Live Streaming Food Stall… But in Dog-Blooded Novels – CH127

Chapter 127

“Protection fee?” Jian Yunlan rubbed his nose.

“Yeah,” the weasel-faced man said matter-of-factly. “This area is under Brother Li’s protection, so of course you gotta pay. That spot you want…”

He pointed at the empty space next to the flatbread stall, hands on his hips. “That’s one of the best spots. The fee is 500 credits a week!”

Five hundred credits a week—many Black Market vendors didn’t even earn that much in a month.

It was an outright extortion.

Most people would try to haggle, and the weasel-faced man had deliberately left room for negotiation.

But to his surprise, the handsome young man in front of him agreed without hesitation.

Jian Yunlan smiled. “Sure. How do I pay?”

“With your ID card, of course,” the man said, rubbing his hands eagerly—this was probably a naive cash cow. He snatched the thin card from Jian Yunlan’s hand. “Hand it over!”

The man swaggered off to the side to process the payment, thrilled.

He loved clueless newcomers like this.

Someone who obediently paid the protection fee was likely someone who had saved up for a long time, dreaming of making it big in the Black Market’s dining district in one bold move.

But the man had seen it all. One look at the massive bucket in Jian Yunlan’s hands told him he was probably selling porridge too—and not even fragrant porridge at that. He’d be lucky to sell a single bowl all day. This guy was doomed to lose everything.

But for the protection fee collectors, it was a guaranteed profit. The more suckers like this, the better.

The man swiped Jian Yunlan’s ID card with a smug grin.

But the next moment…

“Transaction failed! Current credit balance: Zero.”

Weasel-face: “?”

Other vendors: “???”

Thinking the machine was broken, he tried again—but the result was the same. The card had zero credits.

Furious, he stormed back to Jian Yunlan. “Are you messing with me?!”

The other vendors looked at Jian Yunlan with conflicted expressions, wanting to say something but not daring to defy the man’s authority.

—Weasel-face himself wasn’t much, but the man he worked for, Li Zhou, had recently risen to become a leader among the mercenaries. He wasn’t someone they could afford to offend.

Jian Yunlan blinked innocently. “No? Why would you say that?”

“There’s no money in this card!” the man shrieked. “You don’t have a single credit to your name—how dare you act like you could pay the fee?!”

Jian Yunlan also put on a shocked expression. “Oh, so there’s no money in it? I thought there was… Huh? Maybe your machine’s broken. Want to try again?”

“…” The weasel-faced man eyed him suspiciously.

Jian Yunlan’s expression was sincere, and his handsome face made him seem utterly trustworthy.

Still doubtful, the man swiped the card again:

Beep—

“Transaction failed! Current credit balance: Zero.”

“Friendly reminder: Please refrain from further attempts, or this machine will question your intelligence.”

Weasel-face: “…”

Others: “……”

The other vendors covered their faces, struggling to hold back laughter.

The man’s face turned purple with rage. “You little—”

Jian Yunlan: “…..”

The weasel-faced man looked like he was about to explode.

But strangely, after a few deep breaths, he managed to calm himself down.

…Whatever. Getting angry at someone like this wasn’t worth it.

He gave Jian Yunlan a contemptuous once-over. A lowly vendor like him, who’d probably be kicked out of the Black Market after failing to sell even a few bowls of porridge in a day, wasn’t even on his level. Getting worked up over this was a waste of energy.

“If you can’t pay the protection fee, get lost and set up in the back. Don’t even think about taking a good spot here,” the man sneered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you—you’d better find another way to make a living. With me watching, if you manage to sell even a single bowl of porridge… heh.”

The other vendors shot Jian Yunlan pitying looks.

Offending the weasel-faced man meant this young man wouldn’t have an easy time in the dining district.

“So, you’re saying you’re going to make trouble for me?” Jian Yunlan asked bluntly.

The man choked.

This guy’s behavior was just too bizarre!

He wasn’t acting like a normal person at all!

“So what if I am?” the man snapped, his expression dark.

“Nothing much,” Jian Yunlan shrugged. “If you cause trouble for me, I won’t just take it lying down. I’ll pay you back in kind.”

Ohhh.

The vendors perked up, intrigued.

This kid wasn’t simple—he could retaliate?

The weasel-faced man nearly laughed in disbelief. “And how exactly would you ‘pay me back in kind’?”

Jian Yunlan said solemnly, “I won’t sell you a single bowl of my porridge.”

His tone was firm and resounding.

The entire area fell silent.

Ten seconds later.

Other vendors: “…”

Weasel-face: “…Pfft—HAHAHAHAHA—”

The man burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching his stomach and nearly crying from amusement. The mercenaries at the nearby tables also roared with laughter, their gazes full of mockery as they looked at Jian Yunlan.

A food vendor’s idea of “payback” was refusing to sell his porridge to someone?

“You really think your porridge is some kind of treasure?” the man wheezed between laughs. “Oh no, I’m so scared—I won’t get to buy your porridge! Guess what… there are at least hundreds of porridge stalls in this dining district!”

“Are you some kind of god-tier chef or something? Who the hell would want your crappy porridge anyway?!”

With that, the man waved him off dismissively, no longer bothering with him.

The mercenaries, too, went back to drinking, eating, and roughhousing. This was just an insignificant sideshow.

Even the vendors who had initially felt a little sorry for Jian Yunlan now lost interest, turning their attention back to their own stalls.

—This young man was just too arrogant and delusional.

It was just a bowl of porridge. If he wouldn’t sell it, plenty of others would. Why would customers have to buy from him? The biggest taboo in the Black Market was thinking you were irreplaceable.

Overconfidence would inevitably lead to a harsh reality check.

That’s what the weasel-faced man and the other vendors believed.

But none of them could have predicted how quickly the tables would turn…

Ten minutes later.

A new stall appeared in the farthest, most secluded corner of the dining district.

This spot was so remote that it required multiple turns to reach, and maybe only two or three customers would pass by in an entire day—after all, the food sold in the dining district was all pretty much the same. Mercenaries were straightforward people; why would they go out of their way when they could buy what they needed right at the entrance?

Only vendors who couldn’t afford the protection fee were assigned to this area.

Their prices were also the cheapest in the entire district. While flatbreads cost ten credits near the entrance, here they went for as little as two—sometimes even one.

The vendors here looked lifeless, barely mustering the energy to call out to passersby. They mechanically stirred their pots with wooden spoons, their expressions numb.

Many of the dishes at their stalls had long gone cold.

After finding an empty spot, Jian Yunlan set down his porridge bucket. Then, he hung a lantern at the front of his stall.

Warm yellow light spilled out, adding a touch of coziness to the otherwise bleak little stall.

Next, he pulled out a bag of charcoal from his small backpack, lit it, and transferred the porridge back into the clay pot to reheat over the fire.

The charcoal had cost him twenty credits—the exact amount every refugee received upon being accepted into the Eastern Base. Jian Yunlan had spent his entire starting funds on it.

Watching Jian Yunlan’s actions, the other vendors glanced over indifferently, showing little interest.

They had seen too many newcomers like him. Many of them had started the same way—assigned to this remote corner because they couldn’t afford the protection fee, yet still brimming with excitement, convinced they were chosen ones who could defy fate. They’d buy charcoal, shout their wares, and pour their hearts into it.

But in the end, no matter how hard they struggled, they barely scraped by.

“Might as well save your energy,” someone muttered under their breath. “It’s all wasted effort anyway.”

With that, the corner fell back into silence.

Jian Yunlan paid no mind to the cold stares. Instead, he focused intently on setting up his stall. Though he wasn’t as practiced without his trusty tricycle, this was his first time running a fixed stall in a dining district, and the novelty alone filled him with joy.

Soon, the charcoal crackled to life, radiating warmth.

And the porridge in the insulated bucket, already lukewarm, began to bubble gently under the heat…

*

10 PM.

As waves of mercenaries returned to the base after their missions, the Black Market’s dining district came alive.

—The Eastern Base had official canteens, but most served expensive nutrient solutions—quick to fill the stomach but lacking in flavor.

After a long, exhausting day, most low-to-mid-tier (and even some high-tier) mercenaries preferred coming here. While the food wasn’t gourmet, at least they could enjoy a bowl of hot porridge to warm their bellies and unwind with drinks among friends.

Porridge was one of the hottest commodities here. To stand out, most vendors loaded theirs with spices and flavor enhancers.

The moment D-rank mercenary Wang Peng stepped into the dining district, a cacophony of strong, artificial aromas assaulted his nose.

The stalls near the entrance—the busiest and most expensive—already had lines forming in front of their porridge stands.

The heavy, spice-laden scents wafted from those very stalls.

Eighty percent of mercenaries beelined straight for them. Only the lower-ranked, cash-strapped ones ventured deeper into the corners, hunting for cheaper meals to fill their stomachs.

Wang Peng was one of those “cash-strapped” mercenaries.

He cast a longing glance at the popular stalls. He knew the enticing smells came from heaps of artificial flavorings, but they were undeniably fragrant and piping hot. After a grueling day, who wouldn’t crave a steaming, savory bowl of porridge?

The stalls in the corners were cheaper, but their porridge was often cold—vendors there couldn’t afford charcoal to keep it warm.

But…

Thinking of his sick wife at home and his child waiting at the nursery for his tuition fees, Wang Peng sighed and trudged toward the back.

The further he went, the quieter and emptier it became.

Then, as he turned a corner, he froze.

—A rich, natural aroma of porridge hit him.

Unlike the artificial scents outside, this was subtle yet distinct—the gentle fragrance of rice, the savory depth of century egg and lean pork, the freshness of scallions, all carried by a wisp of steam.

The aroma was so potent it traveled from one end of the alley to the other.