Live Streaming Food Stall… But in Dog-Blooded Novels – CH132

Chapter 132

Wang Peng never expected that one of the central figures from the earlier commotion would now be standing right in front of him.

The middle-aged man in sunglasses, with a small snake coiled in his sleeve, was known as Yi Chunqing.

After Mu Dongsheng’s death, Yi Chunqing had taken over as the nominal leader of the 11th Squad.

He was blind, but his other senses—especially his sense of smell—were extraordinarily sharp. Amid the chaotic scents of Zone A’s bustling crowd, he had zeroed in on Wang Peng’s location.

—The faint aroma of porridge wafted from the takeout box in Wang Peng’s hand.

Though he couldn’t quite discern what kind of porridge it was, Yi Chunqing could tell it was hot.

But unlike the pungent, enhancer-laden porridge of Zone A, this one had a subtler, warmer fragrance.

“That’s hot porridge, isn’t it?” Yi Chunqing smiled kindly. “Mind telling me where you bought it?”

“This porridge…” Wang Peng hesitated for a moment but figured there was no harm in sharing. “It’s from Zone F. A new vendor—he’s got charcoal, so the porridge is still warm.”

“Zone F?” Yi Chunqing was taken aback but quickly nodded and pressed a small crystal core into Wang Peng’s hand. “Thank you.”

The core was tiny but worth ten credits—enough to cover Wang Peng’s meal for the day.

Grateful, Wang Peng thanked him and added, “Just keep walking straight, take a left when you reach Zone F. The only stall with a lantern is the porridge vendor.”

Yi Chunqing nodded.

Relieved, Wang Peng finally hurried home with his takeout.

*

Meanwhile, in Zone A of the Black Market’s dining district…

Li Zhou lounged in the seat Weasel-face had reserved for him, leisurely sipping wine. Beside him sat a bowl of thick red porridge, three flatbreads, and two grilled ribs.

Several heavily made-up men massaged his shoulders, cooing:

“Brother Zhou, how’s the pressure?”

“Brother Zhou, feeling good~?”

“Brother Zhou, pick me again next time, okay?”

Li Zhou ignored them.

He lifted the bowl of porridge and downed it in one go, unfazed by the heat.

Packed with enhancers, the porridge was aggressively salty and spicy, sending warmth flooding through him the moment it hit his stomach.

The moment he finished, someone immediately refilled his bowl.

Li Zhou sighed contentedly.

He remembered the days when he’d slaved away under Mu Dongsheng.

—Mu Dongsheng had hated enhancers, living frugally on nutrient solutions. Li Zhou had been forced to choke down the tasteless sludge daily, all while plastering on a smile.

Thankfully, those days were over.

Now, Li Zhou could eat and drink whatever he wanted. This delicious hot porridge—costing a dozen credits a bowl, far beyond what ordinary mercenaries could afford—was something he could waste if he felt like it.

The taste of power was addictive.

Just then, his gaze flicked to the 11th Squad.

—The seven or eight mercenaries with snowflake tattoos trudged dejectedly toward the back of the dining district.

The sight filled Li Zhou with even more satisfaction.

His only regret was failing to exile the entire 11th Squad earlier. But he was confident it was only a matter of time.

“Ha,” Li Zhou gulped another mouthful of the red porridge, muttering, “Serves you right for looking down on me, for slandering me!”

“I get to feast here, drinking porridge they could never afford, while they’re stuck in Zone F with cold, rotten slop. How pathetic—who knows what garbage they’ll find in it?”

“Back when they strutted around under Mu Dongsheng’s shadow, they never imagined this, did they?”

Nothing was more satisfying than feasting while your enemies scavenged for scraps. The thought of the 11th Squad digging through Zone F’s trash delighted him.

Those nearby pretended not to hear, not daring to react.

“By the way,” Li Zhou suddenly glanced at Weasel-face, “you’re sure Zone F only has garbage, right?”

Weasel-face hurriedly fawned, “Of course! Only vendors who can’t pay protection fees end up there. They’d never waste ingredients on fresh food—most of it’s weeks old. I’ve checked personally, don’t worry.”

Li Zhou nodded, satisfied, and returned to his wine.

Weasel-face exhaled in relief.

Then, unbidden, his mind flashed to the new porridge vendor with the large bucket.

His stuff might be fresh…

A chill ran down Weasel-face’s spine. If Li Zhou found out, he’d be dead.

But then he reconsidered.

“That bucket of his didn’t even smell like anything. Probably skimped on enhancers—can’t taste good anyway.”

Reassured, he pushed the thought aside.

“What are you mumbling about?” Li Zhou asked idly.

“N-Nothing!” Weasel-face quickly knelt. “Brother Zhou, let me polish your shoes.”

*

The 11th Squad followed the same path Wang Peng had taken, heading deeper into Zone F.

The further they went, the dimmer the lights, the fewer the people—until finally, they were engulfed in near-total darkness.

Every face was twisted in frustration.

—Just last week, as Mu Dongsheng’s direct subordinates, they’d been honored guests in Zone A. Mercenaries had respected them, letting them skip lines for hot meals.

Now, after exhausting missions, they were reduced to scavenging in Zone F.

The difference was unbearable.

The closer they got to Zone F, the more despondent the vendors became.

Several stalls had flies swarming over mold-speckled bread.

“Qing, maybe we should just go back,” the blue-haired girl muttered. “I’d rather drink nutrient solutions…”

Two others chimed in:

“Same. Zone F’s nothing but spoiled slop. Last time I saw a vendor’s bucket crawling with roaches.”

“We’re not even in Zone F yet, and the bread here’s already moldy. I don’t want to imagine how bad it gets.”

Yi Chunqing rubbed his temples wearily. “You think I want nutrient solutions?”

“Li Zhou blocked our access to them too,” he said grimly. “The higher-ups are still investigating, but—he’s accused Captain Mu of colluding with top-tier pollutants, betraying humanity. As his former team, we’re barred from official rations…”

The squad’s expressions darkened.

Not only had Li Zhou stolen everything from Mu Dongsheng—now he was slandering the dead, branding him a traitor…This is too much!

The buzz-cut mercenary’s face was still flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly as he growled:

“That bastard Li Zhou is pushing us too far—forcing us to eat in Zone F! I should’ve killed him earlier!”

“Rather than suffer this humiliation, let’s just fight back!! Better to die with dignity than live like this. If I get exiled, fine—at least I can go find Captain Mu—”

No one responded.

The buzz-cut mercenary ranted on, but when no one joined in, he eventually trailed off awkwardly.

After a long silence:

“Death is easy,” someone muttered. “Living is the hard part.”

Living to uncover the truth.

—And avenge Captain Mu.

No one spoke, but the shared resolve was palpable. Their exchanged glances held the same steely determination.

For the past four days, their sole motivation had been exposing the truth—ripping apart Li Zhou’s smug facade.

The 11th Squad pressed forward in silence.

Their stomachs growled, but none held any hope for the food ahead. Li Zhou’s intentions were clear…

They’d all heard the rumors about Zone F.

The food wasn’t just cold—it was often days old, rotting, moldy. Cheap, but nearly inedible, with countless reports of people falling ill.

“Let’s just grab something today. Tomorrow, during the mission, we’ll figure something out outside,” Yi Chunqing said reassuringly.

Vendors outside the base weren’t under Li Zhou’s control.

The group nodded grimly.

Steeling themselves, they turned the corner and stepped into Zone F—

Only to freeze.

Instead of the expected darkness, filth, and swarming flies…

—A simple, clean porridge stall.

Small but tidy, with neatly arranged white bowls.

Warm yellow light spilled over the charcoal fire, where a clay pot simmered. Steam curled from its vents, carrying the rich aroma of rice and porridge…

A lotus lantern hung above the stall, beside a wooden sign:

“Simple Porridge.”

Warmth.

That was everyone’s first impression.

On this damp, chilly night, the stall looked inviting—like a relic from the pre-apocalypse world.

“Is this… real?” The blue-haired girl rubbed her eyes. “Am I hallucinating?”

The mercenaries stared in disbelief.

Drawn instinctively toward the glow, they inhaled deeply—

So… so fragrant.

The steam carried the scent of savory congee oil, tender pork, scallions…

The sound of bubbling porridge filled the air.

Several gulped audibly.

“Welcome,” a handsome young man stepped out from behind the curtain, smiling. “Care for some porridge? Freshly made century egg and lean pork!”