"Didn't anyone tell you to prepare my food?" Qing Chen said coldly, "So you think you can just not prepare it?"
The air pressure in the slave dormitory suddenly dropped. Qing Chen walked up to the foreman, lightly grabbed his collar with one hand, and lifted him into the air.
The foreman struggled, but Qing Chen's grip was like an iron clamp, showing no signs of loosening.
He sneered, "If you want to pick a side, you have to see if you're qualified. What qualifications do you have to pick a side?"
The foreman's face turned red, "Do you dare to kill someone in the Marquis Manor?"
Qing Chen questioned, "Why wouldn't I dare? You're just slaves, after all."
The slaves nearby panicked and quickly explained, "You usually eat in the villa; we only have coarse protein bars here, which are hard for you to swallow. If we rashly prepare slave food for you, you'd feel offended. Please don't make it hard for us; we really have no choice."
