Jiang Feng's bone soup restaurant had become a resting station for weary guests.
Several groups of guests came in at noon, casually eating something after taking their departed loved ones to be cremated.
Upon entering, their expressions were all steeped in sorrow, their moods deeply somber.
But when they left, their emotions seemed much more stable, and their footsteps also appeared more steady.
This was the power of good food. Subtle yet undeniable, it carried a profoundly uplifting significance.
By 2 p.m., Jiang Feng had served over forty customers.
He was still over fifty people short of completing his task. Given the current flow of customers, it was uncertain whether he would complete the task. But such matters were left to fate, as promotional tactics were of little use unless he made a callout on Jiangyue Terrace's public account. However, that would seem too mercenary, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.
