In the depths of a dimly lit alley thick with the mingled scents of herbs and spices, Rassalom restaurant hid quietly at the end of a deserted lane. Red paper lanterns swayed gently in the wind, casting faint, flickering light that barely reached the weathered wooden sign, worn down by time.
Yet in recent nights, whispers about this unassuming eatery had begun circulating among Shanghai's high-level executives. Rumors claimed that those who tasted the mysterious chef's dishes here could glimpse a way out of their collapsing businesses as if served a miracle straight from the kitchen.
The old door creaked open with a long, drawn-out groan. Feng, a senior executive from CK Group, stepped inside with visible caution. His haggard face was hidden behind black sunglasses and a long overcoat that concealed his identity. The shame of falling into a greedy trap in the stock market had driven this once-arrogant man to seek supernatural help as his last desperate straw.
Behind the old wooden counter, Ohm, wearing a dark t-shirt stained with faint smudges, was calmly wiping a kitchen knife. The dim light glinted sharply off the blade as he lifted his head to look at the newcomer with knowing eyes.
"Swadee krub (Hello there). Have you eaten yet?"
The warm, casual Thai greeting made the man flinch. He slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes and dark circles from weeks of sleepless nights.
"Is it true… that the food here can predict the future?" Feng asked, his voice hoarse and trembling. His hands were clasped tightly together, shaking.
Ohm smiled at the corner of his mouth and gestured toward the single seat at the counter. "Calling it fortune-telling with data and analysis sounds a bit too mystical. But if we call it 'extremely accurate statistical forecasting,' it sounds much better, don't you think?" He smiled with narrowed eyes.
"So… what can I help you with?"
Feng remained silent for a moment before pouring out his utter ruin.
"I… I put everything into futures trading. I used maximum leverage because I was so sure the graph would skyrocket… but it crashed instead. The big players wiped me out completely. Now I'm facing a margin call. If I can't come up with the cash in three days, everything I've built will be force-sold." He lowered his head, sobbing. "I can't go bankrupt… I have a family. I have children. What will happen to them if I fall?"
Ohm listened quietly, then scratched the side of his ear in annoyance. These people… they throw all their collateral into the stock market until they're broke, then come crying when they lose. They never thought about hitting the brakes while they were riding high. They just went all-in like idiots and got circuit-breaker'd like moths flying into a flame.
"Oh… so you've lost everything, huh?" Ohm said, pursing his lips slightly as he glanced at Feng, who looked like he was about to burst into tears.
"Hey! Puerk… prepare the dish for someone who likes playing with fire. The 'Crashing Into Risk' special!"
"Got it, boss!" Puerk nodded firmly and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ohm began his rhythmic knife work on the cutting board, slicing the fish into paper-thin, almost translucent pieces.
He then pounded galangal, lemongrass, garlic, and roasted shallots into a fine paste, mixing in roasted chili. Thud… thud… thud… The sound of the stone mortar echoed through the restaurant, followed by Feng's sudden sneeze.
He tossed the mixture into a hot pan with oil, then added a bitter sauce made from marigold petals a sharp bitterness replacing fish sauce.
The intense, scorching aroma rose into the air, making Feng cough and sneeze even more as he inhaled the powerful herbal steam.
"The heat of greed and profits burning to ash on a red board… just like the saying goes: the poor play the lottery, the rich play the stock market… no different from gambling in the world of futures trading."