"The Years of Hua Man Lou" - Bi Cui and Xiao Hong

"The Years of Hua Man Lou" - Bi Cui and Xiao Hong
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Warning: The unique human living environment described in this article has completely different legal and moral standards from any society we are familiar with.
Imitating or attempting any behavior described in the article may lead to serious criminal charges in most current societies.
The article explores possible ways of dismembering and cooking human flesh, and simply reading it may cause psychological or physiological disgust and discomfort. If you
do not have a particular fondness for bizarre, mutated, or paranoid human traits, please stop reading here.
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Even though the war in the catering industry has developed to a life-or-death level, for me, the "
Hero's is still an excessively unconventional approach. I understand this involves
the assessment of the current market by the owner of the "Caveman," a guy who lived on a small island in the Philippines for over a decade. He seems to believe there exists a wealthy female consumer group who would be interested in going out on weekends to cut open and
savor a large, golden-brown, crispy, Schwarzenegger-like creature.
My restaurant, Hua Man Lou, has always had a decent reputation when it comes to cooking for women. But this is truly a blood-soaked battlefield. I'm not saying my
large kitchen is a mess of young girls' blood and discarded entrails; I'm only referring to its metaphorical meaning. The blood we shed is the blood of our owners.
Everyone knows that on the ground floor of Hua Man Lou, facing the street, a 20-meter-long glass facade allows you to witness, if you stand outside for ten minutes, the entire process of a fair-skinned girl being dehaired, bled, disemboweled, and dissected—all done with professional skill by kind-faced, neatly uniformed chefs
within stainless steel sinks, tracks, and grids . 　　Of course I remember the unprecedented grandeur of its opening night, but only three months later, now there are only two beggars sitting outside, facing the street with their backs to the glass, completely oblivious to the fact that inside, more than a dozen beautiful girls' bodies are being processed simultaneously. 　　It has used up the largest loan I've ever taken out since opening. What will Manager Huang of the National Bank, who oversees loan approvals, say? I've done everything I could. 　　Lanterns hang in the 300-square-meter lounges on each of the first and third floors of Hua Man Lou, and dragons and phoenixes are carved on the red-painted pillars. At any time of day, there are twenty—or fifty, depending on the number of customers—or more young girls, completely naked, moving between each table, trying their best to entice customers to add their alluring pink bodies to the menu. 　　Stepping onto the scarlet carpet in the hall, their pear-blossom-white feet were barefoot. Just last month, white cards indicating their height, weight, and body type were hung around their necks with gold ribbons; now, a small needle encased in pearls was stuck across their left nipples . 　　Diners, of course, were expected to carefully examine the meat they intended to choose, and we consistently encouraged touching the girls' skin, kneading their breasts and buttocks, and exploring their hidden orifices—all generally considered to enhance appetite. In principle, my girls were required to use any means necessary to achieve their goal, even if it meant sitting naked on the guests' laps 　　and feeding them brandy mouth-to-mouth. Since my girls were completely naked during working hours, their only adornment being their hair, [the text abruptly ends here, likely due to an incomplete translation or source material.]

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