Chapter 318: Allen's Pan-Fried Beef Buns
Night had fallen.
A cargo ship blew its horn as it docked. Numerous shadowy figures silently disembarked and quickly melted into the nearby bustling city.
Lilith successfully led the remaining elite vampires to relocate to New York.
After drifting across the sea for days, they had finally set foot on solid ground.
Wildness flickered in the eyes of the starved vampires, but they suppressed their bloodlust and refrained from immediate hunting.
This international metropolis wasn't just home to many heroes—it was also under the watchful eye of the Church. Not to mention the presence of organizations like the Suicide Squad and S.H.I.E.L.D.
With the vampire race in steep decline, they were now barely surviving and could no longer act with the arrogance and impunity of old. Discretion was key.
They quickly made their way to a hidden base already established in the city.
After feasting on plasma from a private blood bank, the vampires regained some of their sanity.
As they finished feeding, all eyes turned toward Lilith, the progenitor, who was still drinking blood with fervor.
In the past, it had always been the blood of virgins. Now they were reduced to drinking plasma—it was like switching from three gourmet meals a day to eating husks and coarse grains.
Still unsatisfied, Lilith pulled out another pack of plasma.
Pfft...
She had barely taken a small sip before spitting it all out.
"The donor has multiple STDs. Change blood bank partners next time."
As beings who fed on blood, vampires could easily discern the quality of blood and even detect illnesses—just like how frequent meat-eaters can distinguish good cuts from bad.
"Relay my command: find someone who possesses the power of light and can summon angels. Do not provoke them. Treat them with the highest degree of respect and ceremony."
"Yes, ma'am!"
…
At the same time, inside a government safehouse for high-level officials—
The heads of various departments gathered for an intense meeting and ultimately decided to pass the Superhero Real-Name Registration Act.
The next day, the press office released details to the public.
The news caused an immediate uproar.
There was no question that the real-name act would offend many heroes who operated in the shadows.
Fighting crime carried inherent risks, especially when criminal organizations operated in gangs.
If a superhero's identity were leaked, it could endanger their personal safety.
Even more dangerous was the threat to their families. If criminals couldn't get to the hero, they'd go after loved ones instead.
How many ruthless criminals cared about the principle of "grudge against the person, not their family"? That's why there were so many heinous crimes like organ trafficking and human trafficking.
And as for morally gray anti-heroes—many could easily be driven to the dark side after losing their families.
Online, two opposing camps quickly formed.
One side supported the act, believing that superheroes needed to be regulated and shouldn't exist outside the law.
The other side opposed it, distrusting the government and preferring that superheroes continue to uphold justice freely.
Of course, the fate of the act ultimately hinged on the stance of the two major alliances.
After all, they were the most directly affected and held the final say.
"What the crab—are America's politicians insane or what?"
Harley muttered angrily as she scrolled through the news on her notebook, which was plastered with cartoon stickers. "Why is it always idiots in charge of the world?"
"Totally normal. These idiots are gonna crash America sooner or later," Pamela replied casually while munching on a sandwich.
"It's already crashing. You just don't feel it yet," Helena added, flicking ash from her cigarette with a cynical, world-weary air.
She came from a mafia family and was the current boss—at least on the surface—running bars and casinos. Naturally, she had access to the darker corners of society.
Unfortunately, her personal power was limited, and her gang needed to survive. So when it came to tackling criminal syndicates, she could only do what she could manage.
"I don't support real-name registration. The least trustworthy people on Earth are politicians," Dinah said as she casually shifted positions, eyes still closed.
Barbara, the apartment owner, was the only one absent, out working to make ends meet.
"Yah-hoo! Pan-fried beef buns are ready!"
In the kitchen, Allen lifted the lid from the pan, releasing an incredibly mouthwatering aroma into the air.
"What is that smell? It's amazing!"
Harley sniffed deeply, eyes lighting up as she stared at Allen, who was sprinkling scallions and sesame seeds onto the buns.
None of the four women had ever smelled anything like it, and their curiosity about the exotic food was piqued.
Allen carefully plated the buns, clearly eager to enjoy the dish he'd been dreaming about.
"What are you all doing?"
He looked up, startled to find the four women staring intently at the beef buns, their eyes full of curiosity and anticipation.
Americans were used to cold, dry food in the morning and rarely had hot meals. The sight and smell of these steaming buns sparked their sense of culinary adventure.
"Allen, can I try one?"
Pamela casually tossed aside her dry, cold sandwich—clearly unable to resist the mysterious Eastern cuisine.
"No way!"
Allen instinctively guarded the plate, scowling. "Go eat your bland white-people food. Don't steal mine."
"You're so stingy," Harley muttered with a pout.
"Barbara? You're back early?" Pamela suddenly asked toward the door.
Allen perked up immediately and strode over excitedly. "Barbara! I've got something amazing for you—wait, where are you?"
He stepped into the hallway only to find the front door still tightly shut. He instantly realized he'd been duped.
Whipping around, he saw the four women each holding a beef bun in hand, their faces full of smug triumph.
"Oh, you wicked women! Using my emotional connection with Barbara—the banana—as bait? I warn you, don't be foolish. If anything irreversible happens, don't say I didn't warn you!"
Seeing that only four buns remained on the plate, Allen hurried to shield them with his arms.
But the women weren't fazed by his threats—who could give up such delicious food?
As for the consequences? Worst case, they'd pay with their dignity.
One by one, the four women deliberately brought the buns to their lips, slowly and provocatively blowing on them, making a show of biting down.
As their teeth sank into the crispy exterior—
SPLURT!
"Ah! It's hot!"
"It splashed on my face!"
"Why's it so juicy?!"
—
The moment the outer skin broke, a flood of savory broth shot out in all directions.
Their faces, clothes, the floor, the coffee table, even the couch—were now covered in aromatic beef juice.
Allen, looking utterly smug, cackled, "Hehehe… You thought you could take advantage of me that easily? Learned your lesson yet?"
The four dazed women couldn't tell if they'd just been pranked—or if this was simply how the food was supposed to be.
After all, when the West looted the East for wealth and wisdom, they somehow missed the most precious thing: recipes. So now they had ingredients, but no clue how to cook.
And now they were all soaked.
Even their silky hair was streaked with the greasy, fragrant broth.
Letting out sighs of frustration, they resigned themselves to taking showers, changing clothes, and cleaning the apartment all over again.
"Let me teach you the four proper ways to eat this."
Allen triumphantly demonstrated the art of eating pan-fried beef buns without embarrassment.
"First, poke a hole and slurp out the broth…"
Method 1: Eat it plain.
Method 2: Dip it in vinegar.
Method 3: Pour the vinegar inside.
Method 4: Just pop the whole thing in your mouth.
Done with his lesson, Allen contentedly set down the plate.
"Don't forget to wash the dishes."
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