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墨書 Inktalez
I’m sorry to say that I didn’t enjoy studying when I was a child; my biggest hobby was watching my dad cook. Over time, he became my mentor in making dough-based dishes. So now, taking over this restaurant feels quite natural to me; pulling noodles and preparing dishes is second nature.
After taking over the shop, I not only redecorated the place to make it look cleaner, but I also added many other dishes to the menu. For instance, hearty soups like Beef Soup, Pigeon Soup, and Soft-Shelled Turtle Soup are all available for just fifteen each.
Like my dad, I have a tendency to either not do something at all or to do it really well. Recently, for some reason, a large influx of tourists suddenly arrived in our town. Normally, people choose to travel to picturesque places, but here, aside from mountains, there are only mines—nothing particularly special.
Despite this, everyone seemed to flock here. Our hospital is affiliated with the Mining Bureau, functioning as a sort of employee clinic. Nearby, there’s a mining park that had been under renovation for some time; it has now become more distinctive and even developed underground caves as tourist attractions.
Visitors only need to pay a small fee to explore the sights within the mines. Most of the tourists are from the south or northern folks who have never seen a mine before; there are very few locals around. In fact, we merchants support the development of this park because tourists need food and lodging, which has significantly increased our income.
I’ve also started to transition my business model; I no longer limit myself to serving only patients but have learned more culinary skills to provide various cuisines for the public. Although it’s not entirely formal, I can still whip up a variety of dishes.
One day, three tourists followed their navigation and walked in, immediately asking if we had large bowls of noodles. Still half-asleep, I got up from the table and instinctively nodded. They sighed in relief; the leader among them, dressed in black, glanced at the menu and raised an eyebrow at me.
“What kind of place is this? You’re not using pre-packaged meals and lymph meat, are you? It’s so cheap!”
I instinctively frowned. What? Are they here to cause trouble?
“We have our own wheat fields; our flour is naturally inexpensive. As for pre-packaged meals and lymph meat, you can take a look in the kitchen yourself—everything is fresh and delivered daily. We don’t engage in those self-destructive practices.”
The man leaned in to peek into the kitchen while mumbling to himself.
"It's quite clean, but I wonder how it tastes."
They stared at the menu for a long time and finally ordered three bowls of noodles.
"Hey, boss, we're tourists from out of town. It's our first time here, so make it good for us!"
I nodded, lifted the curtain, and went inside to start cooking.
I couldn't shake the feeling that these people had a fierce demeanor; they didn't seem like the friendly type.
But they were customers, after all. As long as they came in well and left well, that was all that mattered.
We wouldn't have any dealings in the future, so how they treated me was none of my concern.
When I brought the noodles to their table, they picked at them and started chatting among themselves.
One moment they said, "The portion is quite large," and the next, "The taste is okay, just a bit worse than home."
I let their comments go in one ear and out the other; everyone has different tastes. This is just a small shop, and it's normal for some to like it while others don't.
To show my hospitality as a host, I even offered them a Cold Dish Platter for free, which is one of our specialties.
When it was time to settle the bill, I asked for ten yuan for one bowl according to the menu.
The person in black scanned the code and then sat back down, probably wanting to take a break before leaving; I didn't pay much attention.
It was lunchtime at the restaurant, bustling with people coming and going. Besides these tourists, there were also many familiar patients from the nearby hospital.
Most paid in cash, while only some younger ones who bought meals for elderly family members would scan the code.
A girl around ten years old packed up a bowl of noodles and naturally scanned five yuan over.
I recognized her and greeted her before getting back to my work.
But the next second, the gloomy group at that table looked up, and the person in black called out to me.
"Wait a minute, boss! Is there something wrong with your restaurant?"
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