Chapter 153
…The moment the first mouthful of hot porridge flowed into his mouth, Mu Dongsheng’s eyes widened abruptly.
Delicious.
So delicious!
The porridge was fragrant and piping hot. The first taste was of the rich, savory porridge oil—not greasy, but light and soothing to the stomach.
The soft, glutinous rice didn’t need chewing; it melted in his mouth with just a gentle press of his tongue. Meanwhile, the umami from the chicken and mushrooms lingered on his palate. The warm porridge slid down his throat, heating his entire body from the inside out. The chill from trekking through the snow was completely dispelled…
The first bite was all about the porridge itself. By the second bite, Mu Dongsheng tasted the mushrooms and chicken pieces. The mushrooms had a tender yet springy texture, bursting with juice when bitten into, blending perfectly with the porridge. Mu Dongsheng chewed several pieces in a row, still craving more.
And the chicken—it was absolutely stunning!
When cooking this sheng gun zhou, Jian Yunlan had waited until the rice base was boiling before adding the marinated raw chicken pieces, stirring them in, then removing the pot from the heat. The residual heat of the porridge cooked the chicken to perfection.
As a result, the chicken pieces were unbelievably tender—not just smooth but with a subtle crispness, melding seamlessly with the warm, velvety porridge. Every bite was irresistible…
As he drank the fragrant porridge, for some reason, Mu Dongsheng felt his eyes grow warm.
Countless diners had proven this with their own experiences—truly delicious food could evoke the warmest, most touching memories buried deep in one’s heart.
Mu Dongsheng was no exception.
Outside the curtain, the snowstorm raged, the drifts piling higher. But inside the stall, it was as cozy as a small furnace.
Sitting by the crackling charcoal fire, savoring the porridge, Mu Dongsheng’s vision blurred slightly.
Many in Eastern Base knew that top-tier mercenary Mu Dongsheng was extremely disciplined—his daily meals consisted mostly of nutrient solutions. He rarely drank alcohol and seldom visited the black market’s food district, especially avoiding the popular “tech porridge” loaded with flavor enhancers.
People assumed it was to save credits for the base or to maintain peak discipline, keeping himself alert and battle-ready at all times…
But only a handful of Mu Dongsheng’s closest confidants knew the truth: he avoided “tech porridge” not out of discipline but because, long ago, he had already tasted the best porridge in the world. Everything else paled in comparison.
Yet now, in the heart of the snow-blasted Death Desert, inside this tiny, lantern-lit stall…
The taste of this porridge suddenly pierced through the nightmare-like darkness, spanning decades to strike straight at Mu Dongsheng’s heart.
There was another thing few knew about Mu Dongsheng.
Unlike most mercenaries, he wasn’t born in an orphanage or raised under Eastern Base’s standardized programs. He had arrived with a refugee group at age seven. Before that, he lived with his grandfather in the southern coastal wastelands.
After his parents died in a mutant attack, his grandfather took the infant Mu Dongsheng and some supplies to a high-rise apartment on the 28th floor.
Low-level mutants couldn’t climb that high, so the small apartment became young Mu Dongsheng’s only home. His grandfather grew crops in the rooftop garden, even raising a few chickens and a small pond of fish, sustaining them both for seven years.
For a moment, it felt like he had returned to that time.
Back then, Mu Dongsheng wasn’t Eastern Base’s savior or a top-tier mercenary.
Back then, his grandfather was still alive.
Back then, Mu Dongsheng was just a carefree child—playing with blocks, reading fairy tales, napping beside his grandfather, leaning over the balcony to gaze at the world below, dreaming of grand adventures…
On cold winter nights, his grandfather would light the lantern, fire up the stove, and cook a pot of porridge. It was probably much thinner than this, not as thick, but just as warm—warming him to the core.
That porridge had no flavor enhancers, just the natural fragrance of rice. Little Mu Dongsheng would sit beside his grandfather, swinging his legs, while his grandfather scooped all the chicken pieces into his bowl, smiling. “Grandpa doesn’t like meat. Ah-Sheng, you eat it all.”
Back then, Mu Dongsheng didn’t understand death. He knew crops withered, that the clucking hens would vanish, but he didn’t know that someone alive and laughing one moment could turn cold and lifeless the next.
Back then, he thought the world would always stay that way—that every year would be the same, that nothing would change. That the little apartment would always be lit, the storybook Pinocchio would never fade, and the porridge would always be hot.
That his invincible grandfather would always be there, holding his hand.
Until he turned seven, and a high-level mutant climbed to the 28th floor.
*
As if afraid someone would snatch the porridge away, Mu Dongsheng drank it quickly, almost desperately.
Plop. Plop.
A few teardrops fell silently into the bowl. Mu Dongsheng sniffled, lowering his head so no one would see.
What’s the point of remembering?
Drinking more porridge is what matters now.
He gulped down several mouthfuls in rapid succession—then choked, coughing violently. “Cough—! Cough cough cough!”
…Yet even as he coughed hard enough to shake the heavens, he kept his lips tightly sealed, not wasting a single drop of porridge.
His face turned red from coughing, but his grip on the bowl never loosened, his eyes burning with determination.
Jian Yunlan: “…”
Stunned for a moment, Jian Yunlan hurriedly passed him water. “Guest, slow down! Have some water, take a break—don’t choke!”
Mu Dongsheng waved him off, accepting the cup but setting it aside.
Anyone who’d eaten truly delicious food might relate—when something tastes this good, every bite is pure bliss. Just the lingering flavor in your mouth is enough to make you happy. At times like these, you don’t want to drink water.
Wouldn’t that dilute the taste? What a waste!
So Mu Dongsheng stubbornly endured the coughing fit, refusing water, waiting for it to subside on its own.
Finally, his breathing steadied. He picked up the bowl again.
This time, he drank slowly, savoring each bite instead of wolfing it down like a starving man.
But even so, the bowl was soon empty.
“Boss… can I have another bowl?” Mu Dongsheng asked cautiously.
“Of course!” Jian Yunlan ladled out another serving.
Gulp gulp. The bowl was empty again.
Ten minutes later.
“Boss, another bowl?”
“Of course!”
Another five minutes later.
“Boss, more!”
“Sure!”
Another five minutes later.
“Bo—more!”
“Yes!”
*
After who-knows-how-many rounds, Jian Yunlan glanced at Mu Dongsheng, then at the nearly empty clay pot. After a brief hesitation, he suggested: “Honored guest, you’ve practically finished the whole pot. Why not just drink straight from it? There’s still some at the bottom.”
Mu Dongsheng paused for two seconds, cheeks flushed, then said demurely: “Then… I won’t stand on ceremony.”
With that, he took the pot and chugged directly from it.
…No one who saw him now would believe this was the legendary top-tier mercenary Mu Dongsheng of Eastern Base.
After all, what kind of savior downs ten bowls of porridge and then shamelessly guzzles the remnants straight from the pot?!
Finally, even the last drop in the pot was licked clean.
Mu Dongsheng stared at Jian Yunlan with wide, expectant eyes.
After a beat of silence, he asked hopefully: “Boss, is there any more…?”
This time, Jian Yunlan could only spread his hands helplessly. “Guest, I’m completely drained—not a drop left!”
Mu Dongsheng: “…”
Jian Yunlan: “…”
Soon, Jian Yunlan began to panic.
…Because Mu Dongsheng’s beautiful, clear eyes were welling up with tears the size of beans.
Plop. Plop. Huge droplets rolled down his face.
A moment later, he suddenly clung to Jian Yunlan’s leg, wailing: “Boss—Boss, please—just one more bowl! I’ll do anything! Boss, I’ll give you everything—”
As he cried, he frantically pulled all sorts of items from his pockets, shoving them into Jian Yunlan’s hands and clothes.
His hood had fallen back completely, revealing that stunning face—now red-eyed and tear-streaked. His muscular build, honed through years of high-intensity missions, contrasted absurdly with his weepy, delicate expression.
And his cloak pockets were like Doraemon’s—filled with random things.
A waterskin, parchment, compressed biscuits, a few ancient-looking coins, medicine bottles… All kinds of oddities were dumped onto Jian Yunlan.
Jian Yunlan: “?? Guest, please—stop—”
Mu Dongsheng: “.” (As if deaf, continued stuffing.)
Finally, Jian Yunlan raised his voice:
“Guest, there’s really no more porridge today! But if you like it, I’ll be here tomorrow—you can come back then!”
Mu Dongsheng froze.
“Tomorrow… more?”
He eyed Jian Yunlan skeptically.
“Yes, definitely more!” Jian Yunlan nodded firmly while shoving the bizarre assortment of items back into Mu Dongsheng’s pockets.
At this confirmation, Mu Dongsheng’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Then… I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise!”
