296-300

"Chapter 296: Chinese Handmade Pure Meat Burger, aka Roujiamo" 

Lisa instinctively looked in the direction of the small cart. In fact, she wasn't the only one; many pedestrians on the street couldn't help but look over. 

Vendors in America typically don't shout to attract customers; they use displays or their attire. It's rare to hear hawking in the streets, so the commotion from the hamburger food truck stood out. 

Seeing the food truck by the roadside, Snart frowned slightly. It wasn't that he had any issue with hamburgers; it was just that he had lived in this city for a long time and had scouted the downtown area countless times, yet he had never seen this particular food truck suddenly appear here today. It had just popped up, something he'd never encountered during his scouting. 

Maybe this food truck could affect his robbery plan, maybe not, but either way, this sudden variable made him unhappy—as he said, unknown means uncontrollable, and uncontrollable means risk, and he hated risk. 

But Lisa had already run over, taking two steps at a time. Clearly, she wasn't too bothered by her brother's "uncontrollable risk theory." 

When he saw a customer approaching, the Asian man beside the food truck immediately stopped shouting. He knew that America didn't have the "hawking" street culture; his earlier shouting was purely out of habit—when he had a stall in front of him, it was hard to resist the urge to yell a few times. 

"Hey, your food truck is really unique," Lisa said, arriving at Cody's three-wheeled cart and curiously examining the unconventional vehicle—one person, one pot, a pile of flatbreads, and a business license proudly displayed on top. This thing was actually legitimate. 

Cody moved aside the lid on the large iron pot, revealing the stewed pork belly floating in the rich broth below. The five-centimeter square cuts of pork leg were three fingers wide and included the skin, with distinct layers of fat and lean meat. They had been soaked for several hours beforehand to remove any blood, and now there was no trace of gamey odor. 

Two spice packets, containing green onion, ginger, garlic, and various other spices, were simmered with the meat in the pot over medium-low heat for two hours. The rock sugar inside had completely melted, and the cooking wine had evaporated. 

By this point, the meat had been soaking in the broth for a total of five hours since it was first put in the pot, having thoroughly absorbed the flavors and turned a rich, glossy brown. The pork skin was transparent, like clear amber. When a piece was scooped out and placed on the cutting board, it didn't even need to be cut; with just a gentle press of the cleaver, the fatty parts dissolved into delicate, fine meat paste, while the lean meat became tender, juicy shreds. 

The pungent aroma of star anise, the sweetness of cinnamon, the gelatinous fragrance of the pork skin, and the scent of the Baijimo (flatbread) all mingled together—judging solely by appearance and smell, this pot of meat was incredibly appetizing. 

Lisa couldn't resist taking a sniff, and her eyes were completely drawn to the cutting board. She asked, her voice tinged with the enticing smell of the meat, "Didn't you say you're selling hamburgers? What kind of hamburger? Where is it?" 

"Isn't this it?" Cody gestured with the Baiji flatbread in his hand. "They're both two pieces of bread with meat. Why wouldn't it count as a type of hamburger?" 

"That's not quite what I was expecting." 

"Worst case, I'll add some extra pork skin for you." Cody casually picked up his cleaver, and with a light slice, a trembling, reddish-brown piece of pork skin, like jelly, lay on the blade before being tucked into the flatbread. 

Lisa deliberated, albeit briefly. Even though this looked like a carb bomb, its aroma was simply too enticing, and the stall appeared remarkably clean. While it might not align with every American's dietary habits, she genuinely wanted to try it. 

"Alright, I'll take one." 

"A Chinese handmade pure meat burger, five bucks. No tricks." 

Not entirely "no tricks," as the system's procurement prices didn't include the logistical costs of real-world sourcing. In reality, Cody was buying ingredients and spices at nearly wholesale prices, and he had no storage or freezing expenses, so each serving yielded a profit of about four dollars. 

If it weren't for Cody's advanced culinary mastery and the fact that he personally handled most of the preparation, the system wouldn't even approve his five-dollar pricing—selling ready-made items from a store, or merely simple processing before selling, wouldn't earn him any asset points. 

"Even at a street stall, you emphasize 'handmade'?" 

"In America, if you emphasize 'handmade' for anything, you can raise the price," Cody said with a polite smile. "This is a local characteristic that simply must be savored." 

He really got the hang of combining Chinese and Western styles. 

Snart had now joined his sister. As an intellectual genius in the criminal world, a fastidious perfectionist, and a notorious phantom thief whom Central City's police department could never apprehend, he always exuded an air of refined coolness and a stern demeanor. 

But then again, even the most composed person needs to eat, and he had grown accustomed to a nomadic life. After all, a teenager who ran away from home with his sister at eighteen had already endured every hardship imaginable. 

"I'll have one too." 

"No problem. Enjoy them while they're hot, otherwise they won't taste as good." 

Cody collected ten dollars, and the system immediately registered a hundred dollars in asset points. This was his first earnings of the day—he had already recovered the cost of the entire pot of ingredients. 

Of course, to recoup the cost of this heavily modified three-wheeled cart, he would probably need to sell about half the pot's worth. 

Lisa took a bite of the warm Baijimo. Crispy crumbs fell from the flatbread, the inner layer of the bread absorbed some of the卤汁 (braising liquid), the fat from the fatty meat permeated the center of the bread, and the fibrous texture of the lean meat paired perfectly with the wheaty aroma of the flatbread. The elastic pork skin added another layer of texture—but she didn't want to meticulously analyze the taste of this Chinese handmade pure meat burger. She simply instinctively took a second bite, then a third... 

Cody casually pulled out a gourd, took a sip of liquor, then put it back underneath. "Welcome back next time, both of you. My name is Cody, you can call me Old Ma—remember to tell your friends about my little shop!" 

In the time it took for him to say a few words, Lisa had already devoured half of the roujiamo. Clearly, her attention was completely focused on the flatbread in her hand, and she hadn't listened to a word Cody said. 

Snart stood beside her, taking small, deliberate bites of his roujiamo, eating gracefully. His gaze also casually swept over the business license hanging on the side of the three-wheeled cart. 

Strange, he thought to himself. Although these licenses certainly looked genuine and quite normal, why did this stall always give off such a slapdash and casual impression? 

He asked Cody, "Why do you have a liquor license?" 

"Huh? Do I?" 

Cody scratched his head and walked around to the front of the cart to look. "Oh, I do." 

So he stood back behind the cart and calmly replied, "No problem, I have one." 

He couldn't be blamed for his poor memory; there were too many permits required for street vending. He simply spent a few days embedding his stall's information into the municipal database—since that's how he got his identity in the first place, it was just a convenient extra step. 

"Chapter 297: Even the Pot?" 

"So where's your liquor? Where's the alcohol?" 

"Apologies, but the alcohol I have here isn't for sale right now." 

"Then why have a license for it?" 

Cody picked up his gourd and took another swig. "So what? Just because I'm not selling it now doesn't mean I won't sell it later. When I start selling skewers, I'll bring out the beer." 

Just then, another Asian passerby on the street was drawn by the aroma of the stewed pork belly. He looked at Cody and asked, "What is this? How much is one?" 

"Chinese handmade pure meat burger, five dollars each." 

"Oh, sounds good." 

"No problem—and as a special grand opening bonus, I'm giving each of you two extra pieces of bread." 

"There's bread too?" 

Cody opened the insulated box beside him, revealing several round, white flatbreads. 

"Chinese handmade sugar-free bread, my friend. It emphasizes health." 

In layman's terms, small steamed buns. 

These were made from leftover dough from the Baiji flatbreads. Cody figured he had enough flatbreads, so he simply shaped the remaining dough into steamed buns—at least not to waste it. 

Are they tasty? Plain steamed buns certainly aren't as sweet as bread, but since they're free, presumably no one will have any complaints. 

Lisa had just finished her roujiamo and then told Cody, "I'd like to take a few back. Or can I buy the meat separately?" 

"Separately? That might be a bit pricey," Cody chuckled. "Besides, you can't eat this cold, so I think it's better not to." 

Lisa looked disappointed. She bought two more roujiamos, then asked, "Will you still be setting up your stall here in the future?" 

"Oh, that's not for sure. It pretty much depends on whether my enemies consistently pass through here." 

"?" 

"Hey! That food truck over there! Stop right now!" 

The sudden shout sent alarm bells ringing in Snart's head, but his face remained unperturbed. He turned to look behind him and saw several tattooed men sprinting towards Cody's three-wheeled cart. 

"As you can see, gangs and street vendors are naturally at odds," Cody explained to Lisa, adjusting the mask on his face. "Even where I'm from, this kind of situation only recently disappeared." 

Though he said this, his actions were swift—after casually covering the pot of meat broth, he immediately hopped onto the unassuming three-wheeled cart. 

With the roar of the engine, this heavily modified commercial vehicle burst forth with speed comparable to a race car, disappearing in a cloud of dust at the intersection, leaving the gang members with nothing but swirling exhaust. 

"Damn it, he got away again!" 

Watching the two burly men's frustrated and angry expressions, Lisa, munching on her roujiamo, asked curiously, "Why did you say 'again'?" 

"This bastard has been brazenly setting up his stall around here lately, operating like a nomad. He's made so much money, yet he shows no respect for our gang, damn him. If it weren't for him always wearing a mask and having fake license plates, we would have found him already." 

Upon hearing this, Snart's mouth twitched. He finally understood why this food truck felt so "sketchy"—this kind of "pulling the train" provocation against gangs was extremely rare in Central City. If caught, he'd likely be dealt with directly by the enraged gang members. 

Isn't this like a challenge to the street vendors? Interesting. 

However, if the gang couldn't catch him, then their talk of revenge was just empty words. 

Of course, Cody also had a few words for this group of gangsters. 

"How the heck was I supposed to know you gangsters collect protection money so diligently? Five times a day, it's clear the organization is broke and you're just trying to hit your quotas, alright?" 

"I work hard setting up a stall, only to earn a meager amount each day, and I have to be endlessly bothered by you? No one in Gotham City has ever dared to disrespect me like this. How could I tolerate this from you? I just finished modding my trike, for crying out loud!" 

"These local gangs are truly clueless and incredibly rude!" 

He grumbled and cursed as he rode his three-wheeled cart, finally stopping at another corner of the city. 

Despite the considerable trouble, Cody didn't plan to directly eliminate the gang members. After Barry Allen became the Flash, he frequently engaged in battles with various enemies in different parts of the city. If a gig mission triggered, Cody needed to be able to discreetly rush over to assist without appearing too obvious. 

A street vendor being chased all over the city by gangsters wouldn't seem out of place anywhere, which could lower his chances of being targeted by the big boss. 

Of course, doing this also had another advantage: it made it easier to find people. 

Thinking about finding someone, Cody couldn't help but sigh. He walked down the street, surveying the crowds around him. 

"I've set up stalls all around the city center, and I still haven't found Drake or Camila. Where in the world did those two go?" 

"Hey, that food truck over there, I want to buy one... Holy moly, it's roujiamo! And are those steamed buns next to it?! Oh my—" 

"Ahem, watch your language." 

Cody looked at the East Asian international student, whose eyes were gleaming, and sternly corrected him, "At home, you call me roujiamo and steamed buns, and I don't mind. But now that we're in America, what should you call me?" 

"...Call you what?" 

"Chinese handmade pure meat burger." 

"Holy cow." The fellow countryman looked at him with reverence, cupping his hands and asking, "What about the other one?" 

"Chinese handmade sugar-free bread." 

"When it comes to creativity and gimmickry, you've got to hand it to our fellow countrymen," the student exclaimed in admiration. "Shouldn't these be selling for ten dollars each?" 

"I'm an honest merchant, five bucks a piece, no tricks, alright?" 

"Holy cow, that's incredibly fair—how much for the whole cart?" 

Cody was stunned. 

"Huh?" 

Three minutes later, Cody watched as the international student called over a friend, and the two of them struggled to walk away into the distance, carrying an armful of steamed buns, flatbreads, and a bucket of stewed pork belly. 

It was clear they hadn't had food from their homeland in so long that it had given them a bit of a "hamster syndrome." 

"Boss, will you be back next time?" 

"Definitely next time, whenever fate allows." 

Cody checked the time. It wasn't even noon yet, and a whole pot of stewed pork belly was already sold out. 

Strictly speaking, even the pot itself had been sold. 

This international student really had something going on. 

Ma Shifu, who had been busy all day, looked at the thousand dollars in his hand and couldn't help but smile like an old farmer at harvest—ten thousand asset points had come in, allowing him to buy another special item for speedsters that could be infused into liquor. 

[Immortal Vine (Superior Grade) Price: Ten thousand asset points Note: After drinking, immediately restores one-third of stamina and increases stamina recovery rate by fifty percent for fifteen seconds] 

Undoubtedly, this item was an excellent supplement for speedsters who rapidly consumed stamina and required a large amount of energy replenishment. 

Chapter 298: The Steamed Bun Saga 

Ever since Cody arrived in Central City, his assets had been swelling up like a balloon. 

"I still don't understand why you don't sell more." 

On a Central City street, Liu Zi held two oversized insulated containers, trying to persuade Cody. "Closing up shop after only half a day? How are you supposed to make big money that way?" 

"Where's your ambition? Where's your fighting spirit? And where are the rest of the steamed buns?" 

"Rest? There are no rests!" 

Cody rolled his eyes. "You guys are like wild field bosses, always showing up the moment my stall refreshes, ready to buy everything. I don't get it. You just bought a whole pot of meat two days ago. Even if you made it all into roujiamo and ate roujiamo for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, one or two hundred of them would make you sick! How can you even think about buying steamed buns?" 

"Heh, listen to yourself," Liu Zi scoffed. "That little bit of meat and roujiamo only lasted three days because we were rationing it. Now the fridge is empty; if we don't buy something, the kids will starve." 

Cody's eye twitched. "How did such a big pot of meat not last three days? How much did you eat every day?" 

"Well, that just shows how good your cooking is!" 

Liu Zi sighed. "Central City is a big city, not some small American village, old Ma. How many international students do you think are in the city?" 

"How many? A few hundred?" 

"I don't know either," Liu Zi slapped his thigh. "Regardless of whether there are hundreds, as long as there are twenty, that big pot of roujiamo, even if rationed, would only last three days." 

"Do I only have one mouth? I have dozens of international students at the whole school, all starving and eagerly waiting. They are their earnest hope." 

"Dozens of people, can you imagine? Normally, at home, being able to make instant noodles is considered a great step forward in personal survival skills. But then they come here, and it's the same old stuff every day: fried chicken and burgers, burgers and fried chicken. Vegetables and fruits are ridiculously expensive, and meat dishes are monotonous. They eat until they want to vomit..." 

"One day, they just couldn't stand it anymore. They desperately wanted to eat hometown food, but they didn't have much money, so they all started learning to cook." 

"When they smelled the pot of meat I brought back, they were like wild wolves unleashed, their eyes glowing green. I didn't even have time to hide it. Ten minutes after I got back, I was forced to sign the 'Sharing is Caring' unequal treaty." 

"They're quite resourceful, then." 

Cody sighed and opened the steamer basket beside him. Steaming white vapor, along with the aroma of wheat, wafted out. 

Beautiful white steamed buns lay in the mist. Because the filling was generous, the sauce had already overflowed from the crimped tops, while the rest was nestled under the soft bun skin, permeating the dough, giving the sides of the buns appealing golden-red patches. 

Clearly, when the bun skin was glossy with oil, it looked truly appetizing. 

"What's this filling?" 

"Braised pork and shiitake mushrooms," Cody replied. "There's also chive and egg, pork and scallion, and spicy tofu." 

"Brother, Ma-ge!" 

Liu Zi's eyes welled up with tears. "Without you, this 'family' would fall apart!" 

"Whether it's this 'family' or this 'bucket,' I think that's still up for debate..." 

"Hey, holy cow! Found it! Found it! This is the stall the telegram mentioned!" 

As the two talked, several more people suddenly rushed over to the food cart, shouting. Cody looked at Liu Zi. "Are you organizing another raid party, huh?" 

However, Liu Zi's expression was incredibly serious. 

"No, these people aren't with me..." 

"Boss, fellow countryman!" These newcomers also each held an insulated container. "How much are the steamed buns?" 

"Don't you check the filling before you eat steamed buns?" 

"It's good enough to have proper steamed buns; who cares about the filling? Besides, the group chat said your roujiamo is incredibly delicious, so everything else must be good too." 

Marula! There's an insider in the organization! 

Hearing this response, Liu Zi's heart trembled. Someone was here to steal his wild field boss, and they were incredibly aware of the situation. 

A formidable rival, absolutely. 

"Alright, even if you don't ask, I'll tell you," Cody replied. "Braised pork and shiitake mushrooms, chive and egg, pork and scallion, spicy tofu." 

"Damn it, Big Brother!" 

The newcomer bowed instantly. "From now on, you are my blood brother, from a different father and mother!" 

"No need, no need..." Cody scratched his head and asked, "How many do you want?" 

"How many do you have?" 

Cody wanted to say, "As many as you want," but he was afraid the other person would reply, "I want as many as you have." 

"Steamed buns take a bit more effort than roujiamo," he said. "But the yield can be higher. I'll still sell them for five dollars each—they're big; one is enough for someone with a small appetite, and two should fill up someone with a big appetite." 

"I'll take three thousand dollars worth." 

"? How are you all so rich?" 

"Rich? We're buying in bulk, brother. We're starving!" 

What a coincidence, these two used the same idiom with such perfect understanding. 

Cody looked at Liu Zi's pleading face beside him and shook his head. "I can give you half a cart of steamed buns, about a thousand dollars worth. He needs half a cart too." 

"Alright..." 

Both groups privately thought that two hundred was acceptable, so they acted incredibly fast. In less than ten minutes, the steamed buns from the cart were packed into their containers. 

Meanwhile, the second group of newcomers asked, "Big Brother, where will you be selling this afternoon?" 

"I'm going home to rest this afternoon. What else would I do if I didn't go home?" 

"You sold out of steamed buns?" 

"I'll sell more tomorrow." 

As the three parties stared at each other, a local customer finally rushed over. 

"Hey, old Ma!" 

The regular customer, Lisa (who had actually only bought once), ran over happily. "I haven't seen you set up your stall recently. I thought you quit." 

"I spent all of yesterday preparing," Cody replied. "I was making steamed buns at home and thought I had made enough, but they didn't even last a single morning." 

"Steamed buns... What are those?" 

"Cough, cough, my apologies, I misspoke." Cody suddenly realized and immediately replied with a serious face, "It's a special food from my hometown. The full name is Chinese handmade breakfast pastry—of course, if you want to eat it for lunch and dinner, that's perfectly fine too." 

"Sounds good," Lisa's nose twitched, catching the fragrant scent of steamed buns and a hint of braised meat. "How much?" 

"Sold out, they bought everything," Cody shook his head. "Maybe you can ask them if they can spare you two." 

Lisa Snart turned to look at the two groups of international students. However, her usually infallible charming approach was completely ineffective this time. Both groups hugged their insulated containers tightly, all looking at their noses and eyes, pretending not to see the blonde beauty in front of them. 

Compared to an unfamiliar beauty, steamed buns were far more important. 

"Chapter 299: Barry on the Brink of Death" 

Things have been a bit more unpredictable than Cody expected lately. 

He originally planned to set up his stall while touring all of Central City, not only to familiarize himself with the local terrain but also to lay the groundwork for his future appearances in various corners of the city. The problem now was that he couldn't tour the entire city. 

"Old Ma, Old Ma—are your steamed buns ready?" 

"You guys bought three hundred of them just a few days ago, have you finished them? You want more?" 

Cody's face darkened as he heard the voice on the phone. He regretted being soft-hearted enough to give his number to the international students; now, every phone call was a nagging request for food. 

What was there left to tour? Those two groups of people had been buying buns like wholesale for the past two weeks. They hadn't even finished the last batch they took home before planning to snap up the next one. 

"Go easy on it, alright? Buns don't spoil that fast. I can't sell all the food I make just to you guys, can I?" 

"What about that pot you used to cook the stewed pork belly the other day? And those spice bags? Keep cooking the meat, you can get at least three more batches out of it!" 

"There's still more good stuff like that?!" 

"Boil it once in the morning and once in the evening to sterilize it. Remember to add salt and water, and make sure to soak the blood out of the meat you buy. Cook the meat over medium-low heat—and there's one more thing." 

As he spoke, Cody looked up and saw that he was surrounded by international students holding insulated containers, packed tightly around his three-wheeled cart, completely swarming the small stall. 

"How many moles do you guys have, seriously? I feel like after two weeks, every international student within a ten-mile radius has shown up..." 

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the Central City Police Department recently wasn't as cheerful as Cody's side of things. 

"Morning, West." 

"Morning, Eddie." 

The Black middle-aged detective, Joe West, Iris's father and Barry Allen's adoptive father, arrived at the Central City Police Department for work as usual today. As soon as he entered the station, he saw his new partner, Eddie Thawne, greeting him. 

Joe forced himself to rally, nodded to Eddie, and then paid him no further mind, walking heavily to his desk. 

This wasn't because he had any issues with his partner being replaced. In fact, Thawne was already old, and now he had another gunshot wound to the abdomen. Even if he wasn't still in the hospital, he should retire and enjoy his golden years once he was discharged. 

He had no complaints about Eddie either. He was a cheerful, handsome young man with blond hair, capable, ambitious, and polite. It wouldn't be wrong to call him promising, even if he was a bit green and lacked experience. Still, he was much better than a complete rookie—he had even earned some points in Joe's mind for helping his daughter catch the computer thief. 

The police department naturally operated on a mentorship model, and he could quickly bring Eddie up to speed. 

But he didn't have the energy to bond with his new colleague right now. In fact, he didn't want to bond with any colleague at the moment. 

"Barry..." 

He wearily held his head, thinking about the sight he had witnessed that morning outside Barry's hospital room—Barry Allen, the son he had raised for so many years, still lying unconscious in the hospital bed, covered in wounds, clinging to life. 

He saw Barry's body covered in scorched marks from burns, some of his skin and flesh dry and cracked, charred black like charcoal. Even though he had been trying to call out to him for days, Barry showed no reaction to his voice. He lay on the bed with his eyes closed, like a person in a vegetative state. 

Or rather, he had indeed become a person in a vegetative state. 

"Mr. Barry Allen is incredibly lucky. His body was truly struck by lightning, and he was completely drenched in chemicals, some of which may have entered his bloodstream through his wounds," the doctor in the white coat told Joe. "Anyone in his condition would be in dire straits, with a very high probability of immediate death, but Mr. Allen isn't." 

"He survived the lightning strike and held on until emergency care. Now, his vital signs have even stabilized, but the only problem is, he hasn't woken up." 

"We believe the lightning strike may have damaged some of his brain nerves, or it could be the effect of the chemicals—regardless, Mr. Allen remains in an unconscious state. He's become a vegetative patient; he won't die, but he also hasn't woken up, and we can't predict when he might regain consciousness." 

"It could be half a minute, it could be half a year, or he might never wake up. In any case, whether to continue to sustain his life is entirely up to you, Mr. West." 

"Hey, Joe." 

Unbeknownst to Joe, Eddie had approached his desk and said, "Is something bothering you?" 

Joe looked at Eddie. 

"My foster son is unconscious, and my partner was shot and retired," Joe replied. "Nothing's bothering me, Eddie. I just need to think about some things—do you understand?" 

"Of course, no problem." 

Eddie awkwardly walked away from Joe. 

I'm sorry, Eddie. 

Joe watched Eddie's retreating back and sighed silently. 

Actually, these weren't the only things bothering him. Just yesterday, the culprit behind the particle accelerator explosion, Dr. Harrison Wells, specifically came to find him. 

At the time, Joe was in the hospital, sitting by Barry's bedside. 

"Dad? Are you asleep?" 

Iris's soft call startled Joe awake. He sharply opened his eyes and saw Barry lying in the hospital bed. 

Iris, holding coffee, gently closed the hospital room door and came to his side, lightly patting her father's shoulder. "You fell asleep in the chair." 

Joe said nothing, just pulled his clothes tighter and sat up straight to avoid falling asleep leaning back again. 

"It's been three weeks. You haven't eaten or slept properly," Iris sighed, persuading him. "You should go home and get some rest." 

Joe looked at Barry, who was still unconscious, and shook his head. He reached out and took the coffee cup from Iris's hand, replying, "Barry... hasn't woken up yet. When he's better, I'll go home." 

These past few days, Joe had been going to work at the police station during the day and rushing to the hospital at night, guarding Barry's bedside. His face was visibly tired and gaunt. 

Drip— 

Suddenly, the monitoring equipment by the bedside emitted a loud, urgent warning sound. Joe and Iris's nerves instantly tensed. They saw Barry, still intubated, suddenly convulsing violently on the bed, his body twitching like a fish struggling, dehydrated and close to death. 

"Oh my God! Oh my!" 

Iris frantically pressed down on Barry's body, while Joe directly ran out of the room, taking two steps at a time. His hoarse shouts almost shook the entire hospital corridor. 

"Doctor! Doctor! Save my son!" 

The hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses immediately echoed in the corridor. 

Chapter 300: The Future Rushes Towards its Predetermined Course 

"Barry! Barry!" 

Iris's voice was urgent and panicked. Facing Barry, who was convulsing on the hospital bed, she was frantic with worry. 

"Barry's condition had stabilized, hadn't it?" 

Joe stared blankly at Barry. He wanted to do something but didn't know what. In that moment, fear clutched his heart, and helplessness spread throughout his body. The old detective had dealt with countless vicious criminals and rescued countless citizens from danger, yet he was utterly powerless in this situation. 

Then, he saw the four flat lines on the monitor—Barry's electrocardiogram. 

He couldn't help but think of a terrifying future. 

Will Barry die? 

My son is going to die? 

"Step aside! Step aside! Family, please wait outside!" 

Doctors in white coats rushed into the room, pushing past the stunned Joe, quickly checking Barry's condition, while nurses escorted Joe and Iris out of the room. 

Iris stood outside the door, covering her face and weeping. She couldn't accept what was happening and could only run out of the hospital, crying like a helpless child. 

Joe barely managed to stand outside the ward, but he was completely distraught. He watched as the doctors performed chest compressions on Barry, injected adrenaline, and used every means to try and revive him. 

Before the door closed, he heard a doctor's surprised voice: "This shouldn't be happening. He has no ECG now, so why is his body still reacting?!" 

Just then, a man in a wheelchair appeared in the hallway. 

"They can't save him." 

Joe turned his head towards the source of the voice—it was Dr. Harrison Wells, the one who had led the particle accelerator experiment. 

His crippled legs certainly garnered sympathy, but the moment Joe saw him, he thought of the many injured from that night. 

Three weeks had passed, and the official second count of casualties now included not only the Ma Dong brothers but also a confirmed chief engineer from Star Labs, Ronald Raymond. 

Two guilty, one innocent—all three had been vaporized in the particle accelerator explosion. It wasn't just Joe who distrusted Dr. Wells; in fact, everyone in Central City distrusted Dr. Wells now. 

A notorious criminal, that's what everyone thought of him—of course, the authorities hadn't actually sent him to jail, because it was an experimental accident, and Wells himself was one of the victims. 

Dr. Wells spoke again. Even though he was now universally condemned, even though his experiment had suffered such a catastrophic failure, his inherent confidence and certainty seemed ingrained in him. He said to Joe, "They can't save Barry Allen, but I can." 

"I know who you are," Joe said. "You're the scientist Barry once admired—you destroyed this city." 

"You can call me Harrison Wells." The doctor didn't defend himself against Joe's accusation but continued to state his intentions: "And now I want to take him to my lab." 

"You're crazy." 

"I know you don't trust me, and I won't try to convince you with promises—Officer, give me a chance." 

"I think we all already know your capabilities, Doctor. You harmed countless people that night. We still haven't fully counted the number of victims, but what's certain is that I don't want to give you a chance." 

"You think my abilities are limited?" Wells asked calmly. "What about these doctors in the ward? Are their abilities sufficient? Are they the best doctors in the city? Or the best in the country?" 

Joe was speechless. His salary dictated his inability to provide Barry with a better medical environment. 

"Look at these people inside," Wells glanced at the doctors through the door. "They are completely clueless about the current situation. Everything happening to Barry is a mystery to them, and they have no way to solve this mystery." 

"And you can solve it?" 

"Of course I can." 

When he said this, Wells's face showed no particular emotion; he seemed merely to be stating a fact, and he truly believed it to be a fact. "Thousands of people across the city, the country, and even the world have followed my lab on television, in newspapers, on the internet, and in academic journals. It was the focus of global attention—what do you think they saw?" 

Joe remained silent, not answering. 

"They saw the future, Detective," Wells continued. "Star Labs is one of the top labs in the city, the country, and indeed the world, and I am its founder." 

"And now, sir—allow me to assure you with the lab's cutting-edge technology and my professional skills—your son will have a future." 

"Detective," Wells looked into Joe's eyes. "Let me save him." 

Joe still didn't answer. He thought about what Wells had said, then instinctively looked at the doctors in the ward. 

Adrenaline, defibrillator, chest compressions, then another defibrillator... They seemed to have used every emergency measure possible, but Barry remained unconscious. The four flat lines on the monitor showed no fluctuation. 

"Barry can't die like this," Joe thought. "I can't let my son die like this." 

And Barry wasn't just his son. 

Joe remembered his old friend Henry Allen, who had entrusted his biological son Barry to him before going to prison, and Joe had regarded Barry as his own all these years. 

He looked at Wells again. 

"Please save him, Doctor." 

Cody was at his stall today as usual. 

Though it was "as usual," it was a bit different from normal, because those starving international students were constantly wailing and complaining. Cody received daily pleas like "Brother, sell more," which then turned into "Daddy, sell more," and so on. 

Seeing his seniority rapidly plummeting, he finally decided to slightly improve his cooking skills—this would give him an epic boost in cooking efficiency and speed. 

[Mastery of Culinary Arts] Price: $120,000 Note: Want to make glowing dishes? You're close; you just need to add a little more money. 

Cody briefly scrolled through the system store, confirming that "a little more money" meant $600,000, and immediately felt a bit depressed. 

"That price could buy a 'Di Sha' divine ability; do you think that's fair?" 

[When a skill is honed to near-perfection, the skill itself can become divine—and please note, the store's pricing is not only determined by the item's power but also by a comprehensive consideration of its practicality.]