The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 107

It really was an ordinary vegetable basket—woven from bamboo, just like the kind commonly used in rural villages. Simple, but sturdy.

Early that morning, the ten finalists left the hotel with solemn expressions and boarded the program’s bus. But instead of heading to the usual competition venue, the bus turned at the intersection and drove off in a different direction. 

Someone asked, “Where are we going?” but got no response.

After everyone was seated and the bus had driven for some distance, the livestream began. 

In front of each contestant was an identical basket, labeled with a number, and each basket contained an open envelope. Inside was a thick wad of cash.

The contestants looked at each other, confused. No one knew what was going on. The audience watching the livestream was just as baffled.

【“Wait—why didn’t I get that money?”】

【“What’s with the baskets? Are they going on a picnic?”】

【“Why is the stream starting so early? I’m still in bed!”】

It was only 8 a.m. Some contestants hadn’t slept all night out of nerves, and now they were full of questions. 

Just then, though Jiang Tingzhou hadn’t appeared on camera, his voice came through in the background, answering them directly.

“Today, we’ve asked everyone to set out early for the finals,” he said. “There are three rules for this round. First, there will be no on-site ingredient station. All ingredients must be purchased by the contestants themselves. There’s 500 yuan in each basket—this is your budget. You may bargain, but cheating is forbidden. That means you can’t manipulate prices, get ingredients for free, or buy on credit.”

Buy your own ingredients—for the finals? No wonder there was money in the basket.

In previous episodes, contestants had done ingredient shopping, but this was different. With Jiang Tingzhou in charge, anything was possible.

One contestant asked, “But… where are we supposed to buy them?”

This time, the question didn’t need to be answered. As the camera panned to the window, it became clear—they were nearly there.

“The vegetable market,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “Yongqing’s largest and oldest open market. I’m confident you’ll be able to find everything you need there.”

Outside the bus, the roadside was already bustling. Vendors were setting up their stalls, carts passed by carrying goods, and local villagers walked by carrying vegetable baskets on their shoulders. The scene was lively and chaotic.

Jiang Tingzhou was familiar with the area—he lived nearby. Yongqing Old Vegetable Market was not only the largest in the region, but also a true treasure trove. There, you could find every kind of ingredient imaginable, from the common to the exotic.

In previous rounds, ingredients had been provided by Lu Group. The quality and freshness were carefully ensured, but ultimately, they still had to be transported and stored on-site. Compared to produce freshly picked and sold that morning, there was simply no contest.

Plus, the competition venue was limited in space and could only accommodate standard ingredients. The market, on the other hand, was a hub where even local restaurants came to source their supplies. Meat was butchered on the spot. Leafy greens, still glistening with dew, were brought directly from nearby farms.

The competition was being held near the border of Yongqing and Shangying. When choosing the hotel, Jiang Tingzhou had deliberately picked the Yongqing side—it was only a 30-minute drive to the market.

Now, just past 8 a.m., the timing had been chosen specifically for the livestream. Ideally, Jiang Tingzhou would’ve come at dawn for the best selection, but this time was still suitable. All the stalls were open.

But abundance brings its own challenges. In this massive market, identifying the best ingredients required real skill and professional judgment.

The contestants instinctively looked out the window. Though they hadn’t been here before, they could tell instantly—this wasn’t going to be easy. This was nothing like the orderly competition venue. It was unpredictable, messy, and real.

Though the actual cooking wouldn’t start yet, everyone was already mentally preparing.

Jiang Tingzhou continued: “The finals require three dishes,” he said. “One bowl of soup, one main course, and one side dish. The side dish can be a cold dish, a dessert, or a specially prepared drink or snack—your choice.”

The rule sounded flexible, and the contestants had guessed something like this. But when combined with the first rule, it became more complex.

500 yuan was enough to cook three dishes—judges only take a few bites, after all. But with a capped budget, no one could rely on expensive, high-end ingredients to “carry” their dish. It would take creativity and technique.

With that, the bus arrived. The contestants disembarked, collected their baskets and money, changed into casual clothing and face masks per the organizers’ instructions, and were each followed by a personal camera.

Just before they got off, Jiang Tingzhou delivered the final rule.

“Your knife skills, seasoning, and control of heat have all been tested in earlier rounds,” he said. “Making it to this stage means you are among the best—your fundamentals are solid. In past years, the finals no longer tested the basics. Instead, each final had a theme. This year is no different.”

Everyone had expected this.

Though this year’s competition had changed in many ways, Jiang Tingzhou’s changes still followed the general structure of previous years—he had simply made the requirements more rigorous, pushing contestants to the limit.

The theme was always a hot topic online. Last year, it had been “Ancient Style and Charm.” Previous themes included “Red,” focusing on dish color, “Fresh,” and more abstract ones like “Return to the Garden.”

The finals always took place in late January, near the Little New Year—an important traditional holiday even if not as grand as Lunar New Year itself. Given the timing and the prestigious judging panel, expectations were high for something bold—maybe “Uniqueness,” “Abundance,” or a concept related to celebration.

Instead, Jiang Tingzhou said: “The third rule, and the theme of this final, is: Go home for dinner.”

Go home… for dinner?

The contestants were stunned.

A chef competition final—usually a stage for dazzling technique—had such a simple, down-to-earth theme?

Suddenly, the trip to the vegetable market made sense.

Just yesterday, these ten celebrity chefs had posed for interviews under studio lights. Today, they packed up their belongings, slung baskets over their shoulders, and squeezed into the crowd at the market.

“Everyone,” Jiang Tingzhou said warmly, “Happy Little New Year.”

Then, he signaled the driver to open the doors.

“Also, be prepared—there are always a lot of people here. Today, there’ll be even more.”

If any contestant thought the only difficulty was the size of the market, they were mistaken.

To get the best produce and meat, they weren’t just competing against each other—but also against local residents doing their holiday shopping.

Take Ye Shunxin, for example. She had never personally bought ingredients—everything she used in her kitchen was delivered, cleaned, and prepared. Now, she had to try for herself.

The vendors varied widely in quality. Even with something simple like leafy greens, there were options: greenhouse-grown, homegrown, and high-end organic varieties from boutique shops.

Ye Shunxin sampled where she could—tasting, sniffing, inspecting. But vegetables don’t wait.

She could judge freshness just fine. But when she thought about the theme, “Go home for dinner,” she hesitated. She stood still, deliberating—and just then, an auntie with a cart passed by.

The auntie pinched the stems, checked for moisture, scrutinized the leaves, and swiftly picked out the freshest greens from the small stall—including the one Ye Shunxin had been eyeing—then paid and left without sparing her a glance.

Ye Shunxin: “…”

It was Little New Year—a major shopping day. In the South, ingredients don’t keep long, so people buy fresh. Many stalls would soon close for the holidays, so everyone was stocking up.

The cameras following the contestants didn’t grant them any privileges here.

The livestream chat exploded with laughter and practical vegetable-shopping tips:

【“Shake it—the heavier ones are fresher.”】

【“If it still has soil, it’s probably good.”】

【“Wouldn’t the ones sold by locals themselves be freshest?”】

【“Eh… not always.”】

【“It’s not as easy as it looks!”】

Some contestants were clever. Not familiar with the market, they found delivery drivers who came here often, gave them 100 yuan, and got the inside scoop on the real supply sources.

Even for green vegetables, origin matters. Fresher doesn’t always mean better—the land and environment affect flavor.

More experienced chefs had their own methods. 

Tao Jintian, for example, wandered a bit before settling on a larger stall. Thinking the displayed produce wasn’t quite right, he asked, “Boss, do you have anything fresher in the back?”

“These are already fresh! Look, they’re covered in dew.”

“That’s not dew—you sprayed them,” Tao said bluntly. “These have been in cold storage for days. I’ll pay more—just let me choose from the back.”

He pointed to the cold storage behind the stall.

The vendor wasn’t keen, but couldn’t argue. Eventually, he let him in.

Shopping in the market, ingredient selection wasn’t just a “competition” — it was everyday life wisdom.