22: Chapter 22 The Last Supper of the Eating King

The crowd was packed.

Hundreds of influencers had already started shoving each other to secure a spot in the front row.

"Stop pushing! Move those fake boobs away!"

"Who stepped on my shoes?! They're limited edition!"

"Master! Pick me! I have three million followers!"

Jiang Feng pulled up the hood of his windbreaker and put on a mask.

His field of vision was filled with flailing legs and distorted faces.

Too noisy.

Too smelly.

He clutched his canvas bag to his chest, and the folding stool let out an overburdened creak.

"Line up."

Jiang Feng's voice was hoarse, laced with impatience.

"Those who don't line up don't count. Those who aren't sincere don't count. Those who have had excessive plastic surgery don't count."

He pointed at the male Streamer in the very front who had a nose job.

"You, you're blocking the light, move aside. Your nose is translucent; I can't see your fortune."

The male Streamer covered his nose and retreated sheepishly.

Although the rules Jiang Feng set were strange, they gained authority amidst this chaotic scene.

The crowd reluctantly formed a crooked line.

Just then, a huge shadow slammed into the line, creating a gap.

"Move, move! The big brother is here!"

A massive man squeezed in.

He wasn't tall, but his weight was visibly over 250 jin.

The T-shirt on his body was stretched out of shape, and his belly hung over his belt like a giant ball.

His face was greasy, and his skin had an unhealthy, waxy yellow hue.

He was "Gluttonous A-Qiang."

A competitive eating Streamer famous for consuming insanely spicy food, raw marinated seafood, and massive quantities of food.

A-Qiang held a half-finished bottle of baijiu in his hand and shouted, slurring his words, at his livestreaming phone: "Brothers! Today we aren't doing a mukbang, we're doing fortune telling! If the Master gives me a ten, I'll chug this bottle of baijiu right here!"

He squeezed in front of Jiang Feng and plopped down on the ground, making the floor tremble.

A strong stench of alcohol mixed with a sour odor wafted toward him.

Jiang Feng frowned and leaned back.

"Master."

A-Qiang burped, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained yellow by smoke.

"My name is A-Qiang. Look at my physiognomy—is this the fate of someone destined for great wealth? My followers have been growing really fast lately! Yesterday, I got fifty thousand in tips from just one livestream!"

He patted his protruding belly.

"This is all good fortune! They say a prime minister's belly can hold a boat, right!"

Jiang Feng looked at him.

The system interface lit up again.

But this time, it didn't show any traces of plastic surgery.

There was only a mass of pitch-black death energy.

This death energy was coiled around A-Qiang's stomach, its edges showing a festering dark red, spreading to the surrounding organs.

His Wealth Palace (nose) was indeed ruddy, exuding a feverish aura of wealth.

But in his Health Palace (the middle section of the bridge of the nose), the vein symbolizing his lifeline had already snapped.

That was money earned at the cost of his life.

"Life-buying money."

Jiang Feng said in a low voice.

A-Qiang didn't hear him clearly: "What? House-buying money? Yes, yes, yes! I'm just about to buy a house! Full payment!"

Jiang Feng did not give a score directly.

He asked an irrelevant question.

"What did you have for dinner just now?"

A-Qiang was stunned for a moment, then grinned at the camera: "Nothing much. Ten jin of spicy crayfish, five jin of braised pork, two jin of raw marinated crab, and this bottle of 52-degree Erguotou. What, are you hungry too, Master? I have pig trotters in my car, want me to get you a couple?"

The crowd around them gasped.

This appetite sounded terrifying.

Jiang Feng looked at his still-grinning face.

"Your score is a negative number."

Jiang Feng spoke.

A-Qiang's smile froze halfway: "Negative... negative number? Master, you're really humorous. Where would there be a negative score?"

"Because you are going to die."

As soon as these five words came out, the surroundings fell instantly silent.

Even the influencers in the distance who didn't know what was happening stopped their commotion and turned their cameras over.

A-Qiang was stunned for a few seconds, then suddenly smashed the wine bottle onto the ground.

"Crash!"

Glass shattered, and the scent of alcohol permeated the air.

"Are you cursing me?"

A-Qiang stood up, the fat on his face trembling, his eyes widened like copper bells.

"I'm in great health! My checkup last week only showed fatty liver, who doesn't have fatty liver? You dare say I'm going to die?"

He waved his fists, seemingly wanting to make a move.

Jiang Feng sat there, motionless.

He raised his hand and pointed at the corner of A-Qiang's mouth.

"The corners of your mouth are turning black; this is the sign of the spleen and stomach qi being exhausted."

"The lower part of your esophagus is severely burned, with over 80% erosion. Your stomach wall is as thin as a cicada's wing; that's because you've forced it open."

Jiang Feng's voice was cold.

"You can't feel the pain because your pain nerves have been numbed by alcohol. Or did you take painkillers?"

A-Qiang's expression changed.

He had indeed swallowed four ibuprofen pills before the livestream.

"What's in your stomach right now isn't food."

Jiang Feng looked at his fat belly.

"It's blood, pooled, stagnant blood."

"The money you've earned can't buy back your stomach."

A-Qiang felt a wave of inexplicable panic.

But he was still acting tough; after all, tens of thousands of people were watching the livestream.

"Bullshit! I'm going to perform a one-shot chug for you right now! Let you see how iron-clad my stomach is!"

He bent down to pick up the half-bottle of wine on the ground that hadn't shattered, wanting to show off his strength.

Jiang Feng watched his movements and sighed.

"Don't drink it."

"Call 120 now, go to the hospital to get your stomach pumped, have surgery to stop the bleeding, and perhaps you can live for a couple more years."

Jiang Feng's voice sounded like a final judgment.

"Take one more bite, and tonight will be your last meal."

A-Qiang picked up the broken bottle base; there was still a mouthful of wine left inside.

He grinned viciously and raised the bottle: "I'm going to drink it! Who do you think you're scaring!"

He tilted his head back and poured the strong liquor down his throat.

The spicy liquid slid down his esophagus.

In that very instant.

A-Qiang's movements froze.

The wine bottle base slipped from his hand.

"Gurgle..."

A strange sound came from his throat.

Immediately after, his complexion instantly turned from waxy yellow to ghastly pale, then to a bluish-grey.

In those eyes that were originally ferocious, there was now extreme fear and pain.

"Ugh—"

A-Qiang clutched his stomach, his knees went weak, and he fell heavily to his knees on the ground.

"Blech!"

A mouthful of black-red liquid gushed out, splattering all over the floor.

That wasn't wine.

It was blood.

Blood mixed with undigested chunks of meat and fragments of stomach lining.

"Save... save..."

A-Qiang reached out a blood-stained hand, grabbing toward Jiang Feng's pant leg, but only grasped a handful of air.

He vomited another mouthful of blood, his body collapsing like a mountain of flesh, twitched twice, and then stopped moving.

"Ahhh!!"

"Someone died!"

"He vomited blood! He really vomited blood!"

The surrounding Streamers screamed and scattered in fear; the previously crowded area instantly cleared out into a large open space.

Only a few bold ones were still holding up their phones to film, but their hands were shaking.

Jiang Feng sat there, looking at A-Qiang, who had collapsed on the ground.

He didn't go to help him up.

It wasn't because he was cold-blooded; it was because he knew helping would be useless.

That was the karma he had brought upon himself.

The siren of an ambulance approached from the distance.

It was very close to the hospital; someone had called the police earlier.

Several medical personnel rushed over and lifted A-Qiang onto a stretcher.

That giant belly jiggled with the movement of the stretcher, looking like a balloon that could burst at any moment.

On the ground, only a shocking pool of black blood and the broken wine bottle remained.

The crowd went completely silent.

No one dared to treat this as a stunt for traffic anymore.

The way everyone looked at Jiang Feng was filled with awe and fear.

This wasn't fortune telling.

This was a Judge calling names.

Jiang Feng didn't look at anyone.

He took out his phone and glanced at the screen.

22:58.

【Ding! Effective fortune-telling count: 2/3】

Still one reading short.

But the crowd had already dispersed to ten meters away; no one dared to get close.

Jiang Feng frowned.

The task wasn't finished yet.

He stood up, preparing to take the initiative to ask if anyone else wanted a reading.

Just then, a black Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up to the curb.

The license plate was the repeating number 8888.

The door opened.

A middle-aged man in a high-end custom suit stepped out, escorted by four bodyguards.