Chapter 306: The Disadvantages of Fame

PS: Sorry.

"Boss, boss, I only ate a tiny bit, meow."

"A whole basket of pastries is down to half a basket, and you call that 'a tiny bit'!" Ma Ma Zhaodi shook the dull cat back and forth in frustration: "Why have you degraded so quickly into one of those freeloading cats?"

"I'm not full, meow."

"Say that again!"

"Boss, boss, you don't know, meow, I came from Flamefire Village, meow."

Seeing Ma Ma Zhaodi pick up the large slipper from the corner, the dull cat instantly snapped out of its hungry daze.

"Every day it was just dumplings, meow. Mitarashi dumplings, red bean dumplings, kinako dumplings, edamame dumplings, mugwort dumplings..."

As it spoke, memories of Flamefire Village began assaulting the dull cat's brain; its two bead-like eyes started to blur, turning into a pair of constantly spinning dumplings: "Dumplings, morning, noon, night, all dumplings, meow. Even in my sleep I dreamed of a giant dumpling chasing and biting me, meow. Dumplings are terrifying, meow."

Seeing the dull cat's current state, Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed helplessly; he knew Flamefire Village's specialty was meatballs, but he hadn't expected the dull cat to have such a severe psychological trauma regarding dumplings.

"What about your meat?" he asked. "Roasted meat? And rice balls?"

"Couldn't eat them, meow. Every time after being stuffed with dumplings, my stomach was already full, meow."

"Then just don't eat the dumplings."

"Sister Hinoa and Minoto would get angry, meow."

Hearing this, Ma Ma Zhaodi suddenly laughed with relief.

Palico? Dull cat?

A pet cat!

Alas, this dull cat has been ruined by women.

"You thing with no Hunter Cat spirit, go stir-fry two dishes for me!"

"Boss, I want to eat cat rice made by you, meow; rice made by you tastes good, meow."

"Rice made by cats is called 'cat rice'; rice made for cats is just cat food."

Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed, casually tossed the dull cat into the kitchen, and said: "Go, stir-fry two dishes for me, and I'll stir-fry two dishes for you; we'll each cook our own."

"The boss is a generous person, meow!"

Afternoon, on the streets of downtown Central City.

"Remember, act natural in a moment, understand?" Ma Ma Zhaodi brought San San Bengzi to a halt and instructed the creature at his feet: "I brought you out because you haven't been getting enough exercise, but you can't let anyone notice anything abnormal, or you'll be stuck at home afterwards."

Before he could give any more instructions, a man approached from the roadside.

"Oh, Mr. Denton." Ma Ma Zhaodi looked up and smiled at him: "I haven't seen you around the city lately; I thought you'd moved away."

Hearing Ma Ma Zhaodi's greeting, Denton forced a smile in return, but to Ma Ma Zhaodi, that smile did not seem to indicate happiness.

"Yes, about that..." Denton asked: "Do you still have those pastries from before? The white ones? Elizabeth loves them very much."

"Dingsheng Cake? Recently I've been making a red-colored version—but the taste is still normal. Would you like to try some?"

"No, no, everything you sell is delicious; I'll just buy a few more pieces."

Noticing that Denton's condition and mood were not good, Ma Ma Zhaodi asked again: "Where is your wife? Didn't she come out with you today?"

"She hasn't been feeling well lately; she's come down with some illness. She can't go out, but she really misses the pastries she bought from you, saying they were delicious, so I came out on the streets to find some for her..."

After answering briefly, Denton seemed unwilling to discuss his wife further, so he changed the subject: "Is that your cat?" "Oh, you mean this one?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi stood up from the ground holding a very, very fat Siamese cat, and casually rubbed its pitch-black little face: "It's a cat I bought recently; since it looks relatively smart, I bring it out with me while doing business to take a walk, and it happens to help it lose weight."

"Smart?"

Denton looked down—a pitch-black face, clear yet stupid cross-eyes, a thick loaf-shaped body, and four little short paws with nowhere to rest; at a glance, it was clearly a top-tier specimen among dull cats.

Picture as follows (best viewed on the Qidian mobile app):

"Boss, boss, I don't think I'm fat, meow."

"Hm? What?"

Denton frowned; he felt he had just heard this cat whisper something, which made him wonder if he had been working overtime too hard lately, to the point of hallucinating from exhaustion.

"Nothing, nothing." Ma Ma Zhaodi immediately chuckled awkwardly to smooth things over: "The weather has been too hot lately; heat easily makes people hallucinate—by the way, the Dingsheng Cakes are packed; would Mr. Denton like to buy anything else?"

"No need, thank you..."

Denton took the pastries Ma Ma Zhaodi handed over, uttered a word of thanks, and left.

As soon as the customer departed, Ma Ma Zhaodi turned his head to look at the dull cat at his feet.

"What did I just tell you? I told you to act natural and not expose yourself—why did you suddenly speak?"

"Boss, I thought he couldn't hear me, meow."

"Your punishment is to go home and clean."

"No punishment, boss, I don't want to clean, meow."

"Nonsense, I don't want to either."

An hour later, after encountering several acquaintances and a crowd of passersby, the pastries on San San Bengzi were successfully sold out; Ma Ma Zhaodi felt quite gratified by this—although the dull cat had eaten half a basket of pastries, looking at it from another angle, at least he could stand in the sun for twenty minutes less.

How could this not be considered a generous cat?

The only thing that struck him as strange was that quite a few passersby seemed familiar with his San San Bengzi and his pastries; when buying, they could even directly name specific varieties of pastries, and the quantities they purchased were extremely large—if just one person were eating them, they were each buying enough for at least three to five days.

"If this continues, a cartload of pastries won't even last an hour..."

Ma Ma Zhaodi had just stepped onto San San Bengzi, intending to head straight home, when he discovered two more people blocking the front of the vehicle.

"Sorry, friends." He waved his hand: "I'm not taking disciples—uh, no, I mean, today's traditional handmade Chinese desserts are all sold out; if you want to buy some, please come earlier next time."

"Idiot." The burly man with a fierce expression sneered coldly: "We're not here to spend money buying your pastries; we're here to take the money you earned from selling them."

Ma Ma Zhaodi paused for a moment; earlier, with the sun in his eyes, he hadn't seen these two clearly, but now he realized the newcomers meant trouble.

"Which gang are you from?" he asked. "You don't have any tattoos on you."

"Kid, to rob you we don't need a whole gang; two people are enough." The skinny man with cold eyes exposed the pistol at his waist: "We heard before that a foreign food cart had arrived in the city, selling something... Chinese bread? Rumor says you've made quite a bit of money... several thousand dollars a day, right?"

"It's a traditional Chinese handmade dessert." Ma Ma Zhaodi corrected with a solemn face: "If you can't remember the name, then don't just blurt things out — it makes you look completely amateur."

"Laozi don't give a damn about all that — hand over the money!"

(End of chapter)