Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Go, buy a few boxes of eggs."

Zhang Qiliang continued, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding residential buildings, "Deliver one box to the door of each household in these buildings, remember not to knock... Oh, and..."

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang paused, weighing the banknotes in his hand. "This amount of money probably isn't enough. Do you think you should lend me some?"

The two workers looked at each other and saw fear in each other's eyes.

"Of course, of course!" the two said in unison, nodding vigorously. "We'll cover it! We'll cover it!"

Both of them knew perfectly well what they had done; disturbing people's sleep so early in the morning meant they were definitely accomplices.

The person on the other end doesn't seem like the type to reason... or rather, they're too focused on their own logic.

Zhang Qiliang stuffed the banknotes into one of the people's hands, said nothing more, turned around, and walked into the small shop that smelled of scallion pancakes.

"Boss, two pancakes, with egg and sausage."

19 is indeed very cold.

After finishing his second breakfast, Zhang Qiliang strolled slowly back to his dormitory.

The hallway was quiet. Brother Zhao and Qiangzi were probably still asleep. Xiao Fang's bed was empty, and the quilt was neatly folded.

Zhang Qiliang climbed onto his upper bunk, leaned against the neatly folded bedding, and took out his phone.

I first followed two chapters of a fantasy novel that was being serialized. The protagonist was trapped in a dangerous secret realm, and the tension of trying to survive was palpable throughout the text.

Zhang Qiliang was somewhat lost in thought—no matter how strange the secret realm was, it was still a clearly existing enemy, while what he was facing was an invisible and omnipresent "rule," and danger that could appear at any time.

Switch apps and watch short videos.

The content pushed by big data is bizarre and varied: funny jokes, food reviews, folk skills, cute pets... The world keeps running as usual on the small screen, lively, superficial, and safe.

His swiping finger paused for a moment as a local news notification popped up: "Several disputes occurred in the western district last night. Police remind citizens to remain calm and resolve issues according to the law."

There were no details, no footage, just a formulaic reminder.

Zhang Qiliang turned off the screen and threw his phone onto the pillow.

The sky outside the window was fully bright, and sunlight streamed through the old glass window, casting slanted, dusty patches of light on the concrete floor.

The faint sounds of the morning rush hour could be heard from the distant streets.

All of this seemed so ordinary that it made him feel somewhat dazed—as if it wasn't him who had pressed someone's face into the mud at the bus stop late last night, as if those warm feelings, that increase in strength, those subtle yet firm changes were just a dream that was too real.

But he could sense it.

No testing or verification is needed; a more subtle "sensory awareness" is awakening within the body.

It's not simply about strength or speed, but a clear "knowledge" of one's own state—the rhythm of the heartbeat, the flow of blood, the tension of muscle fibers, and even a certain rhythm of cell metabolism.

Is this what "innate" means?

Zhang Qiliang couldn't explain it.

At 8:50, Zhang Qiliang went downstairs on time and headed towards Shuxianglou.

On Saturday mornings, the city's pace is a bit more relaxed than on weekdays, but the restaurant industry gets busy much earlier.

The restaurant received several lunch reservations, as well as group meals from two companies.

Chef Li had been overseeing things in the kitchen for a long time. When he saw Zhang Qiliang come in, he nodded and pointed to the mountain of vegetables piled up on the side: "Little Liu, you've come at the right time. We have a lot of work to do today. Pick and wash all these vegetables first. Old Zhao will tell you how to divide them."

"Okay." Zhang Qiliang changed into his work clothes, tied his apron, and walked to the pool.

Old Zhao handed over two huge plastic baskets and a stack of different colored vegetable baskets. "Lettuce, romaine lettuce, spinach, bok choy... sort them by type. Make sure to clean out any yellow leaves, rotten roots, and dirt. Our guests have high expectations today."

Old Zhao spoke quickly, "After washing and draining, send them to the corresponding cutting and preparation station. Hurry up, everything must be done before 10:30."

Turn on the tap, and icy water gushed out.

Zhang Qiliang rolled up his sleeves and dipped his hands into the water.

His keen sense of touch made him raise an eyebrow slightly—the subtle differences in water temperature, the pressure of the water hitting his skin, and the roughness of the vegetable leaves were all clearly fed back to his nerve endings.

He picked up the first lettuce, ran his fingers across the leaves, and almost instantly knew which parts needed to be removed.

The movements are simple and straightforward, without any unnecessary frills. Tear off the slightly wilted outer leaves, pinch off the roots, break them apart, quickly rinse the mud and sand between the leaf folds under running water, shake them a couple of times, and put them into the corresponding vegetable basket.

One tree, two trees, three trees... The speed increased, and the technique was as steady as a machine with a pre-programmed schedule.

Old Zhao initially glanced at it for a few moments, but soon felt reassured and went about his own business.

All that remained by the pool was the rhythmic sound of flowing water and the crisp rustling of vegetables being processed.

Zhang Qiliang was immersed in this simple physical labor, his mind blank, with only his hands moving, water flowing, and the fresh smell of vegetable leaves constantly filling his nostrils.

My thoughts were surprisingly calm.

Perhaps this is also a kind of "enlightenment"—focusing on the present and getting things done.

At 9:30, the first batch of vegetables was processed.

Zhang Qiliang picked up the heavy vegetable basket and carried it to different cutting and preparation areas.

As Chef Wang was slicing pork belly into paper-thin slices, he saw the vegetables Chef Liu brought and exclaimed, "Wow, Xiao Liu is really quick; these vegetables are washed so well!"

Zhang Qiliang nodded, put down the vegetable basket, and went back to continue.

Just after 10 o'clock, all the vegetables were washed and packaged.

Zhang Qiliang began assisting with moving frozen products and seasonings to replenish supplies at various locations.

The temperature in the kitchen gradually rose, the stove roared, the woks flipped, and the sizzling sounds of various ingredients being put into the pot, the hissing of the pressure cooker releasing steam, and the clanging of kitchen utensils blended together into a symphony full of the aroma of cooking.

Zhang Qiliang moved among them, delivering materials, cleaning tables, and changing garbage bags, his movements precise as he avoided every hurried figure.

His presence blended perfectly into the busy rhythm, becoming an efficient, silent, and indispensable background element.

Around 10:20, a young girl wearing a waitress uniform and with her hair in a ponytail ran excitedly into the kitchen, her face flushed with excitement.

"Hey! Have you heard?" Her voice cut through the kitchen noise, filled with the joy of sharing.

The kitchen helper near the door looked up: "What did you hear, Xiaoling?"

"There was a fire in the building next to our dorm just now!" Xiaoling's eyes lit up as she gestured. "I saw it when I came back to get my things. There were several fire trucks and a lot of people around!"

"Fire?" Chef Wang, who was cutting food, stopped what he was doing. "Is it serious? Is everyone alright?"

"I don't know the specifics, but the people around me said it was a gas leak or something." Xiaoling shook her head. "But the fire seems to be out now, the smoke had subsided when I left. That area has been sealed off, and the firefighters are checking each house. Our dormitory building will probably be checked too."

"Should we go take a look?" another young kitchen helper asked curiously.

"Don't go," Xiaoling waved her hand. "It's impossible to get in. There's a cordon and uniformed people guarding it. Besides, the fire's out, so you won't see anything. The foreman told us not to get involved and to just focus on our work."

"Oh..." The cooks looked slightly disappointed, turned around dejectedly, and continued to deal with the potatoes in their hands.

Xiaoling shared a few more bits of information she had overheard before hurriedly leaving to prepare in the front hall.

The kitchen staff briefly discussed "safety first" and "old buildings have many hidden dangers" before being engulfed again by the more urgent pace of food preparation.

The midday business rush was as intense as expected.

The private rooms were all full, and the main hall was about 80% full.

The bell at the food serving station rang almost incessantly, and the rate at which dirty plates were collected couldn't keep up with the speed at which diners devoured their food.

Zhang Qiliang's work became more complicated and tedious, and he appeared wherever he was needed, but his breathing remained steady and his movements were perfectly fluid.

Chef Li glanced at him several times between stir-frying, his eyes filled with undisguised satisfaction.

At 2 PM, the last group of guests left.

All the employees, feeling exhausted yet relieved after a fierce battle, began to wrap up their work.

The lobby was cleaned, and the kitchen was thoroughly scrubbed, with every corner—the stove, the floor, the walls—restored to its original shine.

By the time everything was finished, it was almost three o'clock.

The leftover rice was cooked in a large pot, served with several stir-fried dishes specially provided for the staff: Mapo tofu, braised eggplant, stir-fried bean sprouts, and a large bowl of seaweed and egg drop soup.

The chef naturally puts extra care into the food he prepares for himself, and the taste is always quite good.

Zhang Qiliang filled a plate to the brim and sat quietly in the corner to finish eating.

While eating, Brother Zhao, Qiangzi, and several other kitchen colleagues chatted, their conversation shifting from the strange customer they encountered at noon to the fire that morning.

"I wonder if the inspection is over yet, and if there's anything wrong with our building," Brother Zhao said, shoveling food into his mouth.

"What could possibly happen? It didn't actually burn down here." Qiangzi said dismissively. "It's probably just a formality. But if they do find any hidden dangers, it's good to have the landlord fix them. That way, we'll feel more at ease living here."

"I hope so," Brother Zhao sighed.

Zhang Qiliang did not join the conversation; he simply focused on eating, chewing, and swallowing.

The taste, temperature, and texture of food are amplified under highly sensitive perception.

He can even tell the degree of fermentation of fermented soybean paste in tofu, and the subtle differences in the heat when stir-frying eggplant.

It was a peculiar experience; a very ordinary employee meal, yet it revealed a certain refined sense of sophistication.

After the meal, everyone dispersed.

Zhang Qiliang slowly walked back to the dormitory area.

After crossing two streets and approaching the old residential area, there was indeed a different smell lingering in the air.

It wasn't a strong burnt smell, but a faint smell that mixed with moisture, smoke, and some kind of chemical agent.

The covers of several fire hydrants by the roadside had been opened, and the surrounding water stains had not yet completely dried.

The further you go, the more obvious the traces become: several fire hoses are coiled up by the roadside like giant pythons, their surfaces still wet; on the exterior wall of a building, there is a water stain that has darkened in color after being washed by a water gun; and there are many puddles on the ground, reflecting the bright afternoon sunlight.

The police tape had been removed from the entrance of the building they rented, but the unit door was open, and there were faint sounds of voices and footsteps in the hallway.

Zhang Qiliang went up to the third floor.

The door to room 302 was also open, and the voices of more than one person could be heard coming from inside.

As he stepped inside, the sight before him made him pause at the doorway.

There were four or five people in orange firefighter uniforms and helmets standing in the living room, and two more people in the kitchen, seemingly inspecting the gas pipes and stove. Their movements were standard and their tools were complete.

Another person was squatting in the corner of the living room, with a floor plan spread out in front of him. He was drawing something on it with his finger. Some tools were scattered on the floor next to him—a regular wrench, pliers, and a testing instrument. But there were also two dark green, tightly woven, long, narrow bags in the corner, with drawstrings at the top. They looked a lot like…the kind used for catching snakes.

There is also a folded, finely meshed net with a metal frame. When folded up, it is not large, but when unfolded, it can probably cover a considerable area.

Snake trap? Bird net?

They even brought these along; they must have left in a huge rush.

Zhang Qiliang shook his head and walked towards his bedroom.

Brother Zhao and Qiangzi were both in the room, standing by the window looking out.

"You're back?" Brother Zhao turned around and greeted him. "The fire department is still inspecting. They said our building is also in the 'adjacent impact zone' next to the fire scene, and they need to conduct a comprehensive safety hazard investigation."

"Yes, I saw it." Zhang Qiliang nodded, walked to his bedside, and took off his work jacket, which was covered in grease and grime.

"Quite a show of force," Qiangzi clicked his tongue. "I think they brought a lot of strange and unusual tools with them."

"It's professional, isn't it?" Brother Zhao said.

Just then, footsteps came from outside the door and Xiao Fang's somewhat hurried voice said, "Right, right here."

As they were talking, Xiao Fang had already entered the room. Perhaps because he had climbed the stairs too quickly, Xiao Fang's breathing was slightly rapid, and there was a layer of fine sweat on his forehead.

Beside him was a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a buzz cut, ordinary appearance, wearing a clean light blue striped polo shirt and dark casual pants, and a friendly smile on his face.

The smile was just right, neither overly enthusiastic nor obsequious, yet fully expressing friendliness.

"Hello everyone," the young man said in a clear voice, "Excuse me. I'm Chen Yu, a fellow villager of Xiao Fang."

"I heard that your store is hiring, so I came to apply this morning. Manager Wang has already met with me and told me to get used to things first. Starting tomorrow, I'll probably be everyone's colleague. I'm new here, so I hope everyone will take good care of me."

His self-introduction was fluent and natural, and his posture was also upright.

Xiao Fang continued the conversation, and perhaps because he was introverted, his voice became a little strained as several pairs of eyes stared at him: "Yes, Brother Chen... he's very hardworking, and he used to work in a restaurant."

Chen Yu smiled and held up the plastic bag in his hand, which contained several bottles of different brands of drinks, all chilled and with water droplets condensing on the bottles.

"It's hot this afternoon, everyone must be tired, have some water."

He placed the bag on the old desk in the center of the room.

Xiao Fang also had a smaller bag in his hand. He awkwardly took out the drinks inside. There were four bottles in total, all of the same brand of sports drinks.

He picked up one of the bottles, walked up to Zhang Qiliang, and handed the drink to him with both hands: "Brother Liu, have some water."