How could a massive barrel, brimming with soup, be completely emptied after serving fewer than a hundred people?
Who were they trying to fool?
"Sorry, my barrel is empty. If you want some, hurry up and line up in another block. Otherwise, it'll all be gone."
The server slammed the lid back onto the barrel, having fully anticipated the crowd's reaction. The four men and women responsible for distributing the soup exchanged glances, explaining away the situation with practiced smiles.
"But there's clearly at least a third left in there. You guys..."
Halfway through his protest, a frail man grew agitated, raising his water-carrying pole. But his defiance crumbled the moment a burly guard standing by the barrel—gripping a steel knife to maintain order—glared at him and took a threatening step forward.
