Chapter Seventy: Choosing Twice-Cooked Pork

The Scallion Duck was extremely confident. It had already watched Heath’s cooking process, and this Three-Not-Stick dish truly didn’t seem very difficult—just a bit tedious with its repetitive steps, but nothing insurmountable. Yet, when it actually began to cook, the Scallion Duck regretted its earlier bravado. The initial steps went smoothly, but when it came time to flip the pan, the duck realized just how sore its wings were.

The ache in its muscles, the long stretch of holding the pan and constantly flipping it, made the duck feel utterly miserable. Its wings, repeating the same motion over and over, felt as if they might snap. Heath glanced at the Scallion Duck and couldn’t help but laugh. He was in good spirits; after all, the duck could have taken an interest in anything, but it had to fixate on the Three-Not-Stick?

“This is karma,” Heath thought gleefully, almost tempted to sing a tune of good fortune. The pain had been his during the day; now, finally, he could watch someone else suffer. No wonder people say happiness is built upon the misery of others. Watching the duck in its pitiful state, Heath felt as refreshed as if he’d downed a can of chilled Sprite on a hot summer day.

Still, he set about his preparations. This time, Heath intended to use Twice-Cooked Pork from Sichuan cuisine as the spicy centerpiece for lunch, and he’d chosen black pork precisely for this reason. The piece of pork he’d bought was marbled, with excellent texture in the fatty parts. Heath ran his fingers over it—smooth and slick—and pressed down, his fingertips picking up glistening droplets.

Fat. Heath even sniffed it; this pig had developed well, no wonder its market price was so much higher than those factory-farmed ones. This meat was perfect for Twice-Cooked Pork. Of course, it wasn’t time to cook yet; Heath merely sliced it open and marinated it in his own blend of sauces, so the finished dish wouldn’t need any extra salt.

Once all preparations for the next day’s menu were complete, Heath clapped his hands and glanced at the Scallion Duck. The duck was exhausted, holding the pan with both wings, flipping it relentlessly. This was its second attempt at the Three-Not-Stick; the first had ended in disaster, a lazy shortcut yielding a result that looked like corn mush.

Now, Heath was supervising its second try, but the duck seemed even more fatigued. Understandable—after all, it had been working on the dish for nearly an hour. Even an iron man would struggle against the weight of the pan and the endless repetition.

Heath didn’t intervene, though. He watched the Three-Not-Stick in the pan; since the duck hadn’t flipped enough, lumps had begun to form. “No need to flip anymore, this batch has failed. Try again tomorrow,” Heath said, shaking his head. The dish wasn’t difficult, but clearly the duck’s strength was lacking.

Heath felt nostalgic for the day he’d received the Silver Crown. If only he could max out the duck’s stamina, would its performance be better now?

“Scallion…” The duck sat wearily on the floor, its wings trembling slightly, which made Heath want to laugh.

“Rest well. Try again tomorrow. You’ll probably sleep soundly tonight, but tomorrow…” Heath chuckled, then led the duck back to his bedroom.

After a long day, fatigue quickly sent the body into sleep. The Scallion Duck was no exception; as soon as it entered the room, it collapsed onto a soft cushion and soon drifted off.

“Tsk tsk, let’s see how you manage tomorrow,” Heath smacked his lips, then looked at the soundly sleeping Zorua and gently rubbed its head, before turning off the lights.

The next morning, Heath rose from bed feeling refreshed. He checked his phone—it was five o’clock. He woke the Scallion Duck and Zorua, then took his two tired Pokémon to the bathroom.

“Scallion says its wings are a little sore,” Zorua mumbled sleepily, toothbrush in paw, relaying the duck’s complaint.

“That’s normal. Only a little? Seems the duck’s previous training paid off,” Heath replied calmly, brushing his teeth and spitting the foam into the sink.

A sudden burst of exercise after a long period of inactivity always made muscles sore the next day, but judging by the duck’s knife skills lately, even after all that pan-flipping yesterday, it was only a little achy.

After the morning wash-up, Heath took the Scallion Duck and Zorua to the food cart, heading to his usual stall. Glancing at his phone, he began the busy process of preparing lunch.

One hundred and thirty-two lunch portions—more than before, but with last time’s experience, it was no big deal for Heath. Even so, he was busy greeting customers as he cooked, working straight through until 11:20 before he finally finished all the lunches.

“Whew… Too exhausting. Next time, I shouldn’t entertain guests, or there’s just not enough time,” Heath wiped sweat from his brow and let out a sigh.

A while later, the psychiatric hospital’s van arrived, carrying two male attendants and two female attendants, though the women looked almost as burly as the men—broad-shouldered and sturdy, likely a hospital requirement.

After all, it takes strength to restrain patients with mental illness; it’s a difficult task and there’s always the risk of being inadvertently injured.

Watching the hospital van leave, Heath anxiously rubbed his hands. The last prison delivery had been rewarding—not only had he found a clue, he’d obtained a food identification device. He wondered what he might gain this time.

With that anxious hope, Heath continued serving lunch guests, but when the rush ended, he didn’t see any notification that he’d completed the task.

“Maybe they haven’t eaten yet?” Heath’s expression was odd.

[You have completed the food delivery task for the psychiatric hospital. Ninety-three guests are satisfied with your food.]

[You have received a special lottery ticket.]

Heath was momentarily stunned—only ninety-three guests satisfied? Still, seeing the special lottery ticket in his hand, he felt quite pleased. With luck, this could change his fate, though what he would receive remained a mystery.

Yet, what dampened his spirits was that the Chef’s Eye task hadn’t been completed. Apparently, the two tasks were calculated separately.