Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH93

Chapter 93

In the monster world, vegetarian simply means food that does not contain humans.

And the hidden rule of this restaurant was: the dishes served to guests must preserve the appearance and characteristics of human-limb cuisine, but must not actually contain any human ingredients. Otherwise, it would be considered a violation.

Because the monsters who came here were all “vegetarians”—if they accidentally ate real human flesh, it would be considered disrespectful to them, and might even trigger their bloodlust, causing them to start eating humans for real.

Humans were often called “two-legged sheep.” If you had to substitute them with an animal, it would be lamb. But lamb’s gaminess was different from the gaminess of humans, so spices were required to adjust and mask the original taste of the ingredient.

“We’ll have to bring out the temple-style vegetarian meat feast.”

Mimicking human meat with other kinds of meat was far easier than imitating meat using beans—it all had muscle fibers, at least.

Washing his hands, putting on an apron and a chef’s hat, rolling up his sleeves, Chef Jiang began working. Meanwhile, on the other side of the small serving window, a group of players—legs trembling under the gaze of the “guests”—walked around refilling water and communicating with their eyes.

‘Did you already send in the order list?’

‘It’s already delivered.’

‘The guests can wait at most thirty minutes.’

This was truly the longest thirty minutes of their lives. The players swallowed nervously, cold sweat pouring down, but they had no choice but to continue serving the guests.

In the corner of the restaurant, beside a hidden trash bin, lay the bodies of players who had been killed. Some wore chef uniforms, some waiter uniforms, all with miserable expressions frozen on their faces. Most of the corpses were intact—only one had its cheek and arm bitten off.

The “Vegetarian Restaurant,” at first glance, looked identical to any high-end restaurant outside. Guests wore formal attire and exuded fragrance; waiters in three-piece vests walked among them; violins and pianos played softly.

Outside, the lights sparkled; inside, it was bright as day. If one didn’t look closely at what the guests were eating, there wasn’t a single trace of eeriness.

The players were the restaurant’s waiters, security guards, and chefs. Their task was to maintain normal restaurant operations.

The task seemed simple: chefs cooked according to the menu, waiters delivered dishes, security stopped troublemakers. Everything seemed orderly.

At first, the players felt relieved, thinking they had encountered a low-difficulty third-tier Cube World game.

Because the “guests” looked completely human and showed no aggression. It seemed like as long as one stayed calm and steady, they could clear the game.

Or so it seemed.

Thirty-six players had entered. Most were lower-level players, with a few newly entered ones worth only five hundred thousand.

When tasks were assigned, a few players with cooking skills took chef positions, each responsible for a window. Those with quick hands became waiters, and strong ones became security.

But lacking experience, they failed to realize the biggest trap was in the name: “Vegetarian Restaurant.”

Who could’ve guessed monsters even had “vegetarians”?

A veteran player in a team sensed something was wrong and warned them.

But the order list clearly required human-limb dishes. The chefs didn’t dare to use vegetables to fool the guests, and eventually used actual human limbs.

When the waiter delivered the dish, several guests’ eyes turned red at the unusual appearance of the food, but the waiter was too nervous to think about such details.

When the human-meat dish landed on the table, the vegetarians were triggered.

The chefs were taken away for “using meat dishes in a vegetarian restaurant,” and the waiters who served them were also killed for angering the vegetarians.

Six people died on the spot.

One guest was driven into carnivorous frenzy by the smell of human flesh—transforming into a carnivore. It killed two players and bit a chunk off one of them. The aroma of human meat spread, making other guests restless.

And among the players was a woman on her period. She came from a poor background and had no sanitary pads; the smell of blood made a monster chase her relentlessly.

The players were not united. One male player went hysterical, yelling at her and pushing her out to protect himself.

The next second, the veteran female player slit his artery and used him as bait, dragging the carnivore into a private room.

She killed it, then used an air-freshener-like item to suppress the smell. The restless guests in the hall returned to their seats.

The chaos ended.

Her ruthlessness and decisiveness terrified the remaining players—no one dared to move.

But the other guests were getting impatient, signs of red glowing in their eyes.

“Continue.”

The game continued.

Three chefs remained. One cautiously used all vegetables, trying to mimic meat. But the technique of making vegetables taste like meat was complex and elite—not something ordinary people could do.

The other two, being smarter, used beef and lamb instead of human meat—simpler.

The guests were angry again.

The all-vegetable dish earned angry low ratings. After receiving three negative reviews, the chef and corresponding waiter were eliminated.

The meat-substitute dishes received a barely-passing review: edible.
However—

“Why am I spending so much money to eat something merely edible? Do I look like a rich idiot?”

Since the guests demanded a chef change, the two remaining chefs were kicked aside to face the corner.

But the restaurant still had to operate.

Orders kept coming, but there were no chefs. Just as the guests were about to riot from waiting too long, help arrived.

“Waiter! Where’s my child-hand soup wash? If it doesn’t come soon, I’ll use your hand instead, hmm?” Only two minutes had passed, and the guest was already impatient. The human-looking guest licked its lips, revealing a hint of monster-like killing intent.

All around the restaurant, guests dressed in fine clothing had eyes glowing with fluorescent red. The players froze in terror.

“R-Right away! I’ll go check the kitchen!”

—

Kitchen.

Jiang Jitang was placing roasted beef, lamb, and pork bones into a soup pot.

Among the dozens of dishes that popped into his hands, many required broth, and the kitchen had none prepared. So he gathered beef, lamb, and pork bones to make stock.

Why choose these bones? Because according to some overly curious researchers, the smell is the first indicator of what a food is.

If you pinch your nose, many people can’t even tell whether they’re eating a banana or something else.

Therefore, “human-meat aroma” was the first problem he had to solve.

According to those same curious researchers, human meat had a heavy odor—stronger than pork or chicken—somewhat like a mix of lamb and pork, but also slightly like beef.

So Jiang Jitang simply added bones from all three animals. Maybe he could boil a broth close to human-meat flavor.

He roasted the bones first to release the fat aroma, then made the broth with onions, leeks, carrots, and celery.

These vegetables had strong aromas; using them in stock would cover up the natural smell of the ingredients, making it harder for guests to identify what kind of meat was used.

He added two spoons of tomato paste, one vanilla pod, and six peppercorns.

The roasted-bone broth was already opaque brown; with additional ingredients, the fragrant dark broth would hide many details—perfect for deception.

“Such a pity… Normally I would simmer this for three or four hours to get proper flavor. But there’s no time now. High heat ruins the finesse.”

With regret on his face, Jiang Jitang scooped out clean chicken feet, removed the claws, and cut them along the joints. He could barely arrange them into five-finger shapes, but the joint count wasn’t right, so he chopped them up and arranged them into the shape of a hand.

After arranging, he broke them apart, wrapped them in cloth, and tossed them into the boiling broth.

Chicken feet needed at least ten minutes to cook, but for the broth to soak in and for the collagen to create that slightly mushy texture, twenty minutes were required.

He also tossed in a large piece of lamb.

Next was minced-meat salad—thankfully one of the easiest dishes, known for easily fooling Western cuisine.

He prepared the vegetables first—blanched carrots, torn lettuce, shredded purple cabbage, various other veggies, cherry tomatoes, cucumber slices.

Once everything was readied, it was time for the meat.

Jiang Jitang fished out the boiled lamb—fragrant but unidentifiable. After cooling it slightly in cold water, he shredded it by hand into fine strands.

Meat done. Veggies done. Only the dressing remained.

Since it was traditional Western dressing, it wasn’t mayonnaise, but vinaigrette.

He quickly mixed the salad but only placed a small portion onto the plate. He drizzled vinaigrette into abstract patterns, garnished with two mint leaves and halved cherry tomatoes.

He held up the porcelain plate, inspecting it: small portion, refined, high-end to the extreme.

Finally, he added a folded note with gold patterns, written in two languages:
“Leave a good review for a free refill. Enjoy your meal.”

The gold-trimmed plate left through the window. A passing waiter widened his eyes—it looked like the most ordinary minced-meat salad.

The only difference was the beautiful plating and tiny portion. And the vinaigrette instead of white dressing.

Yet when delivered, the guest was extremely satisfied. It shoveled spoonful after spoonful into its mouth:

“Like—human meat. No—better than human meat!”

The guest noticed the little handwritten note: “Waiter! A good review! Bring another plate!”

Seeing the positive review, Jiang Jitang looked at the half he kept for himself and silently praised himself: Plan successful.

Chicken feet were still stewing. Next was jam-covered foie gras.

He had already blended cooked lamb liver, pork liver, and raw goose liver into a paste, gently mixing them and shaping them into mahjong-piece molds. After chilling to set, he marinated them slightly in red wine.

Before serving, he torched the surface. The moisture evaporated, caramelizing the top. Fragrant fat bubbled out while the inside remained firm and cool.

He tasted a piece.

Oh? The texture was surprisingly good—the red wine aroma softened the liver smell and added its own fragrance.

“In that case, there are multiple pairing options.”

He placed two pieces on the plate, arranged them artfully, and poured thick fruit jam over them.

Not done yet. The bottom piece needed a bit of black caviar and a gold-leaf decoration. The top one needed a piece of mango and a celery leaf.

He finished by painting abstract jam patterns along the plate.

“Done.”

“Another one! I left a good review!”
The guest who ate the mixed liver stood up excitedly.

“This is the vegetarian food I’ve been waiting for! God, the texture! Like ice cream—rich fat aroma, sweet wine fragrance, silky, delicate, lingering on the tongue. I love the one sprinkled with caviar—the ocean aroma blends perfectly with the jam liver! Another! Hurry!”

Other guests overheard and were tempted: “Waiter, I’ll take one too. Looks great.”

The mixed liver dish received overwhelmingly good reviews, but Jiang Jitang frowned at the next order.

Skin-meat bread. The bread was ready, but the “skin”… If he had to choose the closest thing to human skin, it would be lamb skin.

Baking lamb skin on bread? What would that even taste like?

Jiang Jitang hated lamb’s natural odor, so he had to remove the smell by marinating with strong spices.

He carefully chose a large lamb leg and cut a rectangular piece of lamb skin with a thin layer of fat. To mask the odor, he marinated it in the cooled bone broth with plenty of spices and garlic paste.

The marinated lamb skin was tied onto bread and baked again. The result exceeded expectations—the reddish-brown skin clung to the bread, fat seeping inside.

Because of the marinade and spices, the lamb smell was masked by strong aromatic spices.

The brick-sized loaf was sliced into over a dozen pieces. He tasted a small slice.

“So the second bake makes it crunchy and dry? The fat isn’t very rich… A refreshing lemon dressing or a rich barbecue sauce would pair well. Which one should I choose?”

Without realizing it, he had applied all the cooking techniques he had learned. Jiang Jitang almost forgot this was merely a game.

“Why not serve both sauces and let the guests choose?”