighty standard dinner plates, eighty bowls, and eighty tumblers.
The diner didn’t offer drinking glasses yet, so the extra clearance could be used to squeeze in a few more plates. The dimensions were a perfect fit.
680 points.
Gritting her teeth against the sting, Ling Jing confirmed the purchase, placing the unit right beside the bubbling Malatang vats, tucked flush against the kitchen doorway.
Though she knew little about the specific pathogens of this apocalyptic world, once reusable tableware entered rotation, sterilization was mandatory.
Basic professional ethics of a seasoned restaurateur.
The moment the sanitizing cabinet materialized on the floor, Ling Jing snapped to her feet.
Her remaining balance stood at just 460 points.
Points vanished in the blink of an eye. They slipped right through her fingers.
She needed to perfect these new recipes immediately and start raking in the cash!
Ling Jing bounded back into the kitchen.
Caicai trundled along right at her heels, coming to a halt at the kitchen threshold.
—This fully automated service robot was advertised exclusively for “front-of-house service,” and that was truly all it knew.
Ling Jing glanced down at it, tentatively testing if she could order it to prep ingredients.
“Boss, [Vegetable Chopping] lies beyond Caicai’s operational programming.”
The face on Caicai’s monitor shifted to: ( ′ಥ_ಥ` )
Looking thoroughly dejected.
“However, Boss! Caicai can cheer you on with enthusiastic encouragement!”
Ling Jing: “…”
She gave the little machine a long look and asked, “Can you play music?”
“Affirmative! Playing songs and narrating stories are well within Caicai’s capabilities.”
“Put on some music to accompany my cooking.”
“Understood! Searching for classic musical compositions from the Boss’s native realm!”
?
Ling Jing threw it an astonished glance.
It could actually stream songs from her original world?
The next second, the mournful, weeping notes of the Butterfly Lovers zither concerto began wafting from Caicai’s metallic chassis.
Ling Jing froze mid-stride.
She asked, “Do you have anything a bit more upbeat? The kind that makes you want to roll up your sleeves and get things done.”
“Caicai is currently retrieving ‘upbeat’ and ‘high-energy’ melodies for the Boss!”
—“Fold a paper crane, tie a scarlet ribbon high~ May fortune smile on gentle souls as every day goes by! With honest toil your days shine bright~ May youthful vigor bless your sight~”
Ling Jing arched an eyebrow.
Good Fortune Arrives.
An absolute classic for firing up workplace morale; straight to the point.
This was the one!
To the soaring chorus of “Good fortune arrives, wishing you good fortune arrives, bringing joy and boundless love wherever it thrives,” Ling Jing launched into her mise en place.
Slender eggplants, potatoes, and bell peppers were hacked into rough, rolling chunks. She crushed cloves of garlic into a fragrant mince, rinsed the eggplant and potato chunks in water, and drained them thoroughly before firing up the wok with oil.
When the oil reached medium-high heat, the eggplant and potatoes slid into the rolling fat, frying until their edges were blistered and golden. Utilizing the residual heat, she dumped in the bell peppers for a quick ten-second flash-fry, scooping the whole colorful medley into a strainer to drain the excess oil.
Oyster sauce, light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, coarse salt, and a pinch of sugar went into one of her newly bought porcelain bowls, whisked smooth with half a bowl of clear water—the soulful, quintessential glaze.
Leaving a sheen of oil in the wok, she cranked the flame, tossing in the minced garlic until it burst with savory aroma before pouring in the prepared glaze.
As the sauce erupted into bubbling ribbons, she dialed the burner to high, tumbling the fried potatoes, eggplants, and peppers straight back into the wok. Ling Jing tossed the pan with rapid, fluid strokes. Once every tender morsel was lacquered in glossy, savory sauce, she scattered the remaining minced garlic evenly across the top.
The instant that fresh burst of garlic fragrance bloomed, the Di San Xian was plated!
Ling Jing had just transferred the steaming trio of earthy delicacies onto a white porcelain plate, before she even had a chance to inspect the dish’s attributes, when a sharp chime echoed.
Ding.
The familiar system alert.
Floating lines of text materialized before her eyes.
This time, it was neither a hidden quest nor a hidden achievement.
Rather, it looked remarkably like the prompt that had popped up the night she found the stray Hall outside her doors.
[Notice!]
[The establishment is currently closed and outside operational hours. A crowd of customers has arrived at the front entrance. Will you receive them?]
Ling Jing: “?”
A… crowd?
