Parallel world, Hailan Star, the seventeenth day of the twelfth lunar month, 2023, Beijing.
Wang Fan is a laid-back person who can adapt easily, although the system transforming his second uncle's pedal tricycle into a dining car with a top speed of 120 miles is indeed ridiculous.
"Ding, convertible self-driving dining car modification completed, current quality (white), please earn more points to upgrade."
This definitely sounds like a well-educated system, making even a broken tricycle sound so high-end.
He has little to say about his death in his past life, just the typical story of a corporate slave without core tech dying unexpectedly.
Back then, he blindly chose finance as his major. Later, he heard someone came out teaching people how to choose majors, analyzing career prospects for each school and major, but he missed out.
Since he died, there's no point in discussing it further; what's done is done.
Now he has a good physique, good looks, a convertible self-driving car, and a cheat code. What is there to be dissatisfied with in this kind of start?
Touching his washboard-like abs, Wang Fan contentedly muttered, "Thanks, King Yan!"
"Ding."
"Task issued: Please set up a stall at Shuofeng Park continuously for five days and sell at least one serving of Brera rice noodles."
"Task reward: Rice Noodle Recipe (issued, failure to complete the task will result in retrieval of the recipe and memory.)"
"Special task: In 100 years, please make 5 patients with anorexia voluntarily eat. Current progress—0/5."
"Task reward: Ingredient Cooler Box (white) (issued, failure to complete will result in retrieval.)"
As soon as the notification ended, a white foam box suddenly appeared on the dining car.
"Ingredient Cooler Box (white), any food item placed inside will maintain perfect taste and nutrition for 12 hours."
Wang Fan really wanted to tell the system "I like you!" but since the system doesn't have a dialogue function, he decided against it.
The time constraint of the system's task makes it seem like his props are nothing but freebies, could he really live for 100 years? He wasn't a turtle.
Having obtained the recipe, he naturally needed to prepare the ingredients. Although the system's requirement is to sell just one portion, with his wallet cleaner than his face, it was impossible to only sell one.
After buying the ingredients, his wallet was completely devoid of value.
With the fusion of memories and emotions, he knew his second uncle, who relied on him, was still lying in hospital waiting for medical expenses. As a man of the Celestial Dynasty, he believed in repaying even a small favor with a torrent of gratitude. He owed his life to his uncle, so he had to scrape together the medical fees.
The vegetable market wasn't far away, and with the system's help, Wang Fan easily bought ingredients that were affordable and fresh.
Returning to the run-down courtyard rented by his second uncle, he immediately flopped onto the bed and dozed off.
Splayed out on the bed, Wang Fan suddenly sat up straight after just a minute.
"Food preparation auto-program activated."
Wang Fan found it hard to describe his current state; he felt like a spectator watching his own body at work.
Marinating the minced meat, simmering the sauce, then grinding soaked early rice using a small stone mill.
Watching the milky white rice slurry slowly flow down, Wang Fan's mind was unusually active.
All the body's actions turned into muscle memory, and the techniques and cautions for making rice noodles were branded directly in his brain.
...
At 5 a.m., Wang Fan woke up promptly.
He pinched his arm, feeling his muscular arm had become even stronger.
"Ding, auto-program ended, 200 servings of Brera rice noodles prepared. Earned 200 experience points, current level—LV2."
Wang Fan absolutely loved the system.
Food preparations could be automated by the system; after completion, he'd receive the corresponding experience points which allowed him to level up, and his culinary skills improved with each level.
He hoped this virtuous cycle would continue.
He heard in Celestial Dynasty Guangfu, there are two types of rice noodles: freshly made ones and boxed Brera rice noodles. Office workers in Beijing wish they could stretch a minute into a whole day, so these pre-made Brera rice noodles have a better market than the fresh ones.
Opening the cooler box's lid, neat piles of beige rice noodles were arranged inside, so perfectly that the most severe OCD sufferer would feel instantly cured.
Nodding in satisfaction, Wang Fan rode off in his convertible self-driving car.
What used to be a strenuous ride on a pedal dining car now felt light and nimble; Wang Fan's long legs pedaled faster and faster, feeling a sense of thrilling speed.
The original hour-long ride was shortened to less than thirty minutes.
Shuofeng Park itself wasn't large, with quite a few elderly folks exercising there.
Though small, the park had a decent morning rush hour foot traffic, being a crucial transfer point from multiple buses to the subway.
Though still early, several stall owners had started setting up.
Some sold boiled corn, others sold steamed buns, pancakes, and there were a few selling socks, clothes, and small trinkets.
Not familiar with them, Wang Fan didn't approach but found a spot to stop instead.
Since it was early, the crowd of office workers wouldn't arrive for another half hour, so he planned to feed himself first.
His body had worked all night, and his stomach was already empty.
Using tongs, he picked up a piece of Brera rice noodles, laid it on the chopping board, and sliced it into six equal segments, placed them into a bowl, and drowned them in sauce.
Rice noodles not drowned in sauce have no soul.
Just one bite, and Wang Fan's eyes squinted happily.
After finishing a serving of Brera rice noodles, seeing it was nearly peak time, Wang Fan closed his box-pushing game and tucked his third-hand old phone into his pocket.
Then the rolled-up, still steaming Brera rice noodles were placed in the steamer, soon releasing hot steam and rich rice aroma.
...
...
Wang Gaofeng was a 35-year-old programmer, but with his bald head, sunken eyes, and sallow complexion, he looked fifty.
Due to rushing deadlines, he worked overtime until 2 AM and decided to sleep at the office, a routine lasting a week.
Groggy, Wang Gaofeng didn't even open his eyes before a peculiar fragrance wove its way into his nose.
The scent was rich and full-bodied yet non-irritating, carrying a hot steamy rice aroma, reminiscent of his childhood home's paddies.
Oh? Wait? His family only had dry fields growing wheat, no rice aroma?
Perplexed, Wang Feng woke from his dream, rubbed his already shiny bald head, and was about to lie back down.
Continuous overtime had drained him, and all he wanted was rest, not food.
Groggy, Wang Gaofeng felt a faint aroma seem to form a visible line before him.
The scent fluctuated, but the richness remained, prompting his nose to twitch frequently.
His stomach began to churn incessantly, even emitting several "grr" sounds.
Overnight, his meal constituted only of coffee and two cups of strong tea, daring not to eat a thing.
He knew fullness led to drowsiness; drowsiness affected performance, affected performance meant unfinished tasks, unfinished tasks led to no bonuses, resulting in no home loan, baby formula, or wife's makeup funding.
These worries sliced his luscious hair like razors.
But now, those persistent nuisances seemed gone, leaving only an aromatic richness, drooling mouth, and a growling belly.