Come on, What Kind of CEO Chases His Roommate Back to the Country? - Chapter 13

The second dish was pan-seared foie gras with fig jam. Just as Pei Song reached for his phone, the waiter began the introduction, “This dish features foie gras from Périgord, France, paired with homemade fig jam and a port wine reduction. We recommend tasting the foie gras on its own first, then trying it with the sauce for a layered experience.”

Following the suggestion, Pei Song took a bite of the foie gras on its own.

The delicate, velvety texture melted in his mouth, releasing a rich, buttery aroma. When he paired it with the fig jam, it became a completely different experience.

“The sweetness and acidity of the jam are perfectly balanced,” he remarked. “And the texture is nuanced, you can feel the tiny fig seeds.”

Shi Yancheng watched his focused expression, the corners of his lips slightly lifting. “These details, you can apply them to your own dishes.”

Each course arrived like a masterclass in fine dining. For the main course, a flawless Beef Wellington was served. The waiter elegantly sliced through the golden crust, revealing tender, rosy-pink beef that shimmered under the light.

Pei Song found himself holding his breath.

“Look at this pastry,” Shi Yancheng pointed out. “It has to encase the beef perfectly while achieving this golden finish—requiring precise temperature control.”

Pei Song carefully tasted it, marveling at the tenderness of the meat and the crispiness of the pastry. “This technique… could it be applied to—”

“If you have an idea, try it,” Shi Yancheng encouraged. “I may not know cooking, but in business, the pursuit of perfection is universal.”

Throughout the meal, Shi Yancheng critiqued like both a diner and an investor. He evaluated plating, presentation, and service details, while Pei Song focused on the technical aspects of cooking, taking notes, and asking questions.

Shi Yancheng glanced at Pei Song’s phone, densely packed with notes. “You know,” he said, “the first time I saw you cook, I thought you should open your own restaurant.”

As the meal neared its end, Shi Yancheng added, “This dinner wasn’t just about enjoying good food. I wanted you to see the standards of a top-tier restaurant.”

Pei Song nodded thoughtfully. This experience had broadened his perspective and sparked countless ideas.

“Remember this feeling,” Shi Yancheng said. “This is the level we need to surpass.”

“Surpass?” Pei Song blinked.

Shi Yancheng’s gaze held unshakable confidence. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it at the highest level.” He paused. “I don’t invest in mediocrity.”

At that moment, opening a restaurant no longer felt like a distant dream.

That night, Pei Song was in the kitchen, preparing meals for the next day, when Shi Yancheng appeared at the doorway.

“There’s a team meeting tonight,” he said, leaning against the frame.

“Oh,” Pei Song continued chopping. “Want me to make some late-night snacks? It’s getting cold, how about some ginger tea?”

“No need.”

“I’m making hot drinks anyway,” Pei Song smiled. “You guys are staying up late, you should have something warm.”

Shi Yancheng watched him silently for a moment before saying, “I’ll try to come back early.”

Pei Song’s hands froze for a second. This was the first time Shi Yancheng had ever adjusted his schedule for someone else.

That night, to everyone’s surprise, the usually meticulous Shi Yancheng ended the meeting early.

“Let’s wrap up here,” he closed his notebook. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

By the time he got home, it was nearly 11 PM. A thermos sat on the dining table. Lifting the lid, the comforting aroma of ginger tea filled the air. A small note was stuck beside it, “Drink it while it’s hot. If it gets cold, warm it up. —Pei Song”

Shi Yancheng stared at the note, a rare smile appearing on his lips.

On Saturday morning, a rare rest day, Pei Song failed to show up for their usual morning run.

Frowning, Shi Yancheng went upstairs. Pushing open the door, he found Pei Song curled up in bed, shivering. He touched his forehead, it was burning hot. His expression darkened. Shi Yancheng immediately called their family doctor.

“It’s just a common cold,” the doctor confirmed after an examination. “But he needs rest. No cold water for the next few days.”

As soon as the doctor left, Pei Song tried to get up.

“Stay in bed,” Shi Yancheng ordered coldly. “I’ll take care of your meals today.”

“It’s not that serious…”

“I said, stay in bed.” Shi Yancheng pressed him back down. “Move again, and I’ll tie you to the bed.”

For the rest of the day, Shi Yancheng barely left the room, checking Pei Song’s temperature, feeding him medicine, and changing the cold compress. His movements were still precise and efficient, yet the careful attention behind them made Pei Song’s heart feel inexplicably warm.

“Next time, if you’re feeling unwell, tell me immediately,” Shi Yancheng muttered while adjusting the fever medicine. “Don’t try to tough it out.”

After that incident, Shi Yancheng’s behavior noticeably changed. He came home for dinner every day on time. Even his lab meetings were rescheduled to the afternoon. Their classmates joked that he had been “charmed by good food,” but he never explained.

One day, a junior excitedly approached him. “Senior, I followed your roommate on Instagram! His food looks amazing! Can we come over for a meal?”

Shi Yancheng looked up, expressionless. “He’s resting.”

“Then maybe another day—”

“He’ll be resting for a while.” Shi Yancheng cut him off, his tone firm.

From then on, anyone who mentioned visiting his “chef roommate” was turned down with some excuse. Even lab members who had previously been to their place for discussions were now redirected to a café.

Unaware of any of this, Pei Song was simply touched by how much their friendship had grown.