Chapter Four: Zombie Flesh

In my third year as a soldier, I happened to encounter a pivotal moment in the modernization of our armed forces. At that time, the central government, recognizing the situation, announced a massive reduction in military personnel. My unit, the Mechanized Infantry Division, became a primary target for the restructuring within the military region and was ultimately streamlined into a Mechanized Infantry Brigade. Along with many of my comrades, I was discharged early.

Afterward, my old squad leader and I went our separate ways—I returned to Hebei, and he went to Shandong. Although we kept in touch, we never saw each other again.

Thus, I left the barracks I had fought for and returned to my hometown, shedding my uniform for a white coat, setting aside my rifle (well, truth be told, I’d hardly ever handled one), and picking up the ladle once more.

Relying on the skills my old squad leader had taught me, I embarked on my long journey as a cook.

During the first few months, I worked in a city restaurant. Thanks to the foundation I’d built in the army’s kitchen, I quickly secured a good position and could have earned a decent income.

But I didn’t stay long. I resigned because I found that the local restaurants cared nothing for standards, and I couldn’t get used to their “habits.”

While in the army, the old squad leader often taught us that being a cook was all about having a conscience. Back then, we were cooking for our own brothers. Naturally, we did everything to make the food delicious and nutritious, without ever considering profit.

But once I entered the business world, I discovered that the rules were entirely different—everything revolved around money. If there was profit to be made, it had to be maximized.

To give an example, the restaurant where I worked was already the best equipped in the county, but even there, all the canned drinks they offered were close to expiration, and if they could buy rotten vegetables for ninety cents a pound, they would never pay ninety-five.

I could understand and accept their cost-saving measures—it’s business, after all, and cutting costs is key.

But what shocked me was discovering that they dared to serve “zombie meat” and gutter oil to customers!

I won’t elaborate on gutter oil—its dangers are well known. But compared to “zombie meat,” it’s nothing.

“Zombie meat” refers to imported beef and mutton smuggled in from abroad.

At first glance, one might think the restaurant was treating its Chinese customers well, serving imported goods. Imagine a plate of meat boasting American or Brazilian beef—sounds prestigious.

But in reality, it’s quite the opposite. This imported meat is called “zombie meat” because it consists of the lowest quality, even diseased, carcasses left over after foreigners have taken the best. After a cursory disinfection, it’s sold to Chinese consumers.

In plain terms, it’s all foreign garbage.

And none of it is fresh. These meats are often unsellable goods, frozen for over ten years in cold storage—genuine beef and mutton “zombies.”

The most outrageous case was when I saw Russian mutton inspected in 1981.

What does that mean? The meat was older than me—back then, not only had I not been born, but even “Russia” didn’t exist yet; it was still the Soviet Union! Who would dare to eat that, knowing the truth?

Eventually, I couldn’t stand it any longer. As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. I found an excuse to resign, deciding to return to my village for a while and consider my next steps.

I also realized that my three years in the army had completely transformed my soul, especially the pure teachings from my company commander and squad leader, which made me value “conscience” above all else.

Perhaps because of this, I felt out of place in this restless society.

Luckily, the restaurant owner seemed to understand my perspective. On my last day, he gave me an extra month’s salary and patted me on the shoulder, saying, “There’s an adjustment period from the army to civilian life… If you want to come back, you’re always welcome.”

I knew his words were a recognition of my skills and a nod to my integrity.

That night, I bought a ticket to return home early, then went back to the staff dormitory to pack. I was busy until nightfall before finally lying down to rest.

But for some reason, my mind was in turmoil. As soon as I closed my eyes, memories of army life played through my mind like an old black-and-white film. I lay there for a long time but couldn’t fall asleep.

I had a nagging feeling that something was about to happen...

Around ten o’clock, tossing and turning in bed, drenched in sweat, I finally gave up on sleep. I got up, took a cold shower, and felt much better.

Afterward, I wandered to the restaurant’s front desk, hoping to chat with the night-shift girl and pass the time.

Unexpectedly, as soon as I reached the lobby, I stumbled into trouble!

Entering, I heard a commotion at the front desk, mixed with a girl’s sobs.

Sensing something was wrong, I hurried over and saw four men pestering the pretty receptionist. One man, in particular, was especially aggressive, slamming his hand on the counter with loud, angry thuds.

I realized the front desk was dealing with troublemakers. From my experience, those four were either drunks or thugs.

I rolled up my sleeves, ready to intervene.

After all, I was a freshly discharged soldier, still carrying the heat of the barracks. The hotel had always treated me well, and I had often chatted with the front desk girls.

Now that trouble had arrived, as a former head chef and former soldier, I couldn’t just stand by.

Without hesitation, I strode over and placed myself between the men and the receptionist.

My sudden appearance startled the four men, especially the three in black suits, who instinctively stepped back, their faces changing dramatically as if wary of me.

“Gentlemen, whatever the issue, talk to me. There’s no need to trouble a young lady,” I said, turning to the grateful receptionist. “Xiaohong, what happened? Tell me—I’ll handle it.”

The night-shift receptionist was named Ye Xiaohong. Seeing me, she clung to my arm like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline and told me what had happened.

That night, as usual, Xiaohong was working the night shift. Around eleven, after seeing off the last guests, she was about to close up.

Just then, these four men barged in, claiming to be hungry and demanding a meal.

But according to our rules, after the last guests left around eleven, the restaurant closed—no more customers. Besides, the kitchen staff had already left, so even if they wanted to serve them, there was no one to cook.

Xiaohong politely declined their request.

Predictably, they refused to accept this, spouting nonsense like, “If you’re open, you must serve customers… Get your boss… No chef? Then what’s the point of this place?” Eventually, they even started swearing.

Hearing this, I was furious. This was blatant bullying! Thankfully, I’d come; otherwise, my beloved Xiaohong might have been in real trouble.

I turned to the loudest of the men and said earnestly, “Sir, I’ll give you two hundred yuan—please eat somewhere else. Don’t cause trouble…”

My meaning was clear—I was backing down, offering my own money to defuse the situation.

Honestly, I can’t be blamed. The man I addressed was half a head taller than me, all muscle—a burly figure. His face, shadowed by a baseball cap, looked sinister.

But then, the man sneered and abruptly gripped my shoulder with a massive hand.

A wave of crushing pressure shot through my shoulder—I realized my attempt at conciliation had failed. He was determined to cause trouble.

But, confronted like this, I wasn’t afraid. If he thought his size would intimidate me, he was mistaken. Fine, let’s see what happens.

As he grabbed me, I swiftly reached into my jacket pocket.

Inside was my trusty Swiss Army knife.

I’d learned hand-to-hand combat in the army and even won prizes in brigade competitions. Though I was skinny, one slash from me could disable even this burly man. Of course, that was my last resort…

But at that moment, the man said something that chilled me to the bone.

“Your knife is useless against me. Take it out, and I’ll strangle you.”

Hearing his cold voice, my heart skipped a beat. I thought, “This is bad—he knows what I’m about to do before I even make a move. I’ve run into a real expert.”

Then, he suddenly released me and said something that shocked me even more.