You are ordered to support the War of Resistance against Japan; China enters Level 1 combat readines

Kaohsiung City's Kusada led the group to the reception area that had been prepared in advance.

A secluded courtyard house with blue bricks and gray tiles, with two old locust trees planted in the yard, is quite quiet and elegant.

"You have had a long journey. Please have a simple meal to rest. Once all the representatives from various countries have arrived, the gentleman will personally receive you."

In Kaohsiung, the food served at Caotian Restaurant was simple.

Field rations, bottled cola, canned instant coffee, and several neatly stacked cans of luncheon meat.

He then politely exchanged a few pleasantries before turning and leaving.

Morgan stood in the room, looking at the so-called "welfare meal" on the table, his face turning completely grim.

It wasn't the welcome banquet he had expected. There was no long dining table covered with a white tablecloth, no silver candlesticks or crystal goblets, and not even a decent dining chair.

Only a few rattan chairs were placed crookedly on the side of the table.

On the table were several metal trays, neatly stacked with several bags of paper-wrapped military rations, several aluminum cans, several bottles of cola, and a kettle of freshly boiled water.

that's it.

Gone.

Who are they?

Diplomatic representatives, military representatives, financial representatives—the most elite people in the entire United States were gathered in this room, and this is what they were given to eat?

Paper bags, tin cans, not even a single dish served on a porcelain plate.

Not only did we not even get to see the person in question, but the food was also terrible!

What was Morgan III's status?

When he was in New York, even the White House would reserve a seat for him at state banquets. Now, after traveling tens of thousands of miles across the ocean, he's being treated like a common soldier.

White laughed.

He picked up a bag of military rations and examined it from all angles, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his expression:

"You didn't see what Mr. Shen fed us when I first came here."

"A dish of pickled radishes, two multigrain steamed buns, and they're still cold!"

"Now that we have canned meat and coffee, it's already a very high standard. This shows that we are much more important to Mr. Shen than I was back then."

As he spoke, he unpacked a bag of military rations with surprisingly practiced movements, clearly indicating that this was not his first time handling such a substance.

Lieutenant Colonel Mike, standing nearby, paid no attention to his witty remarks. From the moment he entered, he had been staring intently at the bags of military rations on the table, his eyes showing no contempt but only the scrutiny of a professional soldier.

He picked up a package from the tray, turned it over to look at the ingredient list on the back, weighed it in his hand, and then opened the seal and smelled it.

"Is this the infamous field ration from the European battlefields?"

"Do you know what those army geeks are saying? They're saying this isn't military rations, it's a tactical advantage!"

"High in calories and protein, with a long shelf life and excellent taste, far exceeding our current Type C rations!"

"We've already started to replicate it. The military supply lab in Ohio has developed a preliminary formula that can get close to the original in terms of nutritional indicators, but the production cost is more than four times higher than Mr. Shen's selling price."

"Mr. Shen's price is one dollar and twenty-five cents a pack, while it costs five dollars if we make it ourselves."

"The Quartermaster Department did the math and concluded... it's better to just buy them than to imitate them!"

"Not to mention the taste!"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Morgan took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at Lieutenant Colonel Mike with an incredulous expression.

Although he was not a soldier, the Morgan family owned several defense companies, and his understanding of the military procurement system was no less than that of any logistics officer.

From the Revolutionary War to the present, there has never been a single piece of equipment that has made the Pentagon admit that "it's better to buy directly than to imitate"!

British warships, French cannons, German machine guns—America has always disassembled and copied them, modified them, and then made them better and cheaper than the originals.

This is the foundation of the Empire's industrial system, and the source of Wall Street's confidence to pour capital into any arsenal.

But now, sitting on a rattan chair in this small Far Eastern town, he heard a lieutenant colonel of the Imperial Navy say with his own ears, "We can't imitate this thing!"

"I'd like to see what that guy surnamed Shen is really up to!"

Morgan stubbed out his cigar in the teacup on the table and pulled out a wicker chair to sit down.

The chair creaked, as if expressing some kind of dissatisfaction.

He grabbed a bottle of Coke and pried the cap off with his thumb.

Bubbles popped out, he took a big gulp, smacked his lips, and looked utterly disdainful.

"Tsk, what is this stuff? It's sickeningly sweet and doesn't taste like authentic Coca-Cola at all. It's just a cheaply made knock-off."

He put down the cola, then reached for a can of luncheon meat and turned it over to look at the bottom.

There was no manufacturer, no place of origin markings, only a simple date stamp and a few letters he couldn't understand, like some kind of military code.

The rudimentary packaging made him unconsciously frown.

"Damn it, this kind of stuff is only eaten by the lowest-ranking people in the empire. How dare they serve it to guests?"

In Morgan's eyes, luncheon meat was synonymous with cheapness and was considered a poor person's food that was not presentable.

Luncheon meat cans are a product of the Great Depression.

Meat processing plants grind up minced meat, starch, and fat, pack it into tin cans, sterilize and seal them at high temperatures, and sell them to poor people who can't afford fresh meat to maintain the dignity of "eating meat once a day."

This stuff would never appear on the Morgan family's dining table; even the servants' meals wouldn't include this kind of canned food.

But at this moment, in this small town in the Far East, thousands of miles away from New York, an Eastern businessman is serving this "low-class food" to his distinguished guests.

Morgan Jr. didn't even know whether to interpret it as an insult or as ignorance.

He cut off a small piece with a knife and fork.

The cut of the can was very neat, and the pink minced meat had a delicate texture with almost no large fat particles, which was completely different from the luncheon meat he had seen in China.

The Empire's Type C rations also included canned luncheon meat, but that stuff had a starch content as high as 40%, and when cut open, it was whitish in color and dry, like putty mixed with sawdust.

When you cut open this can of luncheon meat, the cut surface is smooth and oily, and you can even see the fine meat fibers. The oil seeps out along the cut and condenses into a thin film on the blade.

There was also an indescribable savory aroma wafting from the cut, not the salty aroma of ham, nor the smoky aroma of bacon, but a richer, more complex aroma that almost reflexively made one's mouth water.

It's like condensing a whole pot of broth that's been simmering for three days and three nights into this palm-sized tin can.

Morgan frowned, forked the piece of meat, and put it in his mouth.

Then he was dumbfounded.

The moment you bite down, the piece of meat bounces gently between your lips and teeth, like biting into a fresh, tender steak straight from the oven.

Then the juice exploded in my mouth!

That umami flavor wasn't salty, nor sweet; it wasn't a flavor that any seasoning he was familiar with could describe.

It's so fresh!

An extreme umami flavor he had never experienced before, a flavor that shot straight to the top of his head from his tongue!

God!

What the hell is this thing?