Siheyuan, don't yell at me

The American colonel seemed to be interested and started chatting with He Daqing.

Upon learning that He Daqing's ancestors were cooks for the emperor and that his English was much more fluent than the Korean lackeys around him, he immediately recruited He Daqing into his regiment.

He Daqing had some cultural background after all, and when he flattered the American colonel, he always managed to touch his heart.

Knowing that He Daqing was a car soldier, the American colonel directly let He Daqing be the driver, and the jeep slowly drove to the center of the camp.

He Daqing's driving skills are naturally impeccable.

Colonel Tom was quite satisfied. The only one who was dissatisfied was, of course, the Korean translator, who felt that his position was in jeopardy.

The barracks where He Daqing was settled were filled with Korean translators, including Colonel Tom's translator.

As soon as the Americans left, the Korean translator gathered all the Koreans in the barracks to teach He Daqing a lesson.

"Park Danniao, you speak English fluently, but you are not allowed to speak English anymore.

Did you hear that? "

He Daqing sneered, glanced at the Korean translator, and then started tickling his toes and rubbing the dead skin.

Ever since the Korean translator became a translator for the US military, he has long considered himself an American.

I have never had to look my compatriots in the eye, but I never expected that there would be Koreans who dared to look down on me, an American in spirit.

The Korean was immediately furious, feeling more upset than if his ancestral grave had been dug up.

"Park Danniao, it seems like you're not very smart.

It doesn’t matter, I’ll teach you a lesson now…”

The Korean translator came up to He Daqing, stretched out his hand to pat He Daqing on the face, and wanted to have some fun first.

He Daqing reached out and grabbed the Korean translator's hair, and then kicked his big foot, which exuded a strong sour smell, towards the Korean translator's face.

Moving back and forth, rubbing the dead skin...

A few minutes later, a group of Koreans knelt in front of He Daqing, including the Korean translator.

He Daqing cleared his throat and began to set rules for the Koreans.

"Since you all call grandpa senior.

Then grandpa will accept you guys as his grandsons.

From now on, I have the final say in this barracks. Do you hear me?

You translators, each of you has learned a little bit of English, and you take yourselves seriously?

Grandpa speaks better English than you, can drive, can cook, and his penis is bigger than yours, and you dare not accept it..."

Colonel Tom fell in love with He Daqing's cooking after eating it a few times.

Not only did he eat it himself, he also entertained other officers from time to time.

This again annoyed the cooks in the kitchen, causing trouble for He Daqing from time to time.

They would only do it secretly, but would never dare to do it openly.

He Daqing's fist is not vegetarian.

Only the squad leader of the kitchen squad had never been beaten by He Daqing.

There is nothing else to say. He is the brother of Lieutenant General Walker's eighth concubine, which is equivalent to a wild brother-in-law.

He Daqing is not stupid. He knows who he can offend and who he cannot offend.

When the squad leader saw He Daqing punching and kicking other people, he was afraid that He Daqing would go crazy and beat him too.

Both of them had their reservations, but on the surface they were still in harmony.

The squad leader is an Indian named Asan, who is best known for cooking Indian food and is well-liked by officers of all ranks.

No matter what food it is, once it falls into the hands of Indians.

Indians can make it into a sticky, shit-yellow stuff, exactly like the stuff that comes out of diarrhea.

In the words of Indian Asan, he just restored the food to its final form.

Anyway, no matter how the Indians brag, He Daqing will not go to eat it.

He Daqing makes barbecue, and Indian Asan is the staple food. Overall, they can just get by.

After all, American officers have long been accustomed to living with Xiang.

From ancient times to the present, the streets of European city-states are full of hot shit, and there is nothing to be surprised about.

Whether it's the New York subway or the Los Angeles bus, it's normal to see one or two piles of hot shit on the seats.

Therefore, Americans are not averse to the smell and shape of shit, and may even feel a sense of familiarity with it.

What's more, what Indians make is a pile of delicious shit.

And only officers can enjoy this shit.

Ordinary soldiers could only eat biscuits and canned meat every day. If they wanted to eat hot food, they had to make a fire themselves.

One day, He Daqing was preparing a roasted chicken when he suddenly felt his stomach churning.

Just as I was about to go out to find a place to eat, I glanced up and saw that there was a steaming pot of curry chicken in the Indian restaurant, and there were quite a few dishes on the plate.

When He Daqing saw that the Indian Ah San was not there, he thought for a moment and reached out to take an empty plate.

He squatted behind the stove, pulled down his pants, and put a plate of curry chicken on the plate.

"Ah~"

He Daqing let out a long sigh and felt relieved.

Pinching my nose, I put this homemade "curry chicken" together with the Indian curry chicken.

I scooped a spoonful of curry chicken soup from the pot and poured it evenly on the homemade "curry chicken".

The rich and pungent aroma of masala immediately overwhelms the taste of homemade "curry chicken".

The Indian man walked into the kitchen while tying his belt.

He walked a few steps, stopped, reached into his pants with his sacred left hand, and fingered his leather swallow with an expression of enjoyment.

Then he put his sacred left hand to his nose and sniffed it hard, with a look of intoxication on his face.

He Daqing's stomach churned and it took a while for him to calm down.

After staying here for a few days, I've gotten more or less used to it.

The Indian custom of wiping their feces with their sacred left hand is ingrained in their genes.

If such a person is the cook, the diners will be in great luck.

Food kneaded by the sacred left hand has a unique flavor.

The Indian man spoke curry-accented English and proudly showed off to He Daqing.

"Bangzi, Lieutenant General Walker hosted a banquet for distinguished guests today.

She specifically asked for the chicken curry I made, haha.

How is it? Are you convinced?

Our Indian food is simply better than your Korean food.”

According to He Daqing's previous temperament, he would have to argue with the Indians.

But when He Daqing saw the Indian holding up the plate of secret "curry chicken" that he had just eaten, he couldn't help feeling a little guilty.

He looked at the Indian guy coldly, then turned his head and started fiddling with the roast chicken.

The Indian was in a very good mood at this moment, admiring the masterpiece in his hand.

"Tsk, tsk, wonderful, wonderful~

This is the ultimate secret of the ingredients, which completely presents the future of curry chicken here. Even the charming taste of the skin swallow is looming.

He is no longer a plate of chicken curry, he is the future of our Greater India.

Shiva, your faithful devotee, would like to offer this great masterpiece to you.

However, Lieutenant General Walker was in a hurry, so this great work could only be supplied to Lieutenant General Walker first.

I believe that the merciful Lord Shiva will understand the difficulties of believers..."

Wait for the Indian guy to bring his people out with the food trays.

He Daqing couldn't bear it any longer.

A strange "gee, gee, gee" laugh was emitted...