On August 3, after the Shop Owner app went live, a vast number of players who wanted to open shops logged into the game ahead of time to lease storefronts and manage interior design.

If this were reality, the entire food street would be filled with the deafening noise of power drills and sledgehammers knocking down walls.

However, the game bypassed these grueling remodeling steps entirely. Players simply needed to select hard-surface materials like flooring and wallpaper, then pick out soft furnishings—such as dining tables, chairs, sofas, and ornaments—and their shop would rapidly take shape exactly as imagined.

Players didn’t have to deal with renovation contractors; they could decorate however they pleased.

This effortless design process drew in many players who were purely attracted by interior design.

While decorating, everyone could also visit the “Talent Market” to recruit staff, such as chefs, waiters, and front desk cashiers.

Qi Kai, who had always dreamed of opening a shop, thoroughly indulged his desire to “be the boss” inside the game this time.

These NPC staff members were designed with extreme realism. Rather than being copy-pasted “generic faces,” every NPC possessed distinct features and lifelike mannerisms, behaving just like real people.

In the Talent Market of his current server—District 7, “Starlight City”—over a thousand workers awaited shop owners’ selections. Their “expected salaries” on their resumes varied wildly. For instance, Master Zhang, an experienced head chef, requested an expected salary of 20,000 Star Coins. Meanwhile, a young chef fresh out of culinary academy without experience in large-scale restaurants only asked for 5,000 Star Coins.

Which head chef should he hire?

If he spent a high salary to hire an experienced chef, running the restaurant would demand far greater operational costs in the long run. Yet, a restaurant’s flavor depended heavily on the head chef; if the food tasted bad, the store might go bankrupt in less than a month.

Qi Kai bit the bullet and hired a head chef with over three years of culinary experience. With little funds remaining from his starter pack, he could only recruit a few assistant chefs alongside waiters who demanded lower wages, barely scraping together a team of 20 employees to complete the hotpot restaurant’s initial setup.

August 3 marked the launch of the Shop Owner System.

On August 4, the Chef System officially opened to the player base.

The official team posted a lengthy announcement detailing the gameplay of Food Street‘s Chef System: *”In ‘Food Street,’ players can actively apply for chef positions and submit their resumes to the Talent Market for shopkeeper players to choose from.

Players who don’t want to be chefs but wish to learn how to cook can also use the Chef System’s ‘Teaching Mode’ to learn culinary skills inside the game…”*

This news instantly triggered a massive sensation.

Learning how to cook in a holographic game? This was infinitely more convenient than learning at home!

To learn cooking at home, you first had to visit the supermarket to buy vegetables and meats, then purchase a mountain of seasonings—salt, sugar, MSG, light and dark soy sauce, five-spice powder, pepper powder, and more. Sometimes, you couldn’t even gather everything in a single trip, making multiple runs a common annoyance.

More importantly, some players lacked heat control. Heating the oil too hot in a pan could easily set the kitchen ablaze.

Even without a fire, there was a high probability of creating a scorched batch of “dark cuisine.”

Real-life “kitchen destroyers” were beyond count.

Doing it in the game was vastly more convenient. Under the official Teaching Mode, players only needed to pay a nominal “tuition fee” to freely pick ingredients from the vegetable market for practice. All sorts of vegetables, seafood, chicken, duck, fish, and meats were supplied without limits. The system even provided prompt indicators—how many grams of salt to add, when to take it out of the wok—functioning essentially as “hand-holding instruction.”

Furthermore, even if clumsy players managed to burn down the kitchen while stir-frying in the game, it didn’t matter. Games couldn’t cause actual fires or threaten personal safety, after all.

Once this “Chef System” hit the market, another massive wave of players flocked in—some out of sheer curiosity, some genuinely wanting to learn cooking, and others who already knew how to cook and wanted to test applying as chefs in the game.

Cheng Shu was very skilled at cooking. Because his parents were busy working away, he became a “left-behind child” from a young age. Since his grandparents suffered from poor health, he had been cooking meals for them since his first year of primary school.

Currently a senior majoring in literature, he hadn’t graduated from a professional culinary academy, so he had never considered applying for a chef job in reality. He merely thought that once he started working, cooking for himself at home would beat eating takeout every day.

This time, Food Street captured his attention.

While he was too shy to apply as a chef in the real world, he could fully display his skills in the game!

Thus, Cheng Shu drafted a detailed resume and submitted it to the Talent Market, wanting to see if anyone was willing to hire a “novice master” with no formal work experience.

Over in District 9, Xu Qingye really wanted to open a fast-food diner. Due to a grueling work schedule, she rarely cooked for herself, relying mostly on fast food or direct takeout delivery. As a result, she was thoroughly familiar with various fast-food formats.

A fast-food restaurant inside a game definitely wouldn’t be as wildly popular as in reality. After all, most players were already sick of takeout and set meals in real life; entering the game, they would prefer patronizing exquisitely decorated establishments to enjoy “grand feasts.”

Yet fast-food diners possessed their own advantage—affordable, practical, and cheap to operate.

As a novice shop owner, running a small diner was a solid choice.

Opening a fast-food joint in reality required significant time and startup capital, whereas the game provided her with a perfect platform.

Being the boss of her own shop while simultaneously sampling various home-style dishes—ordering the chef to make whatever she craved—felt like pure bliss just thinking about it.

Xu Qingye bought an Advanced Shop Owner Pack, leasing a street-side location at an intersection and naming it “Sister Xu’s Fast Food,” decorating it in a clean, minimalistic style. The diner wasn’t large, surrounded by wrap-around floor-to-ceiling glass windows, with a “Today’s Menu” posted by the entrance to entice customers.

Focusing primarily on home-style dishes, her goal was small profits through quick turnover, making it easy for players to enjoy a low-cost “experience” upon entering the game.

Decorating the store took her three days.

Once everything was settled, she opened the Talent Market to recruit a few chefs.

Resumes submitted by real players automatically sorted to the front, clearly marked with a “Player Submitted” tag.

Xu Qingye spotted Cheng Shu’s resume at a glance. His personal profile read: “A college student who can cook various home-style dishes with pretty good flavors. Any shopkeeper willing to take me in? My expected salary isn’t high—5,000 Star Coins is fine. I can be online every day during lunch and dinner hours.”

After a moment’s thought, Xu Qingye sent him an in-game private message: “Hello! I’m opening a fast-food diner and need a chef who can whip up home-style dishes. Looking at your profile, I wanted to ask if you’re interested in working at my shop?”

Since Food Street supported dual-end synchronization between mobile devices and holographic pods, she sent the message while decorating inside her pod, whereas Cheng Shu received a text notification directly on his smartphone from a Food Street shopkeeper.

Cheng Shu replied instantly: “Sure! Do you need a dish tasting?”

The culinary industry differed from others—no matter how impressive a resume looked or how well one spoke, nothing mattered more than whether the prepared food satisfied the customer’s palate. In reality, plenty of restaurants saw their business plummet simply because changing head chefs degraded the food’s flavor.

The recruitment process in the game allowed dish tastings, which was thoughtfully designed.

Xu Qingye said: “If it’s convenient, shall we set a time? Let’s run this shop together.”

Cheng Shu agreed readily: “No problem.”

The two agreed on a time. The following afternoon, Cheng Shu logged into his gaming pod and came to Xu Qingye’s shop, cooking two home-style dishes—Fish-Fragrant Shredded Pork and Hot and Sour Shredded Potatoes—for her to try. Eating food inside a game for the first time, Xu Qingye stared at the dishes before her with an excited heart.

This looked incredibly realistic!

The cooking process completely mirrored real life, with oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar added manually by the chef.

Xu Qingye picked up her chopsticks, took a bite, and froze on the spot, silent for a long moment.

Cheng Shu asked nervously, “Manager, how is it? Does it taste bad?”

Xu Qingye put down her chopsticks and said solemnly, “This tastes way better than the fast food downstairs from my company!”

She hadn’t expected in-game dishes to taste so remarkably realistic. Simple home-style meals, when prepared by a skilled cook, could offer her a completely refreshed culinary experience.

The fast-food joint downstairs from her office cooked with excessive oil and salt; after finishing takeout, a layer of grease sat at the bottom of the box, made with questionable oil. How could it compare to Cheng Shu’s refined, refreshing cooking?

Who knows—maybe her fast-food diner really could become a massive hit!

Countless players like Cheng Shu who wanted to try cooking inside the game submitted their resumes to the Talent Market.

Naturally, some shopkeepers were eager to partner with player-chefs, reaching pleasant agreements and signing employment contracts right away.

However, other shopkeepers felt that player-chefs possessed inconsistent skill levels and unpredictable online hours, making them far less reliable and obedient than NPC chefs. Should the shop become wildly popular, conflict over financial interests might even arise; thus, to save themselves the headache, they opted to hire NPC chefs directly.

The initial preparation phase progressed in full swing.

On the night of August 7, the Shop Owner System officially closed.

On the morning of August 8, server-wide maintenance began to complete final preparations for Food Street‘s official launch.

Once the official team announced the server opening time, players who had been watching the excitement excitedly reserved their gaming pods, waiting for the moment the food street opened for business.

At 12:00 PM, the game officially opened its servers.

To avoid the massive queues seen during Turbulent Spring and Autumn‘s launch, the official team prepared thoroughly this time, launching with over 80 server regions right off the bat, all named after fictional cities.

Examples included Xingyun City, Starlight City, Beijiang City, Qinghe City, and so forth.

The top server regions turned to “Overcrowded” status within 1 minute of opening, completely impossible to squeeze into. Districts 1–10 immediately halted new character registrations, forcing players to register and log into later districts instead.

“Pangpang,” a food blogger with millions of followers on Douyin, also started a livestream today. He rarely livestreamed, usually focusing on store reviews and food recommendations. This time, urged by countless netizens to act as a “guinea pig” for test-tasting, he opened a stream to do just that.

Logging in the instant servers went live, he entered District 17, “Huaning City.”

Pangpang beamed and said, “Family, I’ve successfully logged into Huaning City! Now I need to create a game character. I can import my own facial scan directly, so I won’t adjust my appearance—after all, as you all know, I’m… chubby, just like my name!”

He was a 180-pound guy, but because of his lovable personality, he never minded his weight and frequently shared delicacies from across the country, making him very famous in the food community.

Many netizens traveling to other cities would consult his “Little Pang Store-Review Guide.”

With a holographic food game launching, as a food recommendation officer, he naturally had to review stores at the earliest opportunity.

Quickly picking a set of lightweight sportswear, Pangpang clicked “Enter Game.”

System: Loading data, please wait…

System: Food Street map loaded. Jian’an Road is currently experiencing max foot traffic. We recommend avoiding crowded areas and picking another street.

Pangpang froze, saying, “Holy cow, it’s lunch time right now—how many people ran into the game just to eat? Max foot traffic already?” He paused and chuckled, “Since the system says so, then I definitely have to check out the action on Jian’an Road!”

Viewers roasted him in comments: “…Way to ignore the system prompt!”

“System: ‘Guess I’ll leave then?'”

“Pangpang’s main trait is pure rebelliousness. Go ahead, I wanna see what ‘max foot traffic’ looks like too.”

A moment later, Pangpang arrived at Jian’an Road in Huaning City.

And then, he was dumbfounded by the scene before his eyes.

Along an endless food street, countless restaurants had grand-opening flower baskets placed outside.

Some restaurants were even setting off firecrackers and fireworks at their entrances, creating a deafening, immensely lively atmosphere.

Outside a nearby restaurant, an NPC held a megaphone and shouted, “Grand opening sale! All dishes 20% off for a limited time! Step inside and give us a try!”

Directly across the street, another megaphone yelled, “Take a look, take a glance! Pastries handmade by the owner! Miss this chance and it’s gone!”

It was as if the two sides were competing, advertising through megaphones with intense passion.

A dense, packed crowd of tourists flooded the entire street.

Pangpang: “…………”

The 180-pound food streamer stood at the street entrance, utterly speechless.

The chat stream was similarly spammed with ellipses.

“This sea of people is livelier than our Lunar New Year temple fairs back home.”

“Pangpang run, you’re gonna get squeezed into a meat patty.”

“My god! Eating in a game isn’t free, why are so many people squeezing in to join the hype? How curious are you guys?”

“The shopkeeper players are working hard too, every single one using megaphones to advertise…”

“Uh, isn’t this dining environment a bit noisy? I hate crowded places; looking at a packed street like this gives me a headache!”

After a moment of silence, Pangpang smiled and said, “The game is wildly popular. Looks like there are tons of players like me who ran in out of curiosity to test-eat and review stores—this is a game for all ages! Look, plenty of kids came too!”

As the camera panned toward the street, viewers indeed saw many elderly people and children walking along the food street.

A game for all, without age or gender limits.

Today happened to be the weekend, so parents indeed brought children, and adult children brought parents into the game to “eat.”

Since technology had advanced to this point, of course they had to bring them along to experience it!

Besides Pangpang’s district, other major server regions were in the exact same state.

There was no helping it; opening to instant popularity seemed to be a “tradition” for games co-developed by Yangfan and Qihang?

Pangpang ultimately didn’t squeeze onto Jian’an Road. After all, holographic games possessed real physical collision; with his size, being jostled back and forth in a crowd made movement incredibly inconvenient.

He detoured to Wangjiang Road instead.

Located along the river, this street focused on high-end dining, banning firecrackers and megaphone ads, so foot traffic was relatively light.

After walking a few steps, Pangpang spotted a themed restaurant named “Fairy Tale Desserts.” Seeing the abundant doll light fixtures outside, he commented, “This shop looks interesting, let’s head inside.”

Stepping into the restaurant, an NPC greeted him immediately: “Welcome, sir! Dining for how many?”

Pangpang replied, “Just one.”

The NPC led him to a table.

Pangpang carefully surveyed his surroundings. The shop’s decor was highly distinct, hung with all sorts of cute stuffed dolls, while childhood songs played in the background, evoking nostalgic memories.

The entire shop was lively, adorable, and filled with playful charm, showing the owner was an interesting person.

The NPC said, “During our opening promotion, spending over 100 Star Coins grants you a plush doll gift of your choice to take home.”

Pangpang: “…Is that so? Your shopkeeper really has a mind for business!”

Wouldn’t this place become a haven for children?

Once this shop blew up, tons of kids would come to dine.

Pangpang smiled, “Let me see the menu first, thank you.”

The menu design was equally cute, featuring adorable chibi illustrations of each item across vibrant pages—a style children loved.

This was a Cantonese dessert shop.

Pangpang had been eating fewer desserts lately, since gaining any more weight would turn him “spherical,” so he was trying to practice self-restraint.

However, there was no need for restraint in a game—only indulgence!

Thus, he rattled off names straight off the menu like a machine gun: “Give me a bowl of classic double-skin milk, a bowl of papaya and snow fungus sweet soup, a bowl of dried tangerine peel red bean paste, a portion of golden cake, a plate of water chestnut cake, and a plate of mung bean cake…”

Listening to him rattle off ten dish names in rapid fire, the waiter’s expression gradually shifted: “Can you finish all this by yourself?”

Pangpang said, “Easily. These desserts come in small portions, barely enough to fill the gaps in my teeth.”

The waiter had no choice but to place the order with a complex look.

Sitting at the table, Pangpang spoke to his stream viewers: “Cantonese desserts—I actually did a special recommendation video on them before. I wonder how the desserts in this game taste? Though they’re sweet treats, they’re refreshing and never get sickening! I hope this shop doesn’t disappoint.”

A moment later, plate after plate of desserts was served.

Neat and exquisitely plated—especially the water chestnut and golden cakes, which featured extra doll-shaped cookies and little flower decorations on the plate, matching the “Fairy Tale Desserts” theme. The owner had clearly put thought into these details.

With an anxious heart, Pangpang scooped up a spoonful of dried tangerine peel red bean paste and tasted it.

The red beans were cooked until incredibly soft and smooth, delivering a thick, sandy texture with a subtle, delicate aroma of dried tangerine peel. Since it was chilled, it proved refreshing and cooling; on a scorching day, one bite cooled him from head to toe.

Pangpang’s eyes widened: “Holy crap, that’s good!”

He had assumed eating food in a game would taste “like chewing wax,” but who could have guessed the texture of these red beans would be recreated so realistically?

Pangpang hurriedly scooped up a bite of the adjacent double-skin milk—rich milky aroma, refreshing on the palate. Compared to what he had eaten in famous southern restaurants, while he couldn’t claim 100% identity, it easily reached over 90% similarity.

He then sampled the water chestnut cake, mung bean cake, golden cake, and other delicate desserts.

As Pangpang ate with complete devotion, the stream viewers grew ravenously hungry watching him.

“Waaah, I wanna eat too!”

“Cantonese desserts in the summer are truly refreshing and heat-relieving.”

“Has Pangpang achieved ‘dessert freedom’ inside the game?”

Pangpang caught that exact bullet comment and smiled, “Today I am one happy fat guy! Who would have thought that one day, an immersive food game like this would exist? I can achieve dessert freedom here, eating a dozen portions a day without ever worrying about gaining weight!”

No amount of official publicity proved more effective than a food blogger’s hands-on experience.

Countless viewers watching the stream were practically drooling.

My god, could in-game food really be made this delicious?

Achieving dessert freedom—was that actually real?

How about… I go try it out too?

Many entered the game with a trial mindset to search for delicacies.

This “Fairy Tale Desserts” shop Pangpang visited blew up rapidly. Some viewers came drawn by his reputation, while others passing by with children noticed the giveaway doll promotion and were dragged inside by their kids.

In the blink of an eye, the shop was packed with patrons.

Watching the revenue numbers surge in the backend, the shop owner couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear!

Meanwhile in District 7, a shop named “Old Qi Hotpot” captured players’ attention.

Amidst the array of stores, this hotpot restaurant styled like a cave stood out as distinct.

Curious players stepped inside.

Focusing on Sichuan-style hotpot, the store featured an excellent ventilation system where oil fumes were promptly sucked away by ceiling exhaust fans, leaving no harsh spicy fumes. The decor was equally special, utilizing heavy amounts of faux stone textures on walls and floors, making patrons feel as if they had entered a cave.

Numerous stone sculptures decorated the interior, and a wave of cool air greeted guests at the door.

Hotpot restaurants typically left an impression of fiery heat, yet this store adopted a “cool-toned” style.

On August 8, most cities across the country were experiencing sweltering summer heat. The game featured a dynamic weather system, with in-game temperatures exceeding 33 degrees Celsius today; dining under high summer temperatures, this “cave hotpot” left customers with a fantastic first impression.

Stepping in, it felt so refreshing!

Many patrons stayed and began ordering.

Being Sichuan hotpot, the spicy broth base proved most popular.

Once the pot came to a boil, bright red chili oil spread outward from the bubbling center. Swishing a paper-thin slice of beef in the broth for a few seconds cooked it through; popping it into the mouth, the tender beef infused with spicy broth conquered taste buds in an instant.

“Delicious!”

“Ingredients are super fresh, and the broth base is great too.”

“Waiter! Another plate of duck blood, potato noodles, kelp strips, and broccoli, please…”

Diners grew increasingly hooked as they ate.

Opening a shop in a game for the first time without prior experience, Qi Kai had felt anxious before the grand opening.

Yet judging by the diners’ expressions, everyone seemed thoroughly happy?

Opening a shop here wasn’t about making real money anyway—it was all in-game currency, so earning more or less didn’t matter.

It was simply about fulfilling a dream of being a shopkeeper.

Looking at it now, his store was quite a success, wasn’t it?

Moving forward, he would continue striving to run it well, offering the best dining experience to every customer who visited.

Although Liu-ge was a “skill-focused streamer,” he was secretly a foodie in private.

Having won the solo championship in Turbulent Spring and Autumn previously, he naturally had to experience Yangfan and Qihang’s new game during open beta. Thus, he registered an account on launch day.

He entered District 66, “Lorraine City.”

Thinking a lower-ranked district wouldn’t have as many players, he was utterly shocked the moment he logged in.

“Holy crap, you guys aren’t eating lunch in reality, running into the game instead?”

“Family, consume rationally!”

After all, as a “generational leap” title that broke technical bottlenecks in gustatory systems to achieve true “holographic gastronomy,” Food Street‘s launch was indeed explosive today. Every district was “Overcrowded,” prompting operators to urgently open numerous additional lines to split foot traffic.

Looking at the bustling crowd, Liu-ge took a deep breath and said, “Let me find an appealing shop first to sit down.”

He hadn’t eaten lunch in reality yet and felt hungry, so running into the game to eat came first.

Liu-ge scouted around, avoiding crowds to see if he could discover hidden gem stores.

Ten minutes later, he finally found a shop with pleasing decor. Located in a tucked-away spot at the end of a corner street, foot traffic was light, so few people had discovered it.

The shop was named “Jiangnan Dream,” specializing in Suhang cuisine, built in a courtyard style.

Stepping inside, the layout turned out to be unexpectedly spacious.

Right past the entrance was a courtyard with a tree planted in the center, a gravel path on the ground, and various fresh flowers lining both sides alongside rockeries and flowing water. The environment felt elegant and refined, showing the owner had invested considerable thought into decorating.

While noisy outside, this shop was serene—like a hidden paradise amidst a bustling city.

Liu-ge said in pleasant surprise, “Luck’s on my side! Did I just stumble into a private kitchen restaurant?”

A moment later, a young man stepped out to greet him: “Hello, welcome!”

Liu-ge asked, “Hi, are you an NPC or a player?”

The question was so direct that the young man paused before smiling, “I’m the shopkeeper here.”

Liu-ge asked, “Mind if I ask—is the food cooked by an NPC or a player chef?”

The young man replied, “My older brother cooks in the back kitchen.”

Liu-ge’s eyes lit up: “Awesome! I wanted to taste player-cooked dishes.”

The young man smiled and ushered him in: “Right this way, please.”

Although secluded, the private kitchen restaurant was exquisitely decorated into small private rooms, each featuring a distinct theme.

The room Liu-ge entered was called “Jiangnan Rain,” decorated with a painting of rainy Jiangnan scenery on the wall, accompanied by elegant classical music playing. Once the owner left, Liu-ge couldn’t help sighing, “Dining in a shop like this makes my whole soul feel elevated.”

The stream chat posted a row of “hahaha”s.

[A bit exaggerated, but the owner’s aesthetic is pretty good]

[Going for a high-end style, the dish prices are so expensive]

[Liu-ge test-eat first, if it’s good, I’ll try it tomorrow too!]

The menu pricing was indeed somewhat expensive, but given the private kitchen environment and service, higher prices than street shops were normal. Since it was in-game currency—and with launch top-up discounts active—Liu-ge ordered four dishes by himself without hesitation.

A moment later, the dishes were served.

Well-marinated salted duck with golden skin instantly stimulated the appetite.

A bowl of Crab Meat Lion’s Head meatballs—large, round meat spheres mixed with crisp green vegetables.

Biluochun Tea Shrimp, served on a rectangular white plate, featuring fresh shrimp topped with green Biluochun tea leaves.

Sweet and Sour Cherry Pork—pork cut into neat little squares, inverted on the plate, accented by green vegetables on the side. The sweet and sour glaze over the meat made mouths water!

Liu-ge: “…Plated so exquisitely, I almost can’t bear to eat it.”

Stream viewers grew even hungrier watching.

Regardless of flavor, the presentation of these Jiangnan dishes was a sight to behold!

[Hurry and taste it!]

[This private kitchen has great taste, presentation is at least five stars]

[Environment is nice too, these brothers have great ideas]

Unable to hold back any longer, Liu-ge picked up his chopsticks and sampled the Biluochun Tea Shrimp first.

A northerner who frequently ate shrimp in reality, this was his first time trying “Biluochun Tea Shrimp”—to his surprise, the shrimp was bouncy and tender, infused with the fresh fragrance of Biluochun tea, leaving a lingering aroma on the palate.

Liu-ge said excitedly, “Delicious! Let me try the next one.”

The Cherry Pork melted in the mouth, sweet without being greasy.

Liu-ge: “This dish is delicious too.”

He moved on to the Lion’s Head meatballs—freshly hand-pounded meatballs, delightfully chewy, worlds apart from store-bought meatballs in supermarkets!

The Salted Duck sounded salty by name, but tasted delightfully fresh, tender, and crispy, making it impossible to stop eating.

Liu-ge: “My god, with dish textures like this, I wish I could live inside the game just to eat!”

Watching him eat with such gusto, the stream viewers’ stomachs rumbled.

Could in-game food really achieve such “lifelike realism”?

This technology was incredible; they definitely had to try it out another day!

On the first day of the game’s launch, countless streamers, food bloggers, and store-review creators logged into various server regions to “experience gastronomy.”

The shops meticulously prepared by players brought pleasant surprises to many.

“Delicious!”

“NPC cooking is pretty good, coming back tomorrow.”

“I only tried one hotpot restaurant this time—not satisfied yet, but I’m full, so I can only come back tomorrow.”

The reason the game designed a “satiety” system was to help players control their appetites. Without it, players might eat dozens of dishes a day, completely disrupting real-world eating habits.

Having enjoyed refined Suhang cuisine at the private kitchen, Liu-ge said, “Super satisfying! I’m logging off to eat unnutritious takeout now. From now on, during every lunch and dinner hour, after eating unpalatable takeout, I’m heading into the game for a good meal to heal my mental damage~”

Having eaten over ten desserts, Pangpang stated clearly, “Not satisfied yet, coming back tomorrow to eat other stuff. Family, I suddenly thought of a great weight-loss method—from now on, I’ll indulge in the game, eating grand feasts every day. Then in reality, I’ll exercise self-restraint and stick to boiled vegetables for three meals. Tell me, will I turn from Pangpang into a skinny guy?”

This question triggered widespread discussion among players.

Inside the game, eating sweets, fried food, or various meats carried no fear of gaining weight.

Restraining oneself in reality while indulging freely in the game fulfilled weight-loss needs while delivering mental enjoyment—the best of both worlds.

Furthermore, the game featured abundant player-designed restaurants to explore, and dining wasn’t expensive, thanks to generous exchange rates.

Was this a food game?

No, this should be called a foodie’s paradise!