The Night Emperor Hotel's kitchen is filled with intermittent choking sobs.
"Crying. All you know is crying! You can't even manage a single little task! Why don't you just die? Bottle up your tears and get back to work!" The floor manager, Russel, with a permanent scowl resembling a widow's grief, reprimands his subordinates.
The kitchen falls silent in an instant. The waitstaff hold their breath, obedient. One could even hear the faintest sound of a needle dropping to the ground.
The most esteemed guest of the hotel occupies Presidential Suite 8888, who has a special preference for dim sum at eight each night during their stay.
However, this guest has an overly finicky palate, keeping the kitchen on their toes until the taste satisfies him.
Therefore, delivering dim sum has become both the most painstaking and fortunate task.
Tonight, the waitstaff have all been befallen by this luck. They simultaneously turned out to be the unlucky ones. Never again would they want any proximity to Suite 8888.
"From 8 p.m to 12.m, you've been driven out 11 times. Almost a full dozen!" Russel struts past his waitstaff, counting mishap after mishap, with a shrewd gaze seeking the next sacrifice.
The subordinates instinctively lower their heads to fall back, struggling to keep a low profile, all of them silently praying in their hearts, hoping to remain unnoticed.
Eventually, Russel's gaze falls on a stranger in the doorway, his thick eyebrows knitted together, "Are you new here today?"
"Yes!" With neither arrogance nor servility, Luo Waner walks in carrying a bucket and mop, setting them in the corner. A blood jade bracelet rests on her fair white wrist, sliding to the back of her hand, emphasizing her ethereal complexion.
This morning, the floor manager was someone else, even more unpleasant-looking. Without any explanation, he shoved a mop into her hands and asked her to clean.
After finishing the cleaning tasks, she was continuously kept occupied by the waitstaff. Just now, she finally completed her chores, by this point she was starving, every part of her body ached and her legs felt heavy.
"The chefs haven't shown up, yet a good-for-nothing has!" Russel mocks, pointing at Luo Waner, "Go deliver dim sum to the guest in room 8888 right now!"
"But I've been working all day, and my shift's over!" Luo Waner responds, standing still. Her current state of mind could be likened to the aftermath of a dog's curse, she was so worn out, she could barely express her feelings.
"Heh..." Russell's eyebrows shot up, a sarcastic and sharp remark jumping out from his mouth, "I haven't clocked out yet, and you're already eager to do so, are you asking for trouble?"
"Fine, I'll do the delivery!" Luo Guan'er agreed with a nod. She was utterly fed up with his grating voice; her eardrums were almost pierced by his yelling throughout the night.
The head chef breathed a sigh of relief and immediately handed her the tray covered in a glass dome.
Luo Guan'er turned around and headed out, leaving a room full of happy onlookers among the waitstaff and anxious kitchen staff.
At the top floor of the Night Emperor hotel, outside the 8888 Presidential Suite, eight unmovable black-clad bodyguards guarded the door.
Luo Guan'er hesitated for a long time, not daring to knock. Eleven waiters had already 'fallen' before her. And as a temporarily pulled in replacement, she was likely next in line for 'sacrifice'.
However, in order to leave the hotel sooner, she risked it.
She symbolically knocked on the door. After pushing it open and walking in, she saw a tall figure standing by the window with his back to her. "Sir, hello, here are the pastries you ordered!" Luo Guan’er put the pastries on the table and immediately walked towards the exit.
She didn't want to provoke this picky man, nor did she feel comfortable in the stifling atmosphere of the room. Moreover, the strong smell of alcohol in the room made her feel uneasy.
"Stop!" A cold voice suddenly rang out in the room.