At that moment, a large hand reached out from behind Zhou Huan, grabbing his shoulder: "Brother, you haven't eaten yet. What's up with our chef? Are you looking for trouble?"

Zhou Huan spun around to face the speaker—a man nearly six-and-a-half feet tall, with a broad build, his arm possibly thicker than Zhou Huan’s leg, looking quite imposing. Yet, Zhou Huan just smiled faintly. "What kind of person do you take me for? How can I judge your food as good or bad before even tasting it? I just want to know the steps taken to prepare this meal, and what ingredients were used."

"Heh heh, sir, you jest. Our culinary secrets aren't for sale. I suggest you save your breath, eat up quickly, pay the bill, and be on your way." The speaker squeezed Zhou Huan's shoulder roughly, then turned to leave.

It was said that Dongzi truly lacked patience. He didn't even ask Zhou Huan what the situation was before shouting past him at the man who had just spoken: "Hey! Hold it right there! Buddy, did you eat garlic? Why is your tone so spicy?"

The man abruptly stopped and slowly turned to look at Dongzi, sneering, "Hmph. Your boss hasn't even spoken, and it's not your place to jump in. What a piece of trash. If you had the ability to sit in my position, hah hah hah!"

This fellow was incredibly arrogant. It turned out he was the security enforcer for this establishment, serving his employer—essentially, the hotel's private muscle. These people were desperate characters, mostly warmongers hired from foreign mercenary groups, which explained this individual's supreme haughtiness.

Zhou Huan pulled Dongzi back. "Sit down, don't cause trouble. You all stay here, I'm going to the kitchen." With that, Zhou Huan left the room. The man from before, who had been blocking the doorway for Zhou Huan and his group, deliberately stepped forward to obstruct him.

"Is there something this gentleman needs assistance with? No matter where you go, we'll accompany you." As he spoke, the man gave a look, and two security guards trailed behind Zhou Huan.

Zhou Huan grinned wryly. "I'd like to see the kitchen, and I'm very eager to meet your chef. I want to thank him in person for preparing such delicious food for us."

"Certainly, you can go, but it seems others wanted to see him before you. You'll probably be queuing until next Friday." The enforcer shook his head, his eyes fixed on Zhou Huan, then added, "You look like a man of means. How about if we send someone along with you..." As he spoke, the enforcer made a gesture with his thumb and index finger, as if indicating a large sum of money.

Zhou Huan laughed suddenly. "That's easily settled. It’s a tip, isn't it? I, Zhou Huan, can afford it. Why don't you help me look after something for a moment? When I come back to collect it, you can come with me to get the money."

"Fine. I'd like to see what this item is."

Zhou Huan casually flicked his wrist, tossing the car keys into the enforcer's hand. "This is my automobile, parked right outside the door. The license plate is one S followed by four eights." The words were barely out before the keys had sailed through the air. Zhou Huan then walked off alone toward another waiter.

Those two brainless fools were truly after money more than their lives. After taking Zhou Huan's keys, they muttered privately: "Today we finally hit a big fish. I don't think we're far from getting rich. Let's take it for a spin."

"Go on, I'll drive, you sit."

"Let's take turns..." The two argued, then scrambled outside to compete for who would drive the supposed Mercedes-Benz.

Zhou Huan had already sized them up perfectly. It didn't matter if they took the car out; it was just a bit of play. Zhou Huan was easygoing about it, but Dongzi wasn't. He hid in the room, watching the two start the Mercedes, his face filled with displeasure. Normally, Zhou Huan never let Dongzi touch the car because he didn't have a driving permit—it was illegal for him to drive.

"Damn it! I really don't know what Brother Huan is thinking. It infuriates me. He'd give the car away to outsiders but won't let his own brother use it." Dongzi paced anxiously in the room, clenching his fists and hitting his own leg.

Zhou Huan sauntered into the kitchen. The temperature in the kitchen was always like a blazing, fiery furnace. But Zhou Huan seemed immune to the heat; even if he were soaked in sweat, he wouldn't utter a single 'no.'

"Hey! Who are you? What are you doing in our kitchen?" A massive fatty, whose face was smeared with bits of food, suddenly popped out from somewhere. "You're something else. Everything in here, besides making food, is slop fit for pigs, the leftovers from guests!"

"Don't misunderstand. I'm here today only to inquire about how a specific dish is made." Zhou Huan spoke truthfully, as he simply wanted to know the formula used in the food the two children ate. Zhou Huan's real objective was simple: he wanted to know if anything was placed in the food that could cause hallucinations in children, or lead to poisoning related to specific people or individuals.

The two cooks stopped stir-frying vegetables and wobbled over to Zhou Huan. This man looked quite smug, carrying a bone-chopping cleaver in one hand and smoking a cigarette holder between his lips. He pointed at Zhou Huan and loudly declared, "You're quite interesting, coming here to learn cooking. What's the matter? Can't your wife cook at home? If that's the case, you're a real failure, you know. Why not hand your wife over to me? I could discipline her, make her cook every day."

Zhou Huan's expression shifted abruptly from sunny to stormy, his eyes filling with rage. With bloodshot eyes, he stared at the speaker. "Kid, you need to mind your manners these days. Don't think you can act like you own the place just because you have some backing here. I'm telling you honestly, based on the likes of you, there's absolutely no way you could take me down."

"Hahahaha! This guy is even more arrogant than we are! I think he needs a lesson." As he spoke, the several men in the kitchen crowded forward, all carrying implements—large serving spoons, cleavers, and so on.

Zhou Huan snickered. "If I, Zhou Huan, don't let you spill some blood today to sacrifice to my pet, then I'm your grandson."

Seeing Zhou Huan empty-handed, the five or six men almost burst out laughing. They were mercenaries too, but assassins in the style of West Asia who had learned to cook. They would go around taking over establishments, causing trouble if they weren't paid, and providing protection if they were. After all, what business owner wouldn't want to avoid trouble every day?

At this moment, one of the five cooks whispered to the fat one, "Zhou Huan. That name sounds awfully familiar. I think I've heard it somewhere, or maybe seen it. They say he's pretty tough, and knows something about ghost-catching too."

"Screw the nonsense! If you want the chef's recipe, crawl under me first, or don't bother!" The cook was unbelievably arrogant, beyond description.

Zhou Huan raised a hand and slapped him, then immediately followed with another slap, followed by two punches, and finally a flying kick. A cloud of dust filled the kitchen, and all the cooks fell down, collapsing before they even knew why.

Zhou Huan grabbed the cook holding the cleaver. "Brother, you guys are too soft. Hiring you as mercenaries? If I were your boss, I wouldn't hire you to help out. Guys like you who cause trouble instead of solving it are just inviting misery."

The fat cook groaned and struggled up, snatching a large iron ladle and lunging at Zhou Huan. Zhou Huan spun around and delivered a kick that sent the fat man soaring, feet off the ground, landing hard several feet away.

"Trash. Alright, tell me, who made that meal for the child just now?" Zhou Huan exerted pressure on the cook he held, demanding in a sharp tone.

The fat cook slowly pulled himself up. Seeing that Zhou Huan was definitely not to be messed with, and knowing he couldn't remain silent, he said fearfully of another beating, "Hey, alright, I'll tell you. It was just a birthday cake with some fruit."

"What fruit was added?"

"What fruit?" The fat man couldn't recall. He turned to the others. "Hey? What did I put in earlier?"

"Fat Brother, you forgot you put in half an apple and a wedge of cantaloupe."

"Oh, right. I used apple and cantaloupe."

Zhou Huan shook his head and smiled faintly. "Such simple ingredients, two sentences, and you get beaten up for it. You guys are truly dimwitted."

Zhou Huan turned and left the kitchen. As he emerged, he ran right into the two men who had taken his keys earlier. After returning, these two seemed like entirely different people. They proactively pulled out a hundred yuan note and handed it to Zhou Huan. "Master Zhou, please accept our apologies. We were blind and didn't recognize your stature. We drove your car earlier; this is for the fuel. Please forgive our ignorance. Here is your car key. Do you have any other instructions? Just say the word."

"Haha! Those blockheads inside, you guys find a way to make them smarter, would you?" Zhou Huan took the keys, re-entered the room, picked up a piece of cake, and stuffed a generous mouthful into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Hmm, the taste is good, but the problem with Xiao Yan'er lies right here." He ate contentedly, and Dongzi ate even more happily.

"Brother, did you just beat someone up? I could hear the rhythm of your powerful moves," Dongzi said, grinning sheepishly.

Zhou Huan squinted his eyes, concentrating on savoring the lingering taste between the fruit flavor and the cream.

"Master Zhou, long time no see. Why didn't you let me know you were in town? My home is so close by; why not stop by for a visit?" Mr. Wang entered. In this city, Mr. Wang was untouchable; no one dared to offend him, as his wealth was substantial.

Seeing Mr. Wang, Zhou Huan habitually remained seated and instead said, "Brother Wang has arrived. Your little brother has prepared a cake for you. We have three of us, and we ordered four—I knew you'd come! Are we telepathic or what!"

The two shared a hearty laugh, but suddenly, Zhou Huan's laughter faded. He saw a figure descending the stairs outside the door. This person brought him not a normal sensory feeling, but a profound psychological discomfort, as if something significant was about to happen.