306-310

Chapter 306: The Downsides of Fame 

"Half a basket of pastries left from a whole basket, and you call that 'a tiny bit,' huh?!" Cody exasperatedly dangled the Palico back and forth. "Why did you so quickly fall into being a freeloading cat?!" 

"Not full, meow..." 

"Say that again!" 

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

Seeing Cody pick up the big slipper in the corner, the Palico immediately snapped out of its hunger daze. 

"Every day, eating dango, meow. Yomogi dango, red bean dango, kinako dango, edamame dango, mugwort dango...!" 

As it spoke, memories of Kamura Village began to flood the Palico's mind. Its two beady eyes started to spin, turning into a pair of constantly rotating dango: "Dango, morning, noon, and night, all dango, meow... I even dreamed a giant dango was chasing and biting me, meow... Dango is so scary, meow..." 

Cody sighed helplessly, seeing the Palico's current state. He knew dango was Kamura Village's specialty, but he hadn't realized the Palico had such a deep psychological trauma from it. 

"Where's your meat?" he asked. "Grilled meat, and rice balls?" 

"Can't eat, meow... Every time I'm stuffed with dango, my belly is already full, meow." 

"Why don't you just not eat the dango then?" 

"Fugen and Hinoa would get mad, meow..." 

Hearing this, Cody suddenly smiled, understanding. 

Palico? Buddy? 

A house cat! 

Sigh, this Palico has been spoiled rotten by women. 

"You, who has no hunter cat soul, go cook me some dishes!" 

"Boss, I want to eat the Felyne meal you make, meow. Your food is delicious, meow." 

"Food made by a cat is called Felyne meal. Food made for a cat is just cat food..." 

Cody sighed and casually tossed the Palico into the kitchen. "Go, you cook me two dishes, and I'll cook you two dishes. We'll each cook our own." 

"Boss is a generous person, meow!" 

In the afternoon, on the streets of Central City. 

"Remember, act naturally in a bit, got it?" Cody brought his three-wheeled scooter to a stop and instructed the Palico at his feet. "I brought you out because you're not getting enough exercise, but you can't be discovered acting unusually, or else you'll just have to stay home." 

He hadn't even had time to give more instructions when a man walked up from the roadside. 

"Oh, Mr. Denton," Cody looked up and smiled at him. "I haven't seen you in the city lately, I thought you moved." 

Hearing Cody's greeting, Denton forced a smile back, but to Cody, it didn't seem to convey happiness. "Yes, well..." Denton asked, "Do you still have those pastries from before? The white ones, Elizabeth really liked them." 

"Dingshenggao? Lately, I've been making the red version—but the taste is still the same. Want to try it?" 

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

Noticing that Denton wasn't in good spirits, Cody asked, "Where's your wife? Isn't she out with you today?" 

"She... hasn't been feeling well lately, got some kind of illness. She can't go out, but she really misses the pastries she bought from you, said they were delicious, so I came to the street to look for them..." 

After Denton briefly answered, seemingly unwilling to talk more about his wife, he changed the subject: "Is that your cat?" 

"Oh, you mean this one." 

Cody picked up a very fat Siamese cat from the ground and rubbed its dark little face. "It's a cat I just bought recently. It seems pretty smart, so I bring it out with me when I'm doing business to let it stretch its legs and help it lose some weight." 

"Sm...smart?" 

Denton looked down—a dark face, clear but stupid crossed eyes, a heavy, loaf-shaped body, and four short little paws with nowhere to rest. It was clearly a prime example of a Palico. 

(Image here, visible on the Qidian mobile app) 

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

"Hmm? What?" 

Denton frowned. He thought he'd just heard the cat mumble something, which made him wonder if he'd been working too much overtime and was hallucinating. 

"Nothing, nothing," Cody immediately laughed sheepishly to smooth things over. "It's been too hot lately, and the heat makes people hallucinate easily—uh, the Dingshenggao is packed. Mr. Denton, would you like to buy anything else?" 

"No, thank you..." 

Denton took the pastries Cody handed him, thanked him, and left. 

As soon as the customer was gone, Cody turned to the Palico at his feet. 

"What did I just tell you? To act naturally, not to expose yourself—why did you suddenly speak?" 

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

"Punishment: you're cleaning the house when we get home." 

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

"Nonsense, neither do I." 

An hour later, after seeing a few acquaintances and a bunch of passersby, the pastries on the three-wheeled scooter were successfully sold out. Cody felt quite relieved—even though the Palico ate half a basket of pastries, looking at it another way, he at least got to stand in the sun for twenty minutes less. 

How could this not be considered a generous cat? 

The only thing that struck him as odd was that quite a few passersby seemed to know about his three-wheeled scooter and his pastries. When they bought them, they could even directly name specific types of pastries and bought them in extremely large quantities—if it was just for one person, they were buying at least three to five days' worth. 

"At this rate, a whole scooter-load of pastries won't last an hour..." 

Cody had just gotten on his three-wheeled scooter, intending to go straight home, when he found two people blocking the front of his vehicle. 

"Excuse me, friends," he waved his hand. "I don't take apprentices... No, wait, I mean, today's traditional handmade Chinese desserts are all sold out. If you want to buy some, please come earlier next time." 

"Idiot," a mean-faced burly man sneered. "We're not here to buy your pastries with money. We're here to take the money you made selling pastries." 

Cody paused. Against the sunlight earlier, he hadn't seen the two clearly, but now he realized they meant trouble. 

"You... which gang are you with?" he asked. "You don't have any tattoos either." 

"Kid, you don't need a gang to rob you; two people are enough." The skinny man with cold eyes revealed the handgun at his waist. "We heard there's a food truck from out of town, selling some kind of... Chinese bread? Heard you've made a lot of money... Thousands of dollars a day, right?" 

"It's traditional handmade Chinese desserts," Cody corrected him seriously. "If you can't remember the name, don't just say whatever. It makes you look very unprofessional." 

"I don't care about that! Hand over the money!" 

Chapter 307: Fame Isn't All Bad 

As the saying goes, "People fear fame like pigs fear getting fat; men fear being poor, women fear being chubby." 

Though the saying is a bit crude, the principle generally holds true. 

Cody, straddling his three-wheeled scooter and facing two blocking robbers, couldn't help but look at them like they were idiots. 

"The water and soil of Central City really nurture people; there are so many amateur criminals, and they actually manage to survive," he thought to himself. "If they had even an ounce of sense, they wouldn't have absolutely no sense at all." 

"You... don't you know I'm on the black market's radar?" 

The big guy heard Cody's question and instinctively blurted out, "Of course we f***ing know—" 

"We don't fing care what your relationship is with the gang!" the skinny guy quickly interrupted. "Just hand over your fing wallet, and we'll go our separate ways, no need to cause extra trouble." 

Cody immediately understood. He looked up at the time displayed by the system. 

"No wonder you didn't head straight to my house," he told the skinny guy. "You talked to the gang—I bet they gave you a lot of information, didn't they? For example, that I earned some money with the food truck, and also, that I usually deposit the money I earn each day into the bank, so there's no money at my house at all." 

"You weren't coming for my wallet today at all. You planned to kill me directly, then you could collect a bounty from the gang, and you could even fake this case as an accidental murder by robbers." 

The burly man's eyes immediately widened like brass bells. "Damn it, how is this guy so smart—" 

"Shut up! Damn it, you idiot! I told you, less talk, more action! More action! You just wouldn't f***ing listen!" 

The skinny man interrupted the burly man while angrily kicking his companion's knee hard. "You almost messed up what should have been an easy job! Damn it!" 

The burly man scratched his head, looking wronged. 

"Didn't you think carefully before taking the job? Why wouldn't those gangs deal with me themselves, and instead list a bounty for someone else to take me out?" Cody asked, genuinely curious. "I've been setting up my stall here for a full three months, three months, mind you—and I'm still fine. Why would you think I'd be easy to deal with?" 

Almost there, just one more minute. 

At this point, the skinny man on the side was also stunned, because, to be honest, when he saw the huge bounty offered by the gang, his mind was indeed clouded by the green bills. As for how long Cody had been operating here—he truly hadn't heard the gang mention that information. 

"Huh, pure cannon fodder..." 

Cody sighed. "First, they paint a rosy picture to get people involved, then they take the big profits, and you bear all the losses. Isn't this just a heartless boss's karaoke session for cannon fodder? If I were you, I'd turn around right now and go settle accounts with the gang. At least dealing with them is much easier than dealing with me—and look, I've told you everything. At least I'm more sincere than them." 

"Uh... Brian, he seems to be right." 

"Shut up, Matthew." 

The short guy, Brian, lost his patience and finally drew the handgun from his waist directly. "We don't care about all your nonsense, idiot. Someone paid for you to die, so we'll kill you—it's that simple!" 

"Then I wish you good luck." 

The timing was perfect. Cody decided to make the first move. As soon as his words fell, the Palico immediately understood. It pulled out the giant acorn-shaped cat shovel hidden under the scooter and leaped directly from between the two men's feet—this was its initial, self-equipped leather cat armor set. 

Although it wasn't wearing head armor or clothing, the cat shovel itself added two points of attack power. This damage certainly wasn't fatal, but the humiliation of being smacked in the face was strong enough. 

As a result, red marks immediately appeared on the unsuspecting faces of Brian and Matthew—and a few seconds later, seeing Cody take the opportunity to slip away, already riding his three-wheeled scooter over ten meters away, the red color gradually spread across both their entire faces. 

A vein throbbed on Matthew's forehead. He had fought countless big guys in his life, believing in direct, fist-to-fist combat between real men. Regardless of whether he could win, it at least made him feel honorable. 

To be smacked by a cat... He had never suffered such a great humiliation in his life. 

He let out a furious roar, grabbed Brian, and immediately chased after the three-wheeled scooter—and the little food truck wasn't fast, so the distance between them was gradually closing. 

"You're dead! You bastard!" 

The roaring voice echoed through the surrounding streets and alleys, and at this moment, Joe and several colleagues were walking towards this street. 

It was already after work, and Jimmy had just shared the food truck's location in the group five minutes earlier—so they walked over, hoping they could still catch today's pastries. 

"Joe? I think I just heard someone yelling?" 

"I heard it too," Joe replied. "Do you have your service weapon with you?" 

"Yes, I always carry a gun." 

"Everyone be careful, we might have encountered a—" 

"Help me, aaaaaahhhh—!" 

Cody's scream was shrill and drawn out. He rode his three-wheeled scooter, kicking up a gust of wind as he sped past the officers. 

"? Was that the food truck we were looking for?" 

"I think so, not quite sure." Jimmy scratched his head. "He usually doesn't speak that loudly." 

"You son of a b****! Stop right there!" 

A gruff and angry shout followed. A muscular man, dragging a short guy, appeared before them. From his stance, he seemed to be chasing the food truck. 

Eddie saw such an enraged man and immediately had an ominous premonition. He looked at Joe. "Joe, what should we do?" 

"Nonsense," Joe immediately drew his handgun. "Whether these two are dangerous or not, the food truck owner definitely can't be in danger. Let's check it out first." 

So, several police officers immediately blocked Matthew's path. 

"Hey! Hey! You two! Stay where you are!" The officers' hands were on their waists, clearly ready to draw their guns at any moment. "Why are you chasing that person?! Are you carrying any weapons?" 

Brian cursed fiercely. He had clearly put his handgun away, and he had chosen a street where police were unlikely to pass to deal with Cody this time, yet they still ran into a bunch of cops. 

"We didn't do anything, officer," he hid his gun more discreetly and raised his hands. "That food truck owner just took our money and ran. We just want our money back." 

As soon as he finished speaking, the group of officers burst out laughing. 

"Kid, you have no idea what that food truck owner's reputation is like around here, do you?" 

Jimmy told the two, "If he were really greedy, he could double the price of one pastry, and no one would object—he's been selling pastries around here for three months, never caused any trouble, never gotten into any trouble." 

"He's an honest Chinese man, you understand? Idiot—come with me to the police station!" 

It turns out that fame isn't entirely without its benefits. 

Chapter 308: The Root of the Problem 

PS: My bad! 

"One of you has betrayed me." 

"Or maybe a few of you." 

When this message popped up in the group chat, the international students were utterly baffled. 

"Old Ma, what gibberish are you spouting? Did Jesus talk to you in a dream or something?" 

"Jesus didn't do that," Cody typed back. "But today, two people on the street knew where my food truck was." 

"Isn't that normal?" another student replied. "You have to encounter people to sell things when you're vending, it's not like you're selling food in the middle of nowhere." 

"But these two weren't isolated incidents," Cody continued to type. "Lately, the people coming to buy pastries don't seem like they're just randomly strolling by. It's like they all came prepared. They don't even ask what I have; they just start buying a specific type of pastry, six or seven pieces at a minimum." 

"Would a normal person buy food like that when they encounter a food truck? Shouldn't most people at least ask first, then buy two pieces to try? How do they already know the names of the pastries?" 

"Uh, this..." 

"The people who come looking for me live in different areas, are from different social classes, work for different companies, and their species are almost enough to fill half a gender chart—they only have one thing in common." 

"..." 

At this point, the entire group of students fell silent. They connected this to what had happened over the past three months and knew what Cody was getting at. 

"That's right, at least one international student—or a Chinese person—is in their social circle." 

Cody angrily admonished the students in the chat: "Tell me, tell me, where are they getting information about the food truck? How do they know the types of pastries sold? Why don't they question the taste of the pastries?" 

"Or let me rephrase—just how many people have you given my pastries to, you sons of guns?!" 

"Ahem, ahem, well, Old Ma, you know, your stuff is just too delicious." 

"Yeah, yeah, you only sell 90% a day and save some to sell on the street—and there's even a purchase limit for each person. What a waste! What do foreigners know? They might even complain in their hearts that the pastries aren't sweet enough, pure pearls before swine—unlike me, I'll just devour your pastries like crazy." 

"And finding local agents to buy for us was a last resort! You don't let us come to your food truck directly anyway—it's selling to someone no matter who it is, and I've already paid, so what's wrong with eating a little more?!" 

"Right, right! There was this one professor who really hated me. At the end of the semester, he said he'd give me a C. I had no choice but to give him your pastries as a gift! Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten that A." 

"Sigh, the return on your gifting strategy is so low, so foolish! The pastries I bought last time went missing. When I asked, I found out my cousin, who lives here, took them. He said he secretly gave some to his boss's daughter, and she absolutely loved them—I feel like, if he keeps sending them for a few more months, the boss might have a new son-in-law." 

"Holy cow, why didn't you tell us about such a good idea earlier? I wouldn't have eaten all the pastries if I'd known..." 

"I said, can you guys stop for a second?!" Cody felt his fists clenching. "Do you realize that two robbers hired by a gang found my food truck today?! I'm being targeted, friends!" 

"Today, I was lucky enough to run into a few police officers. But what if this happens again next time, and a whole carload of guys come to jump me? Please, I'm begging you, next time you see the food truck, don't give away my location, thank you." 

"And what the heck have you created in Central City?! A pastry gang?! Can you please stop bribing your superiors with my pastries?! We're not a cult, and I'm not selling drugs here!" 

"Ah, right, right, right..." 

"Anyway, no matter what you think," Cody continued. "I'm sure that a group of local Central City residents who used proxies to buy before have now started buying and eating them themselves. They're not stupid; they can taste good food. If you keep accelerating this spread, all those proxies will become big-mouthed interceptors, and then you'll know what cruelty is." 

Seeing the group quiet down, Cody finally let out a long breath. After today's incident, his safety while vending should significantly improve—at least he wouldn't constantly be pinpointed by all the international students. 

The Police Get Involved 

"Hey, Joe." 

"Jimmy?" Joe, holding a latte, walked over to Jimmy. "How's it going? Did those two guys say anything?" 

"They refused to say anything," Jimmy shook his head. "Even though the food truck owner has told us the whole story, they insist on waiting for their lawyer." 

"Sounds like they're not first-timers." 

"Out-of-towners, extensive rap sheets," Jimmy explained. "We found a loaded handgun on the skinny one. They were probably intending to kill." 

"A gang daring to openly hire a hitman—even if it's attempted murder, it's practically spitting in the face of the Central City Police Department." 

"More than that, I'm worried about that food truck owner. If the gang actually takes him out, we'll have to go back to doughnuts for our afternoon tea." 

"Wait, the gang is going to take out who?" 

As they talked, Captain Singh happened to walk by. 

"Uh... the food truck owner. We usually buy some 'pastries' from him for afternoon tea." 

Singh raised an eyebrow. 

"Are you talking about those little cakes we usually eat?" 

"Yes." 

"The ones I usually take home for my boyfriend?" 

"Uh, yes." 

"This is an outrage!" 

Singh's eyes immediately blazed with fury. "What do they think Central City is? Daring to openly hire assassins like this?!" 

"No need to wait for their statements. Let's go arrest those unscrupulous gang members and societal troublemakers first!" 

"Ahem, ahem, Captain Singh, it's not that serious, not that serious," an older officer quickly interjected. "This kind of operation costs manpower and resources, and it's a drain on the public. We're a police department, not a charity. We can't act on impulse..." 

"Wait, wait." Jimmy suddenly spoke up. "Actually, this isn't entirely without benefit. Approximately several thousand Chinese international students just offered to crowdfund a donation to the police department—a total of about two million dollars." 

"They said they hope this money can help the 'conscientious food truck entrepreneur' of Central City avoid persecution from gangs." 

As soon as he finished speaking, the officer immediately let go of Singh's arm. 

Joe and Eddie exchanged glances. 

"Have you ever seen a situation like this before?" 

"Chinese students doing this? Never." 

"Will we still be able to go home on time tonight?" 

"Forget about it." Joe patted his shoulder. "Let's focus on protecting our conscientious food truck entrepreneur first." 

Chapter 309: A Mighty and Dominant Organization Name is Essential 

"Today, Central City police successfully dismantled a large gang network within the city, the 'Cossatra Family.' It is understood that this gang is a branch of the Italian Mafia, and the primary family members have previously…" 

The morning sun streamed into the rented apartment. The television screen broadcasted the morning news, the anchor's voice rising and falling, the positive content uplifting, all of it making the city's residents feel safer and happier. 

Of course, the above was just the perspective of the casual observer. 

In front of the TV, Cody and the Dumb Cat, one man and one cat, each held a toothbrush, their mouths covered in white foam, and their brushing cups in hand. Their eyes were blank, jaws agape, staring fixedly at the television screen. Their brushing motions had unconsciously ceased. 

In that moment, the Dumb Cat and Cody's eyes mingled with four parts contemplation, three parts bewilderment, two parts clarity, and one part disbelief. 

Their synchronization was almost 100%. 

"What in the blazes is the Central City Police Department doing?" Cody strained to focus on the news report, trying to comprehend the abstract information it conveyed. "They wiped out that gang?" 

"What the heck?" 

"Was that really necessary?" 

"Did these guys storm the police station? Or assassinate the mayor?" 

"They didn't commit tax evasion, did they?" 

He exchanged a baffled look with the Dumb Cat. They just stared at each other, their confusion deepening. 

"Boss, boss, is the Central City Police Department crazy, meow? Or, is the police chief actually your long-lost brother from a different father and mother, meow?" 

"If this were yesterday, I'd tell you this isn't Gotham, and the mental state of the citizens and city officials probably wouldn't reach that level—but yesterday is gone." 

Cody turned his head to the TV, watching the scene of numerous gang members being escorted into police cars. He put his toothbrush back in his mouth. 

"But today—I've got nothing to say." 

After Cody finished brushing his teeth, he picked up his phone, eager to find out the detailed story behind this anti-gang operation. It was then that he finally saw hundreds of self-congratulatory messages in the international student chat. 

"What do you say? I told you this idea would work, didn't I? In a capitalist country like America, where everything revolves around money, money talks." 

"You know what, you're right. You're really right." 

"Honestly, it's true." 

"You deserve major credit for this. I'll take minor credit, alright? A Central City police officer and I are pretty good friends, and I pushed him to deliver the first-hand information to his superiors." 

"Sigh, well, I've got something to say too. I happen to know a senior who works as a butler for a city official. Doesn't he deserve some credit?" 

"Sigh, well, I've got something to say too! I put in a full five hundred thousand! Shouldn't I get top honors for that?" 

"Indeed." 

"Rich guy, awesome!" 

"Boss, you're so generous!" 

"Sigh, we international students are really united." 

"What the heck, you weren't saying that when you were snatching my roujiamo before…" 

"Sigh, you guys are something else," Cody sighed. "Go on, you crazy geniuses, just keep at it." 

"Who can outdo you? The Italian Mafia is gone because of you. The only reason I'll be wandering the city now is to outwit fanatical customers." 

Despite his words, the students' intentions were genuinely good. 

"Brothers, brothers, I'm very grateful for your righteousness and for spending a huge sum to convince the Central City Police Department for my sake," Cody typed rapidly, sending messages in the chat. "The total amount you contributed is two million—everyone, please note down your individual amounts and send them to me. I will reimburse all this money." 

"What?!" one student exclaimed in shock upon seeing the message. "Old Ma has two million? How did you earn it?" 

"Isn't that obvious? With his pastry skills, he could earn two million anywhere!" 

"Dang, so a good chef can earn so much money..." 

"If you have so much money, why are you still selling food from a cart?" 

Cody looked at this message, initially trying to think of an excuse, but a moment later, a thought suddenly struck him. 

"Wait, since these guys used 'pastry diplomacy' to create so many bizarre and unconventional networks, their information must be incredibly well-connected, right?" 

At this thought, Cody's mind immediately clicked. He suddenly felt the world broaden, birds singing, flowers blooming—talented eccentrics like the international students in the group, born free, should be allowed to soar! 

"Hey, brothers, everyone, look at me! I have an announcement to make!" 

The students immediately fell silent, all looking at Cody's avatar. 

"Someone just asked me why I came to Central City to set up a food cart—to be honest, I have two friends who recently left their own city." 

"After they set off, they completely disappeared without a trace. All I know is that the last place they arrived was Central City, and I came here to set up a food cart precisely to find those two friends." 

"My friends are a married couple, a man and a woman. The man is named Derek Lane, and the woman is named Camilla Lane—and right now, I still haven't found them." 

"Finding people? That's a piece of cake!" 

One student immediately replied in the chat: "Don't underestimate our information network!" 

"You know what, you're right. You're really right." 

"Honestly, it's true." 

"It's just finding people. I, the second-in-command of the Flying Roujiamo Pastry Gang, am here to help you." 

"Why are you the second-in-command?" 

"What kind of name is 'Flying Roujiamo Pastry Gang'?" 

"So, are we considered a gang now? I still think a name like 'Dragon Team' sounds more imposing." 

"Dude, did you just escape from a museum?" 

Watching the students start chattering again, messages flooding the group at hundreds per minute, Cody sighed and simply put away his phone. 

"They're enthusiastic, but they're too noisy." 

However, another three months quickly passed, and under the comprehensive network of connections built by the international students across the city, there was still no trace of the Derek couple. 

"I don't understand." 

Cody and the Dumb Cat sat on small stools beside the food cart. He meticulously scrolled through the documents on his phone. "We've searched everywhere. Whether it's actual human search efforts or police and municipal archives, my Master-level Computer skill's data collection capabilities should not have missed any clues about them." 

"Where on Earth did they go? Did they cross over to Star City?" 

[No, the search range is within Central City.] 

"I just don't understand..." 

Just as he was completely stumped, an old acquaintance appeared at the food cart again. 

"Old Ma." The haggard man's voice was deep. "The usual, ten pastries." 

Chapter 310: Old Ma's Team's New Member 

Upon seeing the emaciated man standing in front of his food truck, saying in a low voice that he wanted to buy ten pieces, Cody's eyes momentarily glazed over with a significant degree of blankness and confusion. 

"I'm selling pastries, right?" 

He looked down at the food truck—that's right, it was indeed filled with pastries, not ice. 

"I didn't put any ice in it, did I?" His brain raced. "Then why does the customer look like a high-rolling drug addict?" 

"Denton," he looked up and asked the man, "What's going on with you? Why have you become like this?" 

"..." 

After a moment of silence, Denton shook his head. "I'm fine, just been staying up too late recently, not enough sleep—the pastries, just pack the pastries first." 

"Oh, oh..." Cody, as if waking from a dream, took out a small bag for pastries. He packed two of each kind and casually asked, "How's Elizabeth? Is her illness still not better?" 

Hearing this question, Denton's face darkened slightly. His right hand instinctively went to the ring finger of his left hand—where a beautiful diamond ring was worn. 

"She's still not well," Denton's answer sounded like a murmur, but with a sense of determination and confidence. "But she will get better, she'll get better very soon." 

"My research is about to succeed; she will definitely get better, she will..." 

Cody listened to Denton's answer and didn't say anything more. The severe illness of a loved one can indeed cause profound changes in a person. Six months ago, Denton and Elizabeth first came to his food truck. At that time, they were still a normal, healthy couple. Elizabeth's face was full of smiles, and Denton also looked quite happy then. 

Cody had seen Denton once three months ago. Even then, his mental state had already deteriorated significantly; he was absent-minded, unkempt, his clothes were wrinkled and stained with dried coffee—but at least Denton wasn't as haggard then as he was now. 

"Mr. Denton," Cody handed over the pastry bag and told him, "Although I don't know what illness Elizabeth has, nor what your research is about—perhaps you have some confidentiality agreements or something—you still need to try to maintain a normal routine. After all, the point of life is living." 

"Speaking of which, I actually know a little about medicine—or, how about I take a look at Elizabeth's illness?" 

Hearing Cody's suggestion, Denton was visibly surprised. He looked up at Cody, likely astonished by his versatility. 

"No, thank you," he replied. "I know exactly what my wife's condition is and how to save her—only I can help her, she can only rely on me." 

"...Alright." 

Denton's answer seemed quite rational. It was clear that he was only physically unwell, but his mind was still clear. Since he said he had a way, Cody decided not to force his intervention. 

"I wish you both good luck, Mr. Denton." 

"Thank you." 

--- 

Watching Denton leave, Cody couldn't help but sigh. 

"Palico." 

"What's up, meow?" 

"I've realized that when a person has the ability to break rules, they'll inevitably be tempted to use that ability—in this information age, I can use a small phone and my skills to easily find anyone's personal information in Central City within half a minute. In fact, before Denton even gets home, let alone his work and research, I could even find out what he had for breakfast this morning." 

"Boss, what are you talking about, meow?" 

Cody didn't answer him. After staring at his phone in silence for a moment, he finally put it away. 

"I'm saying we need to have reverence for ourselves and this world—let's go, we're going home." 

"Okay, meow, three-wheeler, let's go." 

As soon as the words fell, a crisp metallic clinking and gear-turning sound of transformation echoed from inside the body of the three-wheeled vehicle in front of the man and the cat. As metal parts contracted and expanded, the three-wheeler's body twisted and reshaped, finally turning into a rather beautiful blue, pink, and purple motorcycle. 

"I don't like that name, Palico," a resonant, metallic female electronic voice sounded from the speaker. "It sounds weird." 

"But Boss says your food truck form is a three-wheeler, meow." 

"Alright, alright," Cody swung his leg over the motorcycle and casually reassured it. "When we're at home, we'll call you Three-Wheeler, but when we're outside, we'll all call you a Harley-Davidson motorcycle." 

Hearing his answer, the three-wheeler sounded even more aggrieved: "But you also ask me to transform into a bicycle and a wheelchair..." 

"More work for the capable, you know. You're a super integrated version that cost a million, even my phone and laptop are integrated into you. Otherwise, those two couldn't have such high computing power." 

"Then when can I operate in Autobot form?" 

"...Your favorite activity is fighting people with laser guns and mini energy cannons, and the day before yesterday, you almost blew my bed away with one shot—so, when the Decepticons invade the DC universe, or when an alien army appears from the sky intending to rule humanity, that's when you can 'operate a bit'." 

"My name? You should at least give me a name, right?" 

"Isn't 'Three-Wheeler' good?" 

"I don't want that name! 'Harley' isn't my name either! That's a brand name, lots of motorcycles are called that!" 

"My beloved steed?" 

"I'm an Autobot native to Earth; do you really think I don't surf the web?" 

"Alright, alright—how about Arcee?" 

"There's already an Autobot with that name. Don't be lazy." 

"How about Xiao Yu? Little Fish?" 

"Xiao Yu..." 

The three-wheeler clearly hesitated. After days of being bombarded with Cody's terrible names, this surprisingly normal-sounding name clearly appealed to her. 

"Does this name have any special meaning?" 

"Oh, it's like this: considering your fiery personality, it reminds me of the customs of a certain region back home—called Shudao Mountain." 

"You know Sichuan and Chongqing? Shudao Mountain is a specialty of that area. I originally wanted to call you Xiao Chuan, but that name doesn't sound very feminine, so I called you Xiao Yu." 

"Are you saying I'm like a expl—" 

"Hey, hey, I didn't say that, you don't—don't talk nonsense." 

"Just you wait, Cody, when I get back, I'm going to blast your new electric toilet to the sky..." 

Amidst the motorcycle's engine hum, the joyful sounds of one man, one vehicle, and one cat gradually faded into the distance, disappearing down the street painted red by the setting sun. 

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