Chapter 55: A Lesson in Freeloading

Though Licheng was not a large city, it was nonetheless complete in its own way, like a sparrow—small, yet with all its organs intact. In fact, right next to the West District Police Station, there was a very authentic Japanese sushi restaurant. Unlike those little shops that merely slap raw fish atop rice lumps, this establishment was a rare find for a third- or fourth-tier city.

Of course, rarity comes at a price, and the prices here were unusually steep. As a result, despite its refined décor, business was typically lackluster. The clientele was mostly young men and women seeking a touch of sophistication—those who planned to dine and then arrange a “fight” afterwards. The sushi shop had become the preferred venue for Licheng’s couples seeking a “fight meal.” It seemed that before engaging in such a passionate “battle,” one must first indulge in a high-class meal to do justice to the occasion. Much like the old tradition in Shanxi, where one would visit the brothel street, the intent was not truly in the wine.

This, perhaps, was why the shop managed to survive in a city with limited spending power. On ordinary days, at this hour, the place was deserted. But now, every staff member was gathered around one table, paying close attention…

They were seriously aiming their knives, forks, and kitchen tools at the man sitting in the middle.

“Sushi means sour rice. The earliest cooked sushi tasted so bizarre, no one would eat it—even ghosts would leave bad reviews,” he declared.

“I once ate Hokkaido salmon rice sushi when I was sick—it’s an ancient style, half-cooked, half-raw, with a texture like rice cake and a faint sourness,” another recounted.

“Horse meat sushi, the most authentic in Kyushu,” someone else chimed in.

“It was only in the Nara era that they started using wasabi…”

A group of staff wielded knives, forks, and sticks, surrounding a foreigner with an explosive hairstyle, listening intently to his tall tales—mostly to his awkward use of Chinese idioms.

“Mr. Smith Dogegg, please return to your seat, would you? Don’t make things difficult for us,” said the sushi shop manager, a kindly middle-aged man holding a chef’s knife, addressing the foreigner.

“Will this work? If I call, will my friend come?” the foreigner asked.

“We’ve handled over a hundred such incidents here. Don’t worry, we’re professionals.”

“He won’t really run to the police station?”

“No. If your friend isn’t blind, he’ll read the words clearly on the blackboard at the entrance. We wrote it out plainly.”

“Oh, very good. Your service is truly like being swept off my feet. Next time, I’ll definitely come again.”

At this, all the staff who’d been surrounding him stood up in unison, eyes blazing with indignation as they glared at him.

“Sir, dining for free happens here all the time—it’s nothing unusual. But…”

“You’re the first to gnaw your way through all the plates as well.”

The manager forced a smile, glancing at the foreigner and then at the pile of shattered, once-beautiful dishes on the table. Had they not intervened, he’d probably have demolished the table too—

Bang!

At that moment, the sushi shop door was suddenly thrown open.

Two armed police officers rushed in.

“Everyone inside, listen up! Hands on your heads, squat on the ground, and don’t make any sudden moves.”

The entrance was now cordoned off, police with guns filled the street outside. More officers streamed in, surrounding the sushi shop inside and out.

The staff were dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, each wondering what could have triggered it.

Was it because I didn’t wash my hands making sushi and got caught?

Did they find out I swapped wasabi with horseradish?

Could it be… they discovered I secretly poked holes in the manager’s condoms?

How did this bring out the police?

“Drop your weapons! Don’t resist unnecessarily,” one officer barked sternly. “You’re bold to commit crimes right under our noses—there’s been a report of group drug use here. Please cooperate with our investigation.”

The staff, terrified, quickly tossed aside their knives, forks, and kitchen tools.

“Oh my god, all I did was dine for free—this is way over the top…”

The foreigner was stunned; nobody had told him that eating for free in this country could get him held at gunpoint.

The person who called the police was Li Changluo.

In truth, Li Changluo had just received a call and sensed something was off—was someone being prostituted? Who could possibly have the stamina for that with the foreigner?

It was… simply suicidal.

Moreover, the foreigner was not a local—if caught, wouldn’t they suspect him of illegal immigration? What luck! He could finally be deported back to his homeland.

Should I try getting prostituted myself and see if I can return home?

Thinking all this, Li Changluo dialed the number from the business card he’d received.

The woman who’d been taught a foreign language by the foreigner answered.

“Hello, who is this?”

“I want to be prostituted… um, cough, cough, is the old black guy there?”

“What?”

“The one who taught you languages.”

“Oh, him? He’s dead.”

With that, she hung up.

Li Changluo was finally at ease—clearly, the foreigner was fine, since the person who prostituted him was also unharmed.

Still, he came by the West District Police Station, and upon seeing the large characters on the poster outside the neighboring sushi shop, he understood—

The foreigner had been caught dining for free.

How could one tolerate that, in broad daylight, under the clear sky?

To uphold righteousness, he didn’t hesitate; using the phone given by Zheng Qiguai, he called the police.

Li Changluo couldn’t help but marvel—this time, the foreigner might really achieve his dream of deportation.

He was genuinely happy for him…

In his delight, he also remembered to call the police using Zheng Qiguai’s phone, reporting that his name was Zheng Qiguai and that he had just made a false report.

As a good citizen, one must have such awareness.

He wondered if they would trace the call to the tavern.

Even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to see the tavern’s existence.

Li Changluo hailed a taxi to return to the tavern.

To save money, he opted for a rideshare. He hadn’t gotten much from the fox demon last time, and if he didn’t economize, he’d have to walk the next time he went out on a mission.

As soon as he boarded, he found two seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boys in the back seat, dressed fashionably, adorned like two girls, chatting away.

Li Changluo settled into the passenger seat, exhausted, and closed his eyes to rest.

“Why aren’t we taking the boss’s car today? My new AJs got dirty from this taxi,” complained the boy with an earring, rubbing his shoe against the white seat cover and grumbling to the boy with pink hair beside him.

Hearing this, the driver’s face fell, and he stomped on the gas pedal.

“Don’t mention it. My boyfriend passed away. I attended his funeral today, and on the way back the car had an accident and got wrecked.”

“What a pity—he died so young, only seventy-six,” the earring-wearing boy consoled him.

“No, something’s off,” the boy with pink hair eyed him warily.

“What’s off?” the earring boy asked nervously, wondering if his relationship with the boyfriend had been discovered.

“The person you hit was completely unscathed, but your car got wrecked. He was dressed all in white, carrying an ancient zither, like some cosplay character straight out of a fantasy game.”

“Haha, who cares? Unless you wanted to kill him?”