After studying the recipe, Qin Huai poked at it a few times—unexpectedly triggering an additional “friendly reminder.”
[Most tree bark is toxic and not edible. It is recommended to use elm bark. Please choose carefully.]
How considerate.
It would be even more considerate if it could provide a slightly more normal recipe.
Qin Huai exited the game panel and fell into deep thought.
There was too much information—he needed to sort it out.
First: Chen Huihong is not human.
Second…
Forget it—what second?! She’s not human!
Not! Human!
Well… not entirely confirmed. The species field still showed “locked.” What if, after unlocking, it actually says human?
Setting facts aside… wasn’t there at least a one-in-ten-thousand chance she was human?
As for the remaining 9,999 chances…
Qin Huai stared at his phone, his fingers hovering over the chat interface. He wanted to send a probing message—but couldn’t think of what to say.
Ever since learning about the system, he’d imagined many possible “storylines” for himself:
Urban tycoon, business empire, academic genius, interdimensional traveler, compassionate doctor, ultimate chef…
But never alien invasion or spiritual awakening.
For an ordinary college student from a breakfast shop family, that was way too much.
He didn’t even read those kinds of stories—no experience at all.
And then there was the codex.
Qin Huai reopened the game panel and stared at the “Dreams” section—1/3.
Was what he saw really just a dream?
He tried to recall Chen Huihong’s behavior in the dream.
It was a bit strange.
Not exactly inhuman—but more like a “fourth disaster player” entering a completely unfamiliar world, curious about everything. Like a modern person thrown into a wasteland, or a future person in ancient times.
“Fourth disaster…”
Qin Huai rested his chin on his hand and sucked in a breath.
Crap.
Had he become an NPC?
So what comes next? Main god descending? Game world merging? Global catastrophe? Player invasion?
Wait… maybe not.
If this followed a more traditional Chinese narrative style, Chen Huihong might be a cultivator who had completed her training and entered the mortal world to undergo trials.
No, that sounded too outrageous.
Then… a spirit?
What if Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio was actually nonfiction?
Just as his thoughts spiraled, Chen Huihong sent a message.
Chen Huihong: Xiao Qin, here’s today’s recruitment shortlist. Take a look. There’s a promising young candidate I think could be a store manager—see if you need one.
Qin Huai instantly replied.
Qin Huai: Got it, Sister Hong. Thank you! And thank you for your hard work!
He downloaded the document.
At that moment, none of the theories mattered anymore.
Whether she was a deity, a spirit, or something else—
Even if she was some pre-modern supernatural being, she was still kind-hearted, helpful, and assisting with recruitment.
In modern society, one should embrace everything with tolerance and understanding.
Not human?
No big deal. Qin Huai had a system himself.
After thinking for a moment, he sent another message:
Qin Huai: Sister Hong, do you know anything about tree bark? I’ve been experimenting with spices lately and feel elm bark could work well in salads. Would you be interested in tasting it?
The chat showed “typing…” for a full three minutes—
But no message came.
Finally, after three minutes, Chen Huihong replied with the resolve of someone making a great sacrifice:
Chen Huihong: Very creative 👍 I’ll definitely try it when I get the chance!
Seeing this, Qin Huai’s eyes almost welled up with tears.
Forget whether she was human or not—
With this level of support, she was definitely a positive character!
After ending the chat—and his pointless speculation—Qin Huai began reviewing the recruitment list.
Yunzhong Canteen planned to hire 2 chefs, 5–6 servers, and 1–2 general staff. Chen Huihong had prepared a list of 15 candidates, giving Qin Huai plenty of options.
The top candidate for store manager was Huang Xi, female, 34, married with children, bachelor’s degree, with 11 years in the food industry and 6 years as a branch manager at a chain restaurant. Her résumé was excellent.
She left her previous job because the company was struggling and closing stores. Her branch shut down, she was demoted overnight with a major pay cut, and had no choice but to resign.
A real talent—Qin Huai had struck gold.
The salary negotiated by HR was reasonable—base pay plus commission, with earnings depending on store performance. With a professional like Huang Xi, Qin Huai’s “makeshift team” could at least become a slightly more structured makeshift team.
As for the other candidates, they were fairly ordinary.
As a rookie boss with no hiring experience, Qin Huai simply looked at work experience and salary expectations. He selected two experienced chefs, five presentable servers with industry experience, and one cost-effective general worker with relevant skills, then sent the finalized list to Chen Huihong.
Half an hour later, Huang Xi contacted him via WeChat to discuss trial shifts and test cooking.
The largest “enterprise” Qin Huai had ever run was his family’s breakfast shop—worth about 80,000 yuan and spanning 15 square meters. He knew nothing about management; his parents handled the accounts.
Seeing how professional Huang Xi was, he simply handed everything over to her and focused on pastries.
For Huang Xi, this kind of hands-off boss was nothing unusual.
In fact, it was ideal. The worst bosses were those who knew nothing but insisted on micromanaging—demanding impossible things like “colorful black” or “radiant white,” then asking to combine both into something even more absurd. Those were the kinds of bosses that made employees want to tear their hair out.
Under Huang Xi’s efficient management, the new staff quickly completed trials, signed contracts, and became official employees.
Over the next few days, Qin Huai rarely went out. He stayed home refining the opening menu, only finalizing it at the last moment.
Now everything was ready—
All that remained was the grand opening of Yunzhong Canteen on July 1st.

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