Chapter Thirty-Four: Wisdom

At this moment, Xie Bo sat in the back seat of an armored vehicle, idly flipping through the servant probation contract that Fan Bei had just signed. It was merely a probation contract, and he scarcely paid it any mind.

The vehicle had already started, turned around, and left the valley, heading toward the highway outside.

The driver couldn’t help but turn his head and ask, “Manager Xie, we made a tough trip and only managed to sell one servant—not even a confirmed sale yet. That’s a huge loss; we can’t even cover the fuel costs for one vehicle.”

“This is called investment,” Xie Bo replied, his earlier professional smile for Fan Bei gone, replaced by a cold indifference.

The armored vehicle bumped along the road out of the valley. The driver spoke up again, “Manager, even if you want to invest, there’s no need for the entire convoy to enter the valley. Just sending two vehicles would have been enough.”

“That’s precisely why you’ll always be a guild driver, while I managed to rise from driver to deputy manager in three years,” Xie Bo said calmly.

“Oh, so how can I be like you and get promoted from a driver to deputy manager?” The driver was evidently a chatterbox, quickly asking.

“First, you need wisdom,” Xie Bo sounded a bit impatient but continued to answer.

“Wisdom? What’s that?” the driver feigned ignorance.

“Do you see the pit ahead?” Xie Bo looked up. About thirty meters ahead, there was a deep pit, roughly three or four meters across.

“Yeah, I see it. Are you saying if I choose to go around it, that means I have wisdom?” the driver said, smug.

“I’m saying you should brake now. There’s something valuable in that pit. Keen observation of your surroundings is the primary component of wisdom,” Xie Bo replied.

In both their eyes, a small cluster of gray-white liquid was emerging from a spot on the pit’s wall.

The driver’s gaze brightened as he looked at the deep pit.

Xie Bo lowered his head to continue reading the contract, his eyes also shining.

He had flipped to the last page and saw a red circular seal—not a fingerprint or paw print.

He closed his eyes.

A scene appeared in his mind.

A clean-cut young man pressed a clean black iron ball onto a box of ink paste, then stamped it onto the contract.

...

In the control room, Fan Bei was talking with the four-star hotel chef named “He Qingsheng.”

The chef stood upright, with a clear sense of his role as a servant.

---

“Uncle He, please have a seat,” Fan Bei gestured.

Chef He’s eyes flickered with confusion, then he shook his head. “It seems you’re not my true employer. I’ll only obey my employer’s orders.”

Fan Bei glanced at the iron ball on the table, suddenly feeling as if he’d shot himself in the foot.

He chuckled awkwardly, “Sorry, the true party to the contract is actually this iron ball.”

“No wonder I feel a sense of iron-hardness in my head,” Chef He twitched his lips into a smile. “Luckily, you’ve hired me, so I still have some rationality left. It doesn’t matter; as long as you provide food and lodging, I’ll do what needs to be done just the same.”

“Sorry, I hope you understand my caution,” Fan Bei said sincerely.

“I do understand. If we had been as cautious as you back then, we wouldn’t have ended up like this,” Chef He seemed much more relaxed and heaved a sigh.

Fan Bei sensed something unusual. Was the “Chef He” before him not an ordinary person?

He kept a calm face, gave a sleeping Da Bai a gentle kick, and with a curious expression asked, “Could you tell me your story? I’ve been cut off from the outside for a long time now.”

“My story?” Chef He’s face twitched, the wrinkles seemed to deepen. “There’s nothing much, everything was quite ordinary. The shelter we lived in wasn’t far from Silver City. During one of the evil tides, we couldn’t hold out, so we used the radio to call people from Silver City and, in the end, signed a rescue contract.”

“A rescue contract? What’s that like? Do you have to hand over most of your supplies and sign personal contracts, forbidden from making trouble?” Fan Bei pressed, recounting what he’d heard over the radio.

“No, what you described is the mildest clause in the rescue contract, only available to shelters that haven’t faced a crisis. We encountered an evil tide, and for them to rescue us during such a time, the terms were far harsher.”

Chef He shook his head and sighed:

“The shelter had to belong to them. Anyone who wanted rescue had to sign a lifetime labor contract, and all future earnings from work would belong to them.”

“That seems meaningless. If the signers lack motivation and earn nothing, or even lose money, what’s the point of such a contract?” Fan Bei asked, puzzled.

Chef He’s eyes flickered oddly. “If you had just let the dog sign, or signed yourself, you’d know what it means. Lack of motivation? Impossible.”

With that, he stood and walked directly westward.

Fan Bei hurriedly stood up and had Da Bai follow. “Uh, you know that's my living area?”

“Yes, it’s obvious—it’s the most lively spot.”

Da Bai followed behind, sniffing the air, looking both puzzled and unconcerned.

Soon after, Fan Bei led the old man through the compound and into the agricultural zone’s duty room, which was actually a large four-bedroom, two-living-room house, since there was more than one person on duty.

“The residential area hasn’t been cleared yet, so I’ll have to trouble you to stay in the guest room for now,” Fan Bei said, opening the door to a secondary bedroom.

---

“It’s nothing—these conditions are already very good, truly excellent,” Chef He turned, speaking earnestly.

This old man seemed a bit off, but if there was truly a problem, Da Bai would have dealt with him.

“By the way, it’s afternoon now—I’ll go make dinner for you all. Even though my employer is Iron Egg, Iron Egg’s employer is you,” Chef He glanced at the clock in the living room, which already showed July 11th, 4:30 p.m., and spoke with diligence.

“All right, the kitchen is over here...”

About an hour later, after Fan Bei gave some simple instructions, Chef He, with his four-star hotel chef skills, quickly prepared five dishes and a soup.

Tomato hot-and-sour soup, cucumber stir-fried with shredded pork, celery diced with meat...

Da Bai had already caught the scent and ran eagerly to the kitchen door to wait.

Fan Bei poured three dishes and a big bowl of soup into the dog’s bowl for him to eat.

Watching Da Bai devour the food with more enthusiasm than before, Fan Bei felt both gratified and a bit lost. Ah, from now on, I won’t have to cook anymore.

“Hmm, does the dog eat better than people? The rules here are a bit strange. I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Chef He remarked in surprise.

“Haha,” Fan Bei chuckled dryly, “you’ll understand why soon enough.”

“So fragrant, so delicious, Master, your choice is truly wise…” Da Bai ate while wagging his tail, occasionally letting out a couple of barks.

Fan Bei scoffed, “I wonder which mutt was just throwing a tantrum, complaining about this and that.”

“That wasn’t me. Must have been Xiao Bai borrowing my mouth,” Da Bai retorted shamelessly. “Xiao Bai, you better watch it—don’t steal my body.”

“If I could steal your body, you’d have been trained into a dead dog long ago,” Xiao Bai grumbled.

At that moment, Chef He suddenly said, “Looks like this isn’t enough for you. I’ll go make some more.”

“Yes, you should make more, Uncle—you need to eat too,” Fan Bei said politely.

“No, as a professional servant, I can’t eat food prepared for the master’s household. My own food, I’ll make separately,” Chef He shook his head.

“As long as you don’t waste any ingredients, feel free to use whatever you need,” Fan Bei smiled.

“Thank you very much,” Chef He looked at Fan Bei, his eyes narrowing slightly.