The air in the slaughterhouse was thick with the smell of blood and livestock.
Dark red sewage flowed across the ground.
Burly butchers, bare-chested, wielded huge cleavers and saws, expertly dismembering freshly killed cattle and sheep.
Allen remained unfazed by the sight before him and walked directly into the largest butcher shop.
A sign hung at the shop's entrance, with "Bill's Meat Shop" sloppily painted on it.
A burly man with a scarred face and a blood-splattered leather apron was skillfully stripping a whole piece of beef brisket with a boning knife longer than Allen's forearm.
He was Bill, the meat shop overlord of this area.
"Hey, kid, what are you looking at? If you want to buy meat, speak up, otherwise don't block my light here!" Bill didn't even lift his head, his voice as booming as a bell.
Several workers nearby, who were moving cuts of meat, stopped and watched Allen with malicious smiles.
They were accustomed to seeing poor kids dressed shabbily, trying their luck at the butcher shop.
Allen wasn't intimidated by the display; instead, he revealed a slight smile and stepped forward.
"Mr. Bill, I am indeed here to buy meat."
Bill finally stopped his knife and scrutinized the newcomer.
Although the young man was dressed ordinarily, he stood straight, and there was no trace of a poor man's timidity in his eyes; instead, there was a kind of confidence he couldn't understand.
"What do you want to buy? Steak or tenderloin? But you'd better weigh your pockets first, kid, my meat isn't cheap."
Bill plunged the boning knife into the chopping block with a dull thud.
"Quite the opposite of what you said, Mr. Bill."
Allen's gaze swept over the fresh, high-quality cuts on the chopping block, then pointed to the scraps piled in a large wooden basin next to it, which contained a lot of fascia and fat.
"I don't want those good cuts; I just want these."
Bill and his workers were stunned.
"What did you say?"
Bill looked as if he had heard the biggest joke, "You want these offal? Kid, are you kidding? These things are usually sold to soap makers, or simply thrown away to feed dogs."
"Perhaps in your eyes, they are offal, but in my eyes, they are treasures."
Allen explained unhurriedly, "I have a special cooking method that can make these tough meats even softer and more flavorful than steak."
He took a step forward, lowered his voice, and spoke in a tone that only the two of them could hear.
"Sir, you should know that those people in the South are agitating for independence, and war may come very soon. When that happens, thousands of soldiers will need to eat. Do you think the government will feed them expensive beef tenderloin?"
The mockery on Bill's face slowly solidified; though he was a rough man, he wasn't a fool.
He dealt with meat every day, and naturally with all sorts of people, so he was more sensitive to changes in the current situation than ordinary people.
War, for him, meant soaring meat prices, a good opportunity to make a fortune.
"You mean..." Bill's eyes sharpened.
"My meaning is simple."
Allen met his gaze and spoke clearly, "I want to use these meats you look down on to make military rations that can be preserved for a long time. But I need a stable, cheap supplier.
Although I don't have much capital, I have a mind that can see the future. You sell these meats to me at a fair price, and when my business takes off, I guarantee that the quantity of goods you supply me will make you smile so wide you can't close your mouth."
These words completely overturned Bill's perception.
He had seen braggarts, but never one so refreshingly unconventional and articulate.
A poor kid, speaking of war, armies, and the future.
Such a person was either a lunatic or... a genius.
Bill was silent for a moment, then picked up his knife again and scraped the chopping block. "Why should I believe you? And you're telling me this so directly, aren't you afraid I'll steal your method?"
"Just for this, sir."
Allen pulled out 20 dollars from his pocket and slapped it onto the greasy chopping block.
"We can try cooperating first. This 20 dollars buys all your beef brisket scraps, beef shank, and those meaty bones you've cut off. Additionally, I need some beef fat. You set the price, as long as it's fair."
Cash, especially a not-insignificant amount of cash, always held powerful persuasion.
20 dollars was not a small sum; it was a month's wages for an ordinary worker.
"And I've already inquired about your character. If your character wasn't good, your meat shop wouldn't be the biggest and best in the market. What's more, earning money steadily is surely better than earning money fearfully after committing a crime, isn't it? You know New York isn't the Wild West."
Bill stared at the banknotes, then at Allen's calm face.
"These meats are heavy, and they're troublesome to process."
Bill's tone softened, and he began to adopt the role of a businessman. Allen was right; he couldn't commit a crime just based on the other party's words.
"Of course, that's why I came to you; you're the most professional here." Allen offered a timely compliment.
Bill was pleased, and the lines on his face relaxed.
"All right, given your sincerity, we'll give it a try. These meats plus two large chunks of beef fat will be 15 dollars. With the remaining 5 dollars, you can buy some fresh beef bones to take home and make soup; it'll be good for your scrawny body."
This price was very reasonable, even generous.
Bill was clearly making an investment; he wanted to see what this interesting young man could really achieve.
"Deal!" Allen immediately agreed, "But I don't have a carriage, so I might need to make several trips to transport it back."
"No need for all that trouble."
Bill waved his hand and shouted to a worker nearby, "Pete, go get a handcart and help this gentleman deliver his goods to his designated place."
"Yes, boss!" The worker named Pete immediately ran off.
Allen secretly nodded to himself; this Bill seemed crude, but he was actually astute beneath the roughness, knowing how to invest in goodwill.
"Thank you, Mr. Bill."
"Don't thank me so fast."
Bill pointed at the remaining 5 dollars with his greasy finger. "I have one condition."
"Please say it."
"When you make that 'treasure' you spoke of, send me a portion to taste. If it's as good as you say, then all these offal from me will be reserved for you at today's price. If it's not good..."
Bill grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, "Then don't ever step into my shop again."
"It's a deal!" A confident smile bloomed on Allen's face. "You definitely won't be disappointed."
With Pete's help, Allen loaded several hundred pounds of meat and bones onto the handcart.
He also stopped by the nearby vegetable market and spent a little money on a large bag of onions, carrots, potatoes, and a lot of salt.
These were all essential ingredients for making canned goods.
Pushing the heavily laden handcart on his way back, Allen felt his steps much lighter.
The resources were gathered; his basement workshop was about to light its first fire.
A brand new empire would begin with a pot of fragrant beef stew.
When he returned to the basement entrance, Mrs. Hudson appeared again like a ghost.
She looked at the bloody raw meat and muddy vegetables on the handcart, her expression extremely vivid, as if she might faint at any moment.
"Good heavens, Allen... are you going to turn my basement into a slaughterhouse?"
"Calm down, Mrs. Hudson, please calm down." Allen quickly reassured her, "These are just the raw materials. Trust me, when the finished product is ready, you'll be the first to smell a fragrance never before experienced in this building."
He ignored Mrs. Hudson's almost frantic expression and began, with Pete, to move all the "treasures" into the basement that was about to create a miracle.