Up on top of the three-hundred-foot No-Escape Star Wall, five hundred thousand border soldiers were frozen like statues.
Not because of the cold space wind—Old Guo’s five thousand golden cyclone fans had already warmed the whole top of the wall to a cozy spring breeze—but because their legs had turned to jelly from the heavenly aroma of Honey-Glazed Roast Pork Ribs, Spicy Cumin Lamb Skewers, and Sweet Red-Bean Rice Pudding!
Private Little Sparrow wiped his chin with the back of his iron gauntlet, only for three more drops of drool to drip onto his rusty breastplate. Beside him, Sergeant Bull-Neck was staring down over the battlements at the fifty red-and-gold Aroma Kitchen Trains, where apprentice chefs were stacking glistening, foot-long pork ribs onto silver platters as big as wagon wheels.
“Plug your noses with mortar mud! Anyone who inhales that pork smell gets twenty lashes!” Warden Iron-Whip bellowed from his floating command chariot, frantically casting a Wind-Repelling Spell with his left hand while slapping his own mouth to stop himself from swallowing his saliva.
Down on the roof of Kitchen Train #1, Hong Ling raised her golden megaphone, her voice amplified by the 40-World Broadcast Array so that it rang clearly inside every single soldier’s helmet along the five-thousand-mile wall:
