Live Streaming Food Stall… But in Dog-Blooded Novels – CH117

Chapter 117

[Ding!]

[Task Progress: 50/59]

[Congratulations, Host! Emergency Stall Mission Complete! New Rewards Await!]

…

The little boy peered into the empty oven and announced regretfully:

“Sorry, everyone—last duck’s sold out! Thanks for your support!”

The queue instantly erupted in despair.

“How?! I was three people away!!”

“This can’t be real…”

“Nooo! Boss, can’t you roast one more batch? We’ll do anything QAQ”

Half the black-clad men had already eaten; only a few unlucky spies, too busy contacting their employers, missed out.

Now they wandered the streets, stomachs growling, eyes teary.

They’d trained hard and starved on boiled chicken for this mission—only to watch the ducks sell out right before their eyes. The devastation was unbearable.

Black-Clad Man No. 1 hesitated, then shoved his half-eaten duck forward: “Well… we are colleagues. Here, take this—”

Before he could finish—

A dozen hungry heads popped up like bamboo shoots after rain.

Big, burly men blinked pleadingly:

“Boss, you’re the best!” “Boss… munch munch so good” “We’ll follow you forever, boss! munch”

“Some spies you are,” No. 3 snorted. “Morse code behind a tree? Really?”

“And you—’my wife won’t let me’? Hilarious.”

Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the curb, sharing duck and trading barbs, they burst into laughter as the night breeze blew.

Nearby—

The pineapple tour guide shook his head, holding up their lone duck: “Madam Duojin barely got this one. We’ll split it.”

Tourists drooled but waited patiently for their tiny portions.

…They were supposed to leave Beijing yesterday but stayed an extra day just for this duck.

Worth it.

People from all over the country, speaking different dialects, had gathered here because of this roast duck, sharing this ordinary yet extraordinary night together on the street.

A dozen or so raised their beer bottles, clinking them together joyfully before taking a bite of the duck:

“To Madam Duojin! To Little Boss Lan!”

At the back of the line—

Unlike the wailing crowd around them, Old Madam Huo, Huo Ye, Huo Ran, and Mu Mingqiu had known from the moment they joined the queue that they wouldn’t get any duck.

So when the announcement came, their sorrow wasn’t as intense as others’.

Just a little disappointment.

Truly, just a little.

A tiny bit…

“WAAAAAAH I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE!!!!!”

All grudges forgotten, united in misery, the four crouched on the ground, hugging each other and wailing.

It was then that Xu Shishi walked past them, holding a steaming roast duck.

At first, she thought she was hallucinating.

These were the untouchable elites of their circles—if they wanted roast duck, a single call would have every restaurant in the city delivering to their doorstep. Yet here they were, queuing like ordinary people?

Not just queuing—but failing to get any, breaking down in tears?!

Xu Shishi looked at the duck in her hands, then at the group:

“Uh.”

If they found out she had a dozen more ducks frozen at home, would they die of envy…?

The four looked up and spotted Xu Shishi—and the duck in her hands.

Their eyes gleamed with sudden intensity.

Within seconds, they wiped their tears, stood up, and flashed perfect smiles while pulling out business cards:

“Miss Xu, I’ll pay ten million for that duck!”

“The Xu family project—the Mu family will cooperate, in exchange for that duck. How about it?”

“The Huo family is also willing—”

“I’ll pay twenty million!”

All eyes were fixed on Xu Shishi, hopeful yet anxious.

Time stretched infinitely in that moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Xu Shishi spoke.

She looked at them, then at the duck.

With a faint smile, she said:

“I%??%#?@??”

…Due to signal interference, we may never know what Xu Shishi said that day.

Back at the stall—

After announcing the sold-out notice, the silver puppy nimbly leaped back onto the little boy’s shoulder as he began packing up.

The surrounding customers wailed in despair, reaching out helplessly as if to beg him to stay, but none dared act recklessly.

It was then that someone noticed the half-duck still sitting beside the boy.

A particularly desperate customer couldn’t resist asking:

“Little Boss, you’ve still got half a duck there—not selling it? I’ll pay extra!”

Before the boy could answer, other customers chimed in:

“What’s wrong with Boss keeping a duck for himself after working so hard?”

“Don’t you get it? That half is definitely for his family…”

“Oh, right.”

Of course, such delicious roast duck would be saved for loved ones. And all the regulars remembered—Little Boss Lan’s father had been quietly watching over him at every stall outing.

Can’t be envied, truly can’t be envied.

Listening to the crowd’s speculations, the little boy neither confirmed nor denied them.

He simply smiled, efficiently packed up the stall, and parked the tricycle.

Then, holding the half-duck, pushing the tricycle with Taotie and Hu Danggui’s lotus lantern in tow, he made his way through the bustling crowd…

…toward Ye Qingquan.

Along the way, Jian Yunlan thought a lot.

He was a simple person.

The “Jian” in his name had always meant he didn’t need—or want—to overcomplicate things. He followed the routine: school, work, getting laid off, until he discovered his love for street vending. From then on, he set up stalls, met more and more people, and found simple, pure happiness in watching customers enjoy his food…

So moments like this, where his thoughts tangled chaotically, were rare in his life.

Genius Baby: Three and a Half Years Old was just a melodramatic novel’s world.

Jian Yunlan wasn’t Ye Qingquan’s real child—just a wandering soul borrowing this body, briefly crossing paths with him as his son.

Though he, too, had grown up in an orphanage, Jian Yunlan seldom felt lonely. He had goals, passions, and a single-minded drive toward them.

…Only very, very occasionally would he wonder:

If I had a father, what would he be like?

Would he have strong arms to shield his child from storms, like in model essays? Would he be tall and broad, with thick brows and a square jaw, carrying his child on his shoulders like in blackboard paintings?

Ye Qingquan didn’t match those descriptions.

Ye Qingquan was just a fictional character in a dogblood novel. In this cookie-cutter “secret baby” trope, neither Ye Qingquan, the baby, nor any other characters had been given much depth by the original author.

None of it seemed real.

Yet… Ye Qingquan had come alive anyway.

He would gently pat “Lanlan’s” head with warm hands, tell clumsy bedtime stories, and hold his hand tightly everywhere.

He would agonize over losing Lanlan in a crowd, blaming himself, lying awake all night.

He would stand up for Lanlan, cursing out those who could crush him like an ant with a single word.

He would also sit alone in a corner, watching Lanlan intently, following his every move—

Smiling through tears.

“……”

Jian Yunlan slowly pushed the tricycle toward the figure under the streetlight.

In his vision, Ye Qingquan gradually came into focus.

He sat beneath the lamp, eyes slightly red, shoulders slumped, the light stretching his lonely shadow long across the ground.

He wasn’t tall or strong—rather thin, even, as if a strong wind could blow him away. He wasn’t always tough.

And Jian Yunlan wasn’t really his child, just a stranger’s soul inhabiting this body, receiving Ye Qingquan’s care and favor because of this name and form.

But…

Just for this second.

Even if only for this fleeting moment.

Let him hide in this shell, unnoticed by anyone, and—just once in his life—call him this.

“Let’s share the other half together.”

The little boy stood on tiptoe to pat the man’s shoulder, eyes curving into smiles as he spoke the word.

—”Dad.”

“……”

Ye Qingquan’s eyes widened abruptly.

“Lanlan…” He glanced at the boy, then at the distant crowd, realizing the stall had closed. Rubbing his nose, embarrassed to be seen vulnerable, he shook his head. “N-no, Dad’s already eaten, you have—”

“GRRRRROOOOWL!”

His stomach betrayed him with a deafening, agonized scream.

Jian Yunlan: “…..”

Ye Qingquan’s face flushed crimson. “…A little more wouldn’t hurt.”

The boy sat beside him, the silver puppy dozing nearby, the lotus lantern casting a soft glow.

Streetlight warmly stretched their silhouettes—one big, one small—across the ground.

They sat quietly, heads touching, sharing half a roast duck.

…Until time froze.

A familiar yet strange chime echoed through the Multiverse Livestream—

[Ding! Congratulations, Streamer [Jian Yunlan], for clearing the world Genius Baby: Three and a Half Years Old!]