The scent of soap slowly replaced the sour stench.
The spectators watched in stunned disbelief.
Lin Feng had just erased a gang.
And now he was mopping.
Somehow, that image was more unsettling than the fall of Mo Yan.
It meant he did not see what he had done as extraordinary.
It was simply… maintenance.
Within minutes, the overturned chairs were straightened.
The wooden floor regained its polished sheen.
The tables were restored as if the chaos had never happened.
The restaurant returned to its peaceful atmosphere.
As though thirty-seven men had not just collapsed moments earlier.
Ling Lan, still shaken, resumed cooking.
The steady rhythm of her knife against the cutting board slowly returned.
The sizzle of oil filled the air again.
Life… resumed.
Lin Feng washed his hands carefully, scrubbing each finger with deliberate thoroughness.
He dried them with a clean cloth and returned to his seat.
He sat down.
Picked up his chopsticks.
Then paused.
