Everyone Else Is Fighting to Survive the Apocalypse, While I Run a Little Kitchen

In the fifteenth year of the Great Fogfall, gray mist swallowed the world and mutated beasts ran rampant. People had to risk their lives just to get a bite of synthetic nutrient paste.

When Lin Ye opened his eyes, he had become a kitchen lackey at Blackstone Outpost, beaten half to death and thrown to the rats for hiding half a steamed bun.

Anyone else would have been in tears. He was delighted.

Other people awakened elemental abilities and strutted around like big shots? He got a Gourmet Space: ten square meters of black soil, a well of spirit spring water, and a time flow ten times faster. He could grow vegetables, raise chickens, and build a livelihood at the wok.

While others scraped by on gritty nutrient paste, his golden egg fried rice made people incredibly strong, and a bowl of medicinal soup could drag those afflicted by the fog back from death's door. Spicy dishes boosted strength, sour ones increased speed, and medicinal food cured poison. Once ordinary people had eaten their fill, they could form a battle formation and stew a second-tier mutated beast alive.

And so, he turned the whole apocalypse on its head.

A second-tier frost-wielding female captain, down on her luck, took one bite of his osmanthus cake, and the ice covering her face for three years cracked on the spot.

A sickly squad leader, a powerhouse brawler, an old carpenter, and a young master thief: one bowl of rice won each of them over, and they fought for the chance to serve him.

The overseer who skimmed food rations and paved the way with three hundred lives? Lin Ye took the whole kitchen, stove and all, and cheerfully sent him on his way.

Someone mocked him: "A cook thinks he can make it in the apocalypse?"

Lin Ye tied on his apron and weighed the wok ladle that could both stir-fry and draw blood.

With food in hand, there's no need to panic. So what if the fog tide is closing in? So what if the Gray Mist-worshipping Pure Land is up to no good? And what of the lofty young lord of Iron City?

You are struggling to survive in the apocalypse. I'm running a little kitchen in it.

And sooner or later, my little kitchen will become the greatest feast in the wasteland, the one everyone lines up to eat at.