After cooking for three roommates for a year, we agreed to take turns, but in the end, it was all me alone. I paid for the groceries and washed the bowls out of pocket, losing twenty-six hundred, only to be scolded by them for making a profit margin. When a new roommate said her boyfriend would cook for free, they turned around and forced me to refund my money—yet that free meal didn't escape paying a price every single time. I refunded the money, packed up my wok, and moved, starting to sell meals at night in someone else's kitchen: thirty portions a day, payment upfront, plus five yuan for extra meat. Today, the people who used to eat for free line up with their own lunchboxes to scan the code. If I want to rest on Sunday, I rest—that meal, whenever I want to eat it, I eat it.