A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Inside the dilapidated little restaurant, the air was stagnant, filled with a strange smell of greasy food mixed with some deeper kind of decay.

Four men and women were engrossed in wolfing down their food in front of them.

The food in the bowl—braised pork, stir-fried vegetables, and rice.

It looks appealing and smells delicious.

But their expressions had nothing to do with "enjoyment"; they showed only twisted pain and deep-seated fear, as if they were swallowing burning coals.

"Brother Zhang... I... I really can't eat anymore... I'm going to throw up..."

A young woman pleaded tearfully, her stomach visibly bulging unnaturally.

"Shut up! Chew your food and swallow it!"

The middle-aged man, called Brother Zhang, growled, veins bulging on his forehead. He was also forcing himself to swallow, his face turning pale.

"Look at Lao Zhou! Do you want to become like him?!"

He gestured with his eyes to the corner.

There, another man lay motionless in a chair.

His neck was twisted at an unnatural, almost folded angle, his face was purplish-black, and he had already lost his breath.

The most bizarre thing was that his mouth was forcibly pried open and stuffed with solidified, unchewed food residue, which blocked his throat.

The woman followed the gaze and her body trembled violently.

He dared not say another word, closed his eyes, grabbed the last few pieces of greasy, red-oiled meat from the bowl, stuffed them into his mouth with tears in his eyes, and chewed mechanically.

In the kitchen, the curtain swayed slightly.

Behind the curtain was not an ordinary stove.

A fat "thing" wearing a stained apron was facing away from the restaurant.

It has a human-like torso, but above its neck is a complete pig's head with pinkish-white skin, large ears, and a protruding snout.

The pig-headed monster grunted and moved slowly and deliberately.

It didn't even use a knife.

He simply stretched out his short, stubby fingers and tore off a large chunk of pinkish-white flesh, still with skin and even trembling slightly, from his own thick, bare arm, throwing it with a "thud" onto the blood-stained cutting board.

There was no gushing blood from the wound, only greasy tissue resembling fat and muscle fibers, which were visibly wriggling and healing.

It began to prepare the "meat," chopping it up and putting it in the pot.

The flames rose, and the aroma became even stronger, but it made the four people who were eating frantically in the front hall feel nauseous.

Before long, the pig-headed monster came out carrying a large tray with five bowls of freshly cooked, steaming hot fried rice with pig's head meat on it.

It placed the rice in front of the four people one by one, and then placed the last bowl in front of the "customer" with the twisted neck, as if he could still eat.

The monster swept its murky pig eyes over the four still-living people on the table, its voice deep and muffled, as if squeezed from its chest, carrying a sticky laugh:

"Gurgle... Good. Round two, 'Operation Disc,' complete. Now, let's begin round three. Same rules, ten minutes, finish it all."

"Remember, this restaurant does not tolerate waste, and... we do not accept leftovers."

The four men's faces turned ashen instantly.

Their stomachs were already stretched to their limit, and they could even feel the bloating and pain of food blocking their esophagus.

The food here seems to be very filling; a few bites are enough to make you feel like you can't move.

"No... I can't take it anymore... Just kill me..."

Another man murmured in despair, staring at the bowl of fried rice in front of him that seemed to be wriggling, his physical disgust and fear reaching their peak.

In this suffocating moment of despair—

"Whoosh!"

The half-open roller shutter door was raised slightly from the outside.

A boy wearing an ordinary sports jacket, with delicate features and even a bit of a shy, student-like air, bent down and squeezed in, looking around curiously.

A large, glossy black dog silently slipped in at his feet, its nose twitching slightly.

The boy seemed completely oblivious to the extremely eerie atmosphere in the shop, the diners with pained expressions, and the "boss" with a pig's head and a human body.

His gaze fell on the pig-headed monster, a perfectly timed, slightly embarrassed smile appearing on his face, and he asked in a clear voice:

"Boss, are you still open? Do you... still take walk-in customers?"

Ji Zuodao's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, breaking the suffocating silence in the restaurant.

All eyes, including the pig-headed monster's murky eyes, were focused on this uninvited guest.

The four diners, trapped in a desperate situation, looked at Ji Zuodao as if he were a walking medical miracle.

No... bro, are your eyes just for decoration?

Didn't you see that huge monster with a pig's head and a human body standing there?!

The guy next to me with his neck twisted so much it looks like a Tianjin-style pretzel, do you think he's doing performance art?!

The pig-headed monster's small, cloudy eyes slowly turned, its sticky gaze sweeping over Ji Zuodao, as if confirming some kind of "entry qualification".

Its nostrils flared out a stream of hot air carrying the smell of feed and blood.

"Guh... Open for business."

A dull, sticky sound came from its flaring nostrils and mouth at the same time, as if it were holding thick phlegm.

"New guests...entering the door signifies acceptance of dining. Our rule is...once you enter, you must eat."

It deliberately elongated the tone of the word "eat," carrying an undeniable, cold connotation.

"Great, I'm starving!"

Ji Zuodao seemed completely oblivious to the death announcement in those words.

Instead, he seemed relieved, and the shy smile on his face became more genuine, with a hint of relief at having found a restaurant.

He walked in naturally, turning back to greet them:

"Hey Dog, come in quickly, there's a place to eat. It looks pretty good."

Dog Master followed him in leisurely.

As Ji Zuodao passed the "former customer" whose neck was folded at an odd angle, he paused for a moment, curiously leaned closer to take a look, and even waved his hand in front of the man's lifeless eyes.

"Wow, bro, did you... work the night shift so hard you almost fell apart? You can even fall asleep while eating? I'm so envious of that sleep quality."

He muttered to himself, yet his movements were incredibly natural and fluid—

He very "thoughtfully" picked up the bowl of fried rice that had been placed in front of the dead man, still steaming eerily, while muttering:

"Wasting food is shameful, every grain is hard-earned... Since you're not going to eat it, I won't stand on ceremony and will help you finish it. You're welcome."

After saying that, he picked up the bowl of rice and, like an ordinary diner who had found a seat, sat down in the empty chair with complete ease.

He even moved the bowl closer to himself, as if he was ready to dig in.

The four people still alive in the restaurant were shocked.

They watched Ji Zuodao's matter-of-fact expression, which even carried a hint of smug satisfaction at "getting a bargain."

In their previously despairing and fearful hearts, an utterly absurd thought suddenly arose:

That's for sure, this guy is definitely not a normal person!

Is this person insane?!

It's the kind of illness that's terminal!