The next morning, Lu Chen was woken up by his phone vibrating.
It wasn't a call—just that system in his head making its presence felt:
[Newbie Quest Countdown: 2 days, 23 hours, 58 minutes]
[Suggestion: Complete stall inspection and equipment purchase today]
Lu Chen rubbed his eyes and found Xiaoyu already awake, leaning over the bed staring at him, her eyes as bright as searchlights.
"Brother-in-law, when are we going to the night market?"
"Did you hear that too?" Lu Chen was stunned.
"Hear what?" Xiaoyu tilted her head. "I mean, didn't we decide to set up a stall? We should go scout the market early!"
So the system wasn't broadcasting out loud. Lu Chen let out a sigh of relief, sat up, and said, "Wait for me to wash my face."
The motel's bathroom was so narrow you could barely turn around, and the water from the faucet had a rusty tint. Looking at the bearded man with dark circles almost dragging to his chin in the mirror, Lu Chen suddenly felt a stranger staring back at him.
"Lu Chen, Lu Chen," he muttered to himself. "Twenty-eight years old, unemployed, divorced, and now taking my sister-in-law to set up a street stall… is there something wrong with this life path?"
[Negative emotions detected. Reminder: 72% of past Gods of Cooking came from humble backgrounds, 48% experienced marital setbacks, and 31% worked as street vendors. Data shows your starting point has excellent inheritance potential.]
Lu Chen almost choked on his mouthwash.
Could this system even dish out inspirational clichés?
"Brother-in-law!" Xiaoyu knocked on the door. "Hurry up! I checked—West City Night Market starts setting up at four in the afternoon. We need to go early to reserve a spot… uh no, to scout!"
Ten minutes later, the two walked out of the motel. Lu Chen checked his bank card balance on his phone—sure enough, there was an extra thousand yuan. It wasn't a dream.
"Let's eat first," he bought four steamed buns and two cups of soybean milk from a street vendor. "We need to save money."
Xiaoyu bit into a bun, her words muffled: "Brother-in-law, how much startup capital do we have?"
"Sixteen thousand yuan," Lu Chen didn't include the thousand from the system. "The monthly rent for the stall is fifteen hundred, equipment might cost two to three thousand, and ingredient costs… we'll have about ten thousand left as a backup."
"That's enough! That's enough!" Xiaoyu's eyes lit up. "I checked a lot of stall-setting guides last night. Some people say selling fried rice at the night market can make this much a month—"
She held up two fingers.
"Two thousand?"
"Twenty thousand!" Xiaoyu lowered her voice, as if sharing a state secret. "And it's tax-free!"
Lu Chen almost choked on his soybean milk. Twenty thousand? Back when he slaved away at the company, he only made a little over eight thousand after taxes and social security deductions.
"Of course, that's for the top sellers," Xiaoyu added. "But I believe in you, brother-in-law! Your fried rice will definitely be a hit!"
Lu Chen smiled bitterly. He hadn't even tried the "Golden Egg Fried Rice" recipe the system had given him yet.
At ten in the morning, they took the bus to the west of the city.
The night market street was empty during the day, with oil stains and water marks on the ground, and a faint smell of cooking fumes lingering in the air. Two rows of simple shacks had their roller shutters tightly closed, covered with various small ads for transfers and rentals.
"System," Lu Chen asked in his mind. "Where's the stall you mentioned?"
[Fifty meters ahead, turn left at the third one, red roller shutter, with an 'Urgent Transfer' sign on it.]
Following the guidance, they indeed saw an A4 paper pasted on a shack's door, scrawled in marker:
Urgent Transfer! Full set of equipment, move-in ready. Monthly rent 1500, one month deposit + one month rent. Phone: 1385678
"Is this the place?" Xiaoyu leaned over to look. "It looks so old…"
It was old. Most of the red paint on the roller shutter had peeled off, revealing rusty iron sheets. Through the crack in the door, it was pitch-black inside.
Lu Chen dialed the number.
"Who's this?" A rough male voice came from the other end, with loud background noise, as if from a construction site.
"I saw your transfer ad and want to check out the stall."
"No time now! Come at four in the afternoon when the night market opens, check it out yourself!" He hung up immediately.
Xiaoyu pouted. "What a bad attitude."
"He must be in a hurry for money," Lu Chen put his phone away. "Let's walk around first to get familiar with the area."
The two walked around the empty night market street twice. The street was about two hundred meters long, with more than thirty stalls on each side—selling barbecue, fried rice noodles, fried skewers, sweet soup… a wide variety.
"Brother-in-law, look," Xiaoyu pointed to a few stalls in the middle with the best locations. "These must be the most profitable—close to the intersection, lots of foot traffic. Ours… seems a bit out of the way."
It was true. The stall recommended by the system was the third from the end of the street, and beyond that was a public toilet. In terms of feng shui, this location was the worst of the worst.
[Reminder: The previous operator of this stall sold fried rice and has accumulated some regular customers. Although the location is remote, it directly faces the toilet—people often feel hungry after using the restroom, so potential demand is strong.]
Lu Chen: "…"
This system had a rather tricky way of analyzing the market.
At half past three in the afternoon, the night market began to wake up.
Lu Chen and Xiaoyu squatted on the curb across the street, like two hunters waiting for their prey. The first to set up stall was an old lady selling sweet soup, in her fifties, who skillfully pulled up the roller shutter and carried out several large buckets.
Next was a young man selling pancakes, humming a song as he wiped the stove.
The barbecue stall owner arrived in a beat-up van, unloading crates of ingredients.
"Xiaoyu," Lu Chen suddenly said. "Have you noticed? All these stall owners know each other."
It was true. The sweet soup lady helped the pancake guy pick up a tool that had fallen on the ground, and the barbecue owner handed each of them a cigarette as he passed by. Although it was just simple nods and greetings, it was clear this was a small, interconnected world.
Promptly at four o'clock, an electric bike screeched to a halt in front of the red roller shutter.
The man riding it was around forty, with a crew cut, dark skin, and a faded camouflage jacket. His legs seemed to be injured—he moved stiffly when getting off the bike.
"That's him," Lu Chen stood up and walked over.
The man was unlocking the door when he heard footsteps and turned around, his eyes alert: "Here to see the stall?"
"We spoke on the phone," Lu Chen nodded.
The man looked him up and down, then glanced at Xiaoyu beside him, muttering: "Bringing the whole family to set up a stall? Alright, check it out yourself."
The roller shutter rolled up, and the inside was cleaner than expected. A two-meter-long operating table, a double-burner gas stove, a range hood, a storage cabinet, and a small freezer. Yellowed health permits and certificates were pasted on the wall—the photo on them was a smiling chubby uncle, not the man in front of them.
"Are all the equipment working?" Lu Chen asked.
"Yeah, the stove was just repaired last week," the man leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette. "If you're serious, one month deposit and one month rent—three thousand yuan. The remaining rice, oil, and seasonings inside are yours. I need money urgently, no haggling."
Xiaoyu whispered: "Brother-in-law, should we check other stalls first?"
"There are no others," the man exhaled a smoke ring. "This is the only empty one on this street. To be honest, the location isn't good, but it's cheap. The ones up front cost at least two thousand five a month."
Lu Chen didn't speak. He walked to the operating table and touched the countertop. It was ordinary tile, but wiped clean, with no greasiness.
"Why the urgent transfer?" he asked.
The man fell silent for a few seconds: "My dad's in the hospital—lung cancer. I broke my leg working at a construction site, and my wife ran off with someone else." He spoke calmly, as if talking about someone else's business. "This stall was my dad's. He ran it for a lifetime. Now he's lying in the hospital, and I need to take care of him. Running a stall requires being here every day—I can't do that."
Xiaoyu's eyes turned red.
Looking at the operating table, Lu Chen suddenly said: "How long did your father run this stall?"
"Twenty-three years," a smile tugged at the man's lips. "The old man was stubborn, always saying his fried rice was a family recipe. It's just ordinary egg fried rice, but he was generous with ingredients—good rice, well-beaten eggs, perfect heat control. Many regulars on this street have been eating here since they were kids."
Lu Chen's heart skipped a beat.
[Hidden information triggered: This stall once sold 200 servings of fried rice a day with a good reputation. Even after the previous operator closed due to illness, regular customers still ask about it.]
"I'll take it," Lu Chen said.
The man was stunned: "No haggling?"
"No."
"Not going to check others?"
"No."
The man stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed: "You're an interesting guy." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Alright, transfer the money. I'll write a simple contract and we'll press our fingerprints."
The transaction went smoothly. After transferring three thousand yuan, the man wrote a simple transfer agreement, and both parties signed and pressed their fingerprints.
"By the way," the man said before leaving. "There's a rule for this stall you need to know."
"What rule?"
"The night market has a leader—Brother Li, the barbecue seller." The man pointed to a burly man lighting a charcoal stove diagonally across the street. "Go to him for mediation if you have any issues, don't handle it yourself. Also, the hygiene fee is a hundred yuan a month, management fee fifty, due at the beginning of the month."
Lu Chen nodded: "Thank you."
"Good luck," the man limped toward his electric bike, then turned back and said: "My dad would be happy to know someone's taking over his stall."
The electric bike disappeared around the corner.
Xiaoyu tugged at Lu Chen's sleeve: "Brother-in-law, did we really decide on this so quickly?"
"We did," Lu Chen looked at the empty stall. "Starting tomorrow, we're night market vendors."
He walked into the shack and opened the drawer of the operating table. There were some odds and ends inside: a few plastic bags, an old kitchen knife, and a small notebook the size of a palm.
Lu Chen opened the notebook. On the first page, written in ballpoint pen:
Old Zhang's Fried Rice Tips—
Use overnight rice for separate grains. Add a little water to the egg mixture for a tender texture. High heat, quick movements. Sprinkle chopped green onions at the end to release the aroma.
The handwriting was crooked but earnest.
Turning to the back, there were even a few pages of messages from regular customers:
"Old Zhang, today's fried rice was a bit salty, but still delicious! — College student Xiao Wang"
"Uncle Zhang, my daughter got into college! Thank you for your fried rice all these years! — Old Chen"
"Old Zhang, I'm moving away. I'll miss your fried rice… So sad. — Grandma Liu"
Lu Chen flipped through the pages one by one, suddenly feeling that this tattered notebook in his hand was extremely heavy.
This wasn't just a stall.
It was a twenty-three-year dream, countless people's memories, and an old man's lifelong persistence.
"Brother-in-law?" Xiaoyu poked her head in. "What are you looking at?"
Lu Chen closed the notebook and took a deep breath.
"Xiaoyu."
"Hmm?"
"We can't ruin his reputation."
Just then, the system's prompt sounded:
[Detected host's intention to inherit the legacy of food culture.]
[Additional Newbie Quest Reward: If the quest is completed within three days, unlock the "Improved Old Zhang's Fried Rice" recipe (Heritage Level) as a bonus.]
Lu Chen's eyes lit up.
He looked at the operating table, the notebook, and the gradually bustling night market street.
Across the street, Brother Li at the barbecue stall was adding charcoal to the stove, the firelight reflecting his angular face. He seemed to feel Lu Chen's gaze, looked up for a moment, and then—
Nodded.
It was like a silent acknowledgment.
The first light of the night market popped on.
Then the second, third… one by one, the dim yellow lights lit up the entire street. The sounds of people talking, cars passing, and cooking mingled together, filling the air with the smell of cooking fumes and food.
A world unfolded before Lu Chen's eyes.
A vibrant, down-to-earth world he'd never experienced before.
"Xiaoyu," he said. "Go buy some rice and eggs. Tonight, we'll practice."
"Now?" Xiaoyu looked at the sky. "But we haven't even…"
"Right now," Lu Chen rolled up his sleeves. "Before we open, I need to learn to make a bowl of fried rice worthy of these twenty-three years."
He walked to the operating table and turned on the gas stove.
A blue flame whooshed up.
Illuminating his face.
And illuminating this small, brand-new beginning.