84: Chapter 84 Special Approval from the Company Commander: Taking the Pot into Battle! The Cook Who Stole the Pot!

Ten minutes later.

Qin Feng was practically kicked out of the command post by Company Commander Zhou Hailong.

His entire body traced a perfect parabolic arc through the air, before landing face-first in the mud outside with a loud "splat."

From inside the command post came the booming roar of Company Commander Zhou Hailong.

"And you want 'Blade God' brand kitchen knives? Why don't you ask for Ganjiang and Moye brand while you're at it!"

"And air-shipped ingredients? Why don't you make me air-ship you a three-star Michelin Chef too!"

"Get out! Get out right now!"

Qin Feng climbed up from the ground, spat out the mud in his mouth, his face as black as the bottom of a pot.

He had finally seen through it all.

Playing mind games with this old fox was just too exhausting.

He wouldn't even agree to such a small request. Fine, if he won't agree, then he won't agree—I'm done playing with him!

Qin Feng brushed the dirt off his body and was just about to leave without looking back when the command post door creaked open again.

Company Commander Zhou Hailong poked his head out and beckoned to him.

"Come back."

Qin Feng stood still.

"I told you to come back!"

Company Commander Zhou Hailong glared.

Qin Feng shuffled back, looking utterly defeated.

Company Commander Zhou Hailong sized him up, his face once again wearing that inscrutable smile.

"Those requests you made, while outrageous, aren't entirely without merit."

Qin Feng's heart skipped a beat, and a sense of foreboding welled up.

"A workman must sharpen his tools if he is to do his work well, after all."

Company Commander Zhou Hailong stroked his chin, speaking with feigned seriousness.

"I don't have any 'Blade God' knives at the moment. However, I can make an exception and specially approve you for one of The Military's 'divine artifacts'."

He turned back into the room, and when he came out again, he had a slip of paper with a red stamp in his hand.

"Take this and go to the Third Company Mess Squad."

Company Commander Zhou Hailong shoved the slip into Qin Feng's hand, wearing an expression that said, "You lucky brat."

"Go and collect that pot they've been using for twenty years."

"Of course, don't forget the ladle."

Qin Feng held the flimsy piece of paper, completely dumbfounded.

A pot?

A ladle?

This is my "divine artifact"?

"Company Commander, you're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Company Commander Zhou Hailong's face instantly turned serious.

"Let me tell you, Qin Feng, don't underestimate that pot!"

"That pot has been in service longer than I have!"

"It has followed the Third Company through countless battles, from the jungles of the southern frontier to the snowfields of the north. Its contributions are more numerous than the salt you've eaten in your life!"

"Back during the border counter-offensive, the Third Company was surrounded by an entire enemy regiment, running out of ammunition and food."

"It was that very pot—boiling snow, grass roots, and leather belts—that kept the brothers of the company alive for seven days and seven nights, until the reinforcements arrived and we turned the tide to victory!"

"Another time, an enemy shell exploded right next to the Mess Squad. A piece of shrapnel flew over and hit that pot, saving the life of the Mess Squad leader at the time, Old Wang! There's still a dent on that pot to this day!"

"To the Third Company, that pot isn't just a pot. It's a totem, an heirloom, a symbol of our spirit!"

Company Commander Zhou Hailong spoke with such enthusiasm that spittle flew everywhere, his face flushed, as if he were recounting an epic heroic saga.

Finally, he patted Qin Feng on the shoulder, his tone heavy, as if he were entrusting him with his dying wish.

"Now, I am entrusting this 'Heroic Pot' to you."

"Remember, as long as the pot exists, you exist; if the pot is lost, your life is over!"

"If you dare to lose it or even cause a single scratch, never mind me—the brats in the Third Company will tear you apart!"

Qin Feng completely broke down.

He felt like he wasn't going to the front lines to be a soldier, but rather on a pilgrimage to the Western Heaven.

It's just that while Tang Seng carried scriptures, he was carrying a pot.

If he had known this would happen, he shouldn't have bothered making that request in the first place.

Now look at this—he didn't get what he wanted, and he still has to carry a twenty-year-old antique onto the battlefield.

What kind of nonsense is this!

Third Company Mess Squad.

The smell of cooking oil and the aroma of food mixed together, full of the scent of everyday life.

When Qin Feng clutched the slip of paper and explained his purpose.

The entire Mess Squad fell silent instantly.

The ladle stopped stirring, the knife stopped chopping, and the soldier tending the fire stopped adding wood.

Over a dozen pairs of eyes focused on Qin Feng all at once, as if they were looking at a madman.

"What... did you say?"

The Mess Squad leader, Old Wang—a burly man from Dongshan, standing 1.8 meters tall—walked over slowly, holding a dripping kitchen knife.

"You want to... borrow our pot?"

"It's not a borrow."

Qin Feng steeled himself and handed over the slip.

"It's a transfer. Specially approved by Company Commander Zhou."

Old Wang took the slip, squinted at it for a long time, and his expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to pure rage.

"Damn you, Company Commander Zhou Hailong!"

With a roar, the grease and dust on the rafters came raining down.

"Damn it! This is too much! He's trying to dig up the roots of our Third Company!"

Old Wang slammed the slip onto the ground and pointed at Qin Feng's nose, cursing wildly.

"Kid! I don't care what kind of bullshit transfer order you have!"

"If you dare to touch that pot today, I'll mince you into meat paste!"

"Yeah! Mince him!"

"If you want to take our pot, you'll have to step over our dead bodies!"

The soldiers of the Mess Squad were filled with righteous indignation, grabbing rolling pins, spatulas, and strainers, surrounding Qin Feng.

The scene was even more intense than being on the battlefield.

Qin Feng's scalp tingled.

He finally understood why Company Commander Zhou Hailong had been so solemn.

This wasn't just transferring a pot; this was clearly stealing their ancestral tablets!

"Comrades, calm down, calm down! This is an order!" Qin Feng tried to reason with them.

"Order my ass!"

Old Wang swung his kitchen knife, pointing at the large black pot in the corner, which had been polished until it shone and was enshrined in the center of the stove.

"That is the life of our Third Company! Whoever touches it, I'll fight to the death!"

Seeing that reasoning wouldn't work, Qin Feng gritted his teeth. Relying on his agility, he lunged forward, trying to grab the pot.

"Stop him!"

Old Wang gave the order and was the first to charge forward.

A fierce "Cookware War" erupted in the Third Company Mess Squad.

Ten minutes later.

Qin Feng was beaten out.

Half an hour later.

Qin Feng was chased around the training ground for three full laps by Old Wang, who was brandishing a kitchen knife.

Throughout the afternoon, the soldiers of the Third Company witnessed a truly surreal scene.

Their Mess Squad leader, Squad Leader Wang, like an angry bull, brandished a gleaming kitchen knife, chasing a recruit from the south drill ground all the way to the north Shooting Range.

Cursing the whole time.

"You little brat! Stop right there!"

"Pot thief! I'm going to chop you up and feed you to the pigs today!"

Night.

Everything was silent.

A dark shadow snuck stealthily toward the back door of the Third Company Mess Squad.

It was Qin Feng.

He had no other choice.

The order had to be carried out.

Since he couldn't grab it during the day, he had to steal it at night.

He pried open the lock and slipped inside silently, like a cat.

By the moonlight, he immediately saw the large black pot in the corner, enshrined like a treasure.

He could even see the legendary shrapnel dent on the pot.

Qin Feng took a deep breath, no longer hesitating.

He rushed over, grabbed the heavy iron pot, and then casually snatched the large iron ladle hanging next to it, which was also filled with the vicissitudes of history.

Then, without looking back, he dashed into the night.

The next morning.

A shrill scream pierced the quiet dawn of The Military camp.

"My pot—!"

Immediately after, the entire Third Company base was drowned out by the sorrowful and furious curses of the Mess Squad leader, Old Wang.

"Damn you, Qin Feng! Screw you!"

"Don't let me catch you on the front lines! Or I'll take a dump in your food!"

This cursing continued for a whole month.