C20 Hotpot Broth

Just then, a voice echoed in his mind. It was more akin to a stream of consciousness injected into his thoughts than an actual voice, for there was clearly no one speaking either aloud or in his head. Yet, he had received some information. To describe it to someone else, he might say an ethereal space materialized before him, and within that space, a floating consciousness conveyed to him that if the dice rolled a three facing up, he could acquire certain items from Earth.

At that moment, Yang Zhiming's frustration with his luck vanished, replaced by elation. It seemed his fortunes were about to turn. Was this the lucky break he'd gained by becoming a giant dice? He struggled to think of what he needed, hesitating for quite some time without reaching a conclusion.

As a man, Yang Zhiming's thoughts naturally turned to the various weapons of Earth. However, in the Mars Era, with technology advancing rapidly, Earth's weapons were no match for those on Mars. Moreover, Yang Zhiming was a peace-loving individual who would avoid conflict if possible, preferring not to engage in a firepower battle.

He thought about his current business, a roast chicken restaurant reminiscent of the Earth Era, which wouldn't just serve a roast chicken without any side dishes. But now, on Mars, he had found that the fruits and vegetables he desired were nowhere to be found. Yang Zhiming didn't understand why Mars hadn't developed the technology to cultivate produce, but at this point, he had no choice but to accept the situation.

It would be unfair, however, to say that Mars lacked any fruits and vegetables. Yang Zhiming recalled Mr. Hee mentioning a couple of Martian produce options. But Mr. Hee's furrowed brow suggested they were far from appetizing, more akin to toxic drugs than tasty edibles.

Curious, Yang Zhiming had once inquired, "Mr. Hee, why such a grimace? Are they that bad to the taste?"

But Mr. Hee's expression was one of sheer distaste. "Mr. Yang, let's not talk about that. Are fruits even edible? I wouldn't eat them, not even if I were paid to."

After finishing his description, he detailed the fruit's appearance.

Yang Zhiming was startled to realize that what Hee Zhen had mentioned was none other than the durian, known on Earth. Yet, on Mars, people had grown accustomed to more convenient eating habits. Moreover, the art of consuming durians had been lost over time. Only the wealthy bought durians as a status symbol.

Once these affluent individuals acquired a durian, they were clueless about how to eat it. Upon cutting it open, they were greeted by nothing but an unpleasant odor. Consequently, the advancement of durian cuisine had come to a halt.

Yang Zhiming himself wasn't averse to durians, but he couldn't compel anyone else to eat them, especially since durians are quite particular about food pairings.

Reflecting on this, he was convinced that he shouldn't squander this valuable chance on just any vegetable or fruit. Given that tastes vary from person to person, he endeavored to recall a food that would appeal to the general public.

However, simply meeting this criterion wasn't sufficient. Despite racking his brain, Yang Zhiming came up empty-handed.

The consciousness floating around him seemed unhurried, patiently drifting through the air.

Something addictive, perhaps?

Suddenly, Yang Zhiming remembered the hotpot from the Earth Era. At social gatherings, if the host aimed to accommodate the varied preferences at the table, hotpot was often the go-to choice. Not only did it cater to most people's tastes, but it also served to quickly bridge the social gap among diners.

Yang Zhiming had made up his mind about what he wanted: hotpot broth.

After all, even if he were given a hotpot broth recipe, whether he could successfully prepare it was another story. With the scarcity of resources on Mars, creating it could require a significant investment of money and effort.

Unsure of how to convey his request to the consciousness before him, he resorted to the most straightforward approach—voicing his innermost desire aloud: "I want hotpot broth."

Yang Zhiming cleverly left out the quantity he desired.

Naturally, he hoped for as much as possible, but he had an inkling that the consciousness before him would never allow him an inexhaustible supply of hotpot broth.

Despite his reservations, Yang Zhiming was determined to give it a shot. Even if the consciousness before him got upset and only handed him one packet, he was confident he could devise an alternative recipe for the hotpot broth.

The roaming consciousness wasn't as petty as he feared. In sync with Yang Zhiming voicing his desires, a large box materialized in the kitchen, presumably filled with the hotpot broth.

The box was enormous, a rectangular behemoth that nearly filled the kitchen.

Yang Zhiming surmised that the consciousness provided items based on the available space. With this theory in mind, he felt a twinge of regret. Had he known, he would have positioned himself in an open field.

But Yang Zhiming recognized that this was all conjecture.

Besides, considering the advanced technology of the era, if a massive box suddenly appeared next to him, he'd likely be detained by the authorities for investigation before he could even reap the benefits of his "golden finger."

With a sigh, Yang Zhiming acknowledged the universal trade-off between gains and losses. Even a golden finger couldn't circumvent the world's laws of conservation.

Unsure of the cost he might incur, Yang Zhiming, now a businessman, assessed his situation. He concluded that the losses he faced were within his tolerance.

Rubbing his head, he mused, "The heavens still seem to look out for me."

Just then, he realized he had reverted to his human form.

The transformations, both into a dice and back to human, had occurred so swiftly that he hadn't even registered the change.

But Yang Zhiming had no time to ponder these baffling events.

He believed there was nothing more dreadful than dying penniless. He strode forward to inspect his means of livelihood—a whole box of hotpot seasonings.

Carefully wielding a kitchen knife, he sliced open the box, and packets of hotpot seasoning spilled out through the slits.

Yang Zhiming picked up a packet and examined it. The hotpot seasonings bore Earth's languages, though this particular packet was of foreign origin.

The packet of imported hotpot seasoning failed to impress Yang Zhiming. He quickly went to inspect the other hotpot seasonings on offer.

After searching, he realized that only a handful were foreign-made; the vast majority hailed from various regions of China.

Yang Zhiming remarked with a sigh, "The most authentic hotpot broth comes from China. Even if you're giving away freebies, there's no need to resort to foreign products, right?"

— Content from MiGu Reading