Chapter 87.2: Young Dairy Farmer's Miraculous Experience

Chapter 87.2: Young Dairy Farmer's Miraculous Experience

"Chris, you scared me to death! How could you come in alone?" Inside the family inn, Mrs. Doyle nervously clasped Chris' face. "You were too reckless, my child. Listen to me, next time you encounter something like this, you must run away immediately. Your mother can't bear to lose you, and neither can my precious daughter."

Chris hugged Mrs. Doyle and then embraced the taciturn Mr. Doyle, exclaiming, "I'm so glad you're both okay."

"We're fine, of course. Those... those undead didn't do anything to us," Mrs. Doyle said, still trembling. "As you saw, they seem to have a problem with the... shops on this street."

"Ah, a-are those people on the street customers visiting Weisshem?" Chris couldn't help asking.

"Yes, and some from the local shops," Mrs. Doyle said, pulling Chris to the window and pointing at a portly old man with graying hair on the street. "Look, that's Thompson, the owner of Jenny's Tavern."

Mrs. Doyle had a reason for singling out that person.

Chris pressed against the window, peering through the glass at the old man among the crowd on the street. Deep down, he felt a sense of resentment and... satisfaction.

"That old bastard got his just deserts!" Chris muttered through gritted teeth.

For ordinary people making a living in Weisshem and the surrounding countryside, upscale entertainment establishments like "Lover," "Elegant Dream," of the former "Golden Coast'' weren't for them. Even with such a close proximity, there was no intersection between people like them and such places.

Instead, places like taverns and strip clubs would be what folks like them could experience.

Many years ago, when Chris was still a child, his uncle's son, around the same age as Chris, curious about the extravagance of Weisshem, came to the town with nearly half a year's worth of savings with the intention of "broadening his horizons."

However, this cousin of Chris' didn't know that even the lowest of taverns in Weisshem wasn't a place a lowly country folk who scraped a living from the land could afford to experience. The amount he brought, which he thought would be enough for him to "broaden his horizons," turned out to be just enough to order the cheapest bottle of corn rum at Jenny's Tavern, along with a tip for the hostess who provided him with some company.

After a night of revelry at Jenny's Tavern, Chris' cousin was dumbfounded when he saw the bill.

The owner of Jenny's Tavern broke one of his arms and had his henchmen escort him home to demand payment for his stay. This incident not only turned Chris' family and his uncle's family into the laughingstock of the countryside but also forced them to sell several cattle to cover the exorbitant overnight fees and treatment of Chris' cousin's injured arm.

Everyone knew that the owner of Jenny's Tavern had taken advantage of their, country folks', lack of sophistication and naivety, but the money owed had to be paid. Otherwise, Chris' cousin would be sent to a prison in Indahl.

Neither the Weisshem's sheriff nor militia would speak up for them, let alone those from Indahl.

"I wish my uncle's family could see this scene," Chris muttered as he stared at the wretched old man he had resented for years. He turned to Mrs. Doyle and asked, "Ma'am, what are these undead going to do to these people?"

"If only we knew." Mrs. Doyle shook her head and sighed. "I often think to myself how great it would be if Weisshem could return back to about 40 years ago, to the time when I was still a little girl. Back then, life wasn't easy, but it certainly wasn't like this..."

She paused, and pained bitterness showed on her face as she looked at the six men and women sitting on the couch and the edge of the bed, afraid to leave the room. "But now... it's all like this. Weisshem can't do business anymore, then... sigh!"

A thin woman with lesions on her face lowered her head.

The other five similarly miserable souls remained silent as well.

Being able to survive and leave the place they came to work didn't mean that these people had other options left in their lives. They had all been on fattening drugs for years and couldn't perform the kind of work regular people did.

Even a simple task like laundry that even a little girl could handle wasn't something they could do. Their frail bodies couldn't endure prolonged exposure to cold water.

"Of course, our rewards are based per pot. Why wouldn't we add them?" Liu Meng waved her bone claws. "And, you there, go wash that sack of potatoes!"

"Which cart is the condensed broth powder on? Find it quickly!"

Instant mushroom chicken seasoning, which didn't sell very well because people of the southwestern region of China found it unsuitable, had been repackaged by the factory, ditching the original packaging for bulk packaging, and sold together with bulk instant noodles to a buyer dispatched by the expert task force before being transported to this world. Finally, it was getting the recognition it deserved.

The scent of the mishmash stew, infused with mushroom chicken seasoning and condensed broth, wafted further, and many people who had been secretly peering out opened their windows.

Twenty minutes later, as the mishmash stew simmered to perfection, Rex brought out two tricycles and placed the pots in their carts. He then called on Ossirian, Lyka, and young Brook and randomly selected a few players to distribute the food along the street.

The first to benefit were the twelve hostesses of Jenny's Tavern.

Next up was the family inn closest to the town gate.

Rex walked up and knocked on the door twice. The milkman from before opened it and bowed to Rex before asking, "Is there anything you need, sir?"

Rex reached out and grabbed the young man's shoulder to stop him from bowing. "How many people are in this building?"

"Uh..." Chris glanced at the poor souls still hanging out on the street without a shred of dignity left and didn't dare lie. "Including me, there are nine."

"Bring out nine bowls to collect your food. Hurry up," Rex said, pointing to the tricycle carrying a large iron pot behind him.

Chris was stunned.

"I said, hurry up," Rex frowned slightly, and his tone became stricter as if he were issuing a command.

"Y-yes!" Chris immediately got up as soon as he was given an order, turned around, and ran inside.

In no time, he returned carrying nine big bowls.

Rex stepped aside and said to Ossirian, "You do it, give them nine portions that won't upset their stomachs."

Ossirian now understood why Rex had called upon him...

Others might not know how much these poor people, who had been starved for so long, could eat without getting sick, but he certainly did. He had just eaten three full meals provided by the undead yesterday, and he knew better than anyone how uncomfortable he had felt after each meal.

Ossirian nodded silently and began scooping stew into the bowls that the helpful undead were passing over.

Chris tried his best to suppress his fear and receive the bowls courteously from the helpful undead and placed them steadily on the shoe rack by the door. He waited until both tricycles had left before shutting the door with a trembling hand.

Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, along with the six tenants hiding on the second floor, finally dared to peek out from the top of the staircase.

"T-they... gave everyone food," Chris, who felt exhausted despite not doing much, turned around and said dreamily to everyone.

The Doyles, and their six tenants, stood on the spot, dumbfounded.