The camp had emptied out quite a bit, but Feng Mountain didn't stay idle.
He rummaged through the back of a cabinet and pulled out a chef's uniform he hadn't worn in ages. After shaking off a bit of dust, he deftly changed into it.
Then, he dove into the kitchen, which was instantly filled with CLANGING and BANGING.
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, it was noon.
A lively yet cozy scene was unfolding inside the dining hall.
Rows of dining tables had been neatly arranged into long lines. The matching two rows of chairs beside them were wiped spotless, gleaming under the light.
And the tables were laden with all sorts of mouth-watering, traditional Chinese dishes.
Dishes like spicy boiled beef, dry-fried beef strips, red-braised beef ribs, numbing-and-spicy fish fillets, and dry-pot mutton...
In terms of alluring color and tantalizing aroma, these dishes left Western food in the dust. They weren't even in the same league.
