On a Typhoon Night, My Ice-Cold Boss Begged for a Mouthful of Instant Noodles

In Wu Youwan's eyes, he's just a middleman making a profit by selling cheap supplies.

But in the eyes of his tenants, he's an unfathomable master, a pervert, or a savior.

Wu Youwan wraps a few rolls of medical gauze around a chuunibyou girl and tricks her into thinking it's a “spirit-binding outfit.”

Wu Youwan tearfully pockets 66,666 yuan in special-interest rebates.

The girl believes him, thinks her inner primordial power has been sealed, and worships him with reverence.

A female director calls him a pervert, but secretly blushes and wants to try a set herself.

Wu Youwan makes hot pot with discounted, near-expiry Wagyu from the supermarket.

He claims it's premium “dry-aged” beef.

The girl group center is so moved she bursts into tears, convinced it's the finest food she's ever tasted.

A wealthy heiress offers him two yuan and vows to marry this man who knows how to enjoy life.

I'm really not a master. I've only got five thousand yuan in my pocket!

System: “Shut up, Host. Keep this up and they'll imagine this house is a realm of immortals!”

From then on, No. 81 Wutong Street becomes Shanghai's most mysterious legend, and I'm forced to become a “god.”