Searching for someone in northern Myanmar, and you call that earning tuition fees?

The air was filled with a heartbreaking, burnt smell.

Su Ming stood before the ruins of the kitchen, half of which had been blown away, looking down at a pool of unidentified mixture on the ground. What had once been a pot of mutton simmering slowly was now a pile of non-recyclable waste, mixed with mud, broken bricks, and unburnt diesel fuel.

"Farewell, my whole roasted lamb... You were destined for a wonderful life, sprinkled with cumin and chili powder, instead of dying so hastily, so... without dignity."

Su Ming clutched his chest, heartbroken.

These damned "vultures" don't understand food, they have no respect for life, they... deserve to be fried in oil!

"It's over, it's really over this time." Director Sam huddled behind the rice bin at Su Ming's feet, pulled a passport from his pocket, and held it up shakily above his head. "I'm French! I have a French passport! According to the Geneva Convention..."

Su Ming didn't look up. He was pouring a whole bag of white sugar into the still boiling oil pot and stirring it.

"Shut up," Su Ming said.

"Really! Look at this stamp!" Sam was almost crying, waving the blue passport. "Although it belonged to my grandfather... well, he used to shine shoes for French officers during World War II, and later..."

"If you say another word, I'll throw you out and use you as a punching bag."

Su Ming, holding a long-handled iron ladle, stirred rapidly in the only remaining large iron pot. The bottom of the pot was ablaze with embers from the explosion, combined with the half-bucket of diesel fuel Su Ming had just poured in. The sugar melted quickly under the high temperature, turning into a dark brown, viscous liquid, bubbling with a sweet yet dangerous aroma.

The staff officer "Fox," standing guard at the door, habitually pushed up his glasses. He glanced at the approaching gunfire outside, then at Su Ming, who was intently boiling sugar, and felt his mind go blank, like the pot of syrup.

"Fox, stop pushing up your glasses. You still won't understand." Su Ming pointed to the dark thicket outside the gap. "If you don't get someone to bring over the rest of the cooking oil and flour, even if your general eats this raw lamb leg, he won't survive the night."

The fox gritted its teeth and waved for the two guards to move the things.

In the bushes two hundred meters away.

A fully armed squad of twelve men is advancing rapidly. Night vision goggles, silencers, tactical vests—every movement is highly standardized.

"Target: the kitchen. Intelligence indicates that Buck's command post is right next to the kitchen. Team A is responsible for creating chaos, while Team B will follow me in for the decapitation strike."

Captain "Scorpion" pressed his earpiece, his voice cold. He was an expert at getting things done for money; dealing with a country bumpkin like Buck was like a max-level character stomping on a newbie in a beginner's village. That explosion earlier was just an appetizer; the real tutorial was about to begin.

The team reached the outer wall of the kitchen.

"Captain, the ground ahead is covered in oil and water," the scout reported in a low voice. "It might be a trap."

Su Ming had just directed the guards to pour the remaining 100 jin of soybean oil from the kitchen onto the corridor and floor by the door.

"It's broth." Scorpion sniffed the air, curling his lip in disdain. "These pigs only know how to eat. That's perfect, the slippery ground will reduce their mobility, but it won't stop our tactical boots. Our soles are made of highly effective anti-slip material, charge!"

At a command, three flashbangs were thrown into the kitchen.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

A flash of bright light, and twelve mercenaries swiftly rushed into the kitchen ruins.

The ground was indeed slippery, but with the help of advanced tactical boots, they maintained their balance. Scorpion charged ahead, his gun rapidly scanning the entire field.

There were no heavy machine guns, and no cover.

There was only one young Asian man wearing a T-shirt standing in front of a large pot, holding a long spoon in his hand, with a black man with his butt sticking out hiding behind him.

Local warlords are just that—local warlords. They didn't even lay down a non-slip mat in this oil-stain-covered environment.

The scorpion gun was aimed at Su Ming, and he was about to pull the trigger.

"Welcome." Su Ming put down his spoon, a professional smile on his face. "Let me introduce myself. I'm the temporary head chef here, and also a part-time security consultant."

The scorpion froze for a fraction of a second. What kind of move was this? Surrender?

"It seems you've all come from afar and must be starving. Here's your meal."

Su Ming suddenly kicked the pot handle.

The large iron pot began to spin like a top. Su Ming used the momentum to scoop up a full spoonful of hot, brown, viscous liquid with a long ladle and flicked his wrist.

"Splash attack!"

The liquid was neither water nor soup.

It stretched out a long, thin brown thread in the air, like a net, covering the three people rushing to the front.

"Um... it needs to simmer for another three minutes before the frost forms." Su Ming didn't even look up, pointing to the doorway, "Remember to take off your shoes when you come in, the floor was just mopped."

The scorpion instinctively raised its arm to block.

"Sizzle—"

Brown liquid was splashed on the tactical vest, helmet, and bare arms.

There was no explosion, no shrapnel.

But the next second, screams ripped through the night sky.

"Aaaaaah—!"

It was molten syrup at over 180 degrees Celsius. Unlike boiling water that would run off when poured on it, it clung to the skin and clothes like super glue, continuously radiating scorching heat.

Scorpion felt as if lava had been poured onto his arm. He frantically tried to slap it off, but his glove got stuck to it too. When he pulled, a large chunk of skin and flesh was torn off.

"What the hell? A chemical weapon?!" Scorpion retreated in terror.

"This is candied sweet potatoes." Su Ming scooped up another spoonful. "It's a pity we don't have sweet potatoes, so we can only make candied sweet potatoes from you."

Upon seeing this, the mercenaries in the back row immediately opened fire.

Su Ming, however, was prepared and kicked over several bags of flour next to him.

White dust instantly rose up, obscuring the view.

"Cough cough! I can't see!"

"Fire! Blind firing!"

Gunfire erupted, and bullets sent pots and pans flying everywhere.

"Don't move! If this dust concentration explodes, we'll all be roasted pigs!" Su Ming's voice drifted through the dust.

The mercenaries dared not fire. They knew the power of a dust explosion.

"Retreat! Get out of here first!" Scorpion roared.

They turned and tried to run away.

They came charging forward, but now that they want to turn around, the grease under their feet has become a nightmare. Just a moment ago, they could barely hold on thanks to their anti-slip boots, but now, in this chaos, the anti-slip treads are filled with flour and syrup.

"Thump!"

"Clang!"

The world's top mercenaries tumbled and fell like ducks learning to walk on the greasy floor.

Su Ming put on a gas mask and walked over carrying the remaining bucket of syrup.

"If you don't get at least a few hundred thousand in compensation for this deal, it'll be hard to come to a good end."

Like a diligent gardener watering flowers, he evenly poured syrup onto the bolts of guns and the joints of hands and feet of the fallen mercenaries who were trampling on each other.

High-temperature syrup becomes extremely strong after cooling and hardening.

Two minutes later.

The kitchen fell silent.

The twelve mercenaries were "stuck" to the ground in various poses, their gun bolts sealed with sugar, their hands and feet wrapped in sugar threads. Every movement tore off a layer of skin, causing them to gasp in pain.

Is this some kind of war?

The scorpion had a piece of hard candy stuck to its face, its mouth couldn't open, and its eyes were full of confusion and bewilderment.

Su Ming took off his mask, glanced at his watch, and sighed, "We're out of mutton and sugar too. Remember to leave a five-star review."

With difficulty, Scorpion managed to squeeze out a sentence: "You...which unit are you from...?"

Su Ming squatted down, took out his wallet from the scorpion's pocket, looked at it, and threw it back with disgust.

"I am from the Security Department of Jiangnan University, employee number 9527."