The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 12

Seeing Jiang Tingzhou’s expression, An Xiaoping and Tian Hui stopped talking.

Just then, the taxi driver, who had already started the car, broke the silence: “You’re heading to the old market, right? Where exactly do you want to stop?”

An Xiaoping’s home was near the Yongqing Old Market, which covered a large area.

Jiang Tingzhou was about to suggest getting off at the foot of Guanyin Mountain, but Tian Hui answered first: “Master, we’re going to the bakery in the old market. Just stop at the bakery entrance.”

Jiang Tingzhou was stunned. “Wait a minute, what are we doing at the bakery?”

Yongqing Old Market was a densely populated area in the old part of the city. It was known as a classic urban village. The bakery and Guanyin Mountain were on opposite ends—east and west—of the market, about a 30-minute walk apart.

“That’s my house,” Tian Hui said. “I came today with a mission. My mom wants to thank you for helping out before and invited you both for dinner. You must come. If you don’t, you’re not giving me face!”

She winked at An Xiaoping as she spoke.

They had visited two places to move things that morning, both of which left them in a bad mood. She figured it was time to cheer up with a dumpling meal.

No one could stay upset after eating dumplings. If one meal didn’t do it, eat two.

An Xiaoping was already in on the plan. Aunt Tian told him to invite Jiang Tingzhou. They had become close in the hospital these past few days, so he chimed in: “Yeah, everything’s ready. It’d be rude not to go.”

Jiang Tingzhou chuckled. “You’re really going to all this trouble? I asked you to help post some notices and pick up some things, and now you’re treating me to dinner? I should be the one treating you. And I’ve got luggage with me—if I’m going to be a guest, I should at least bring some fruit or gifts…”

“I took care of it,” An Xiaoping said.

Jiang Tingzhou blinked. “Took care of what?”

“Ta-da!”

From his coat’s big pocket, An Xiaoping pulled out a glass jar. “I brought this! You made it, right? I could tell at a glance.”

It was a jar of pickled Laba garlic.

On the shelves in Jiang Tingzhou’s tiny room, there were jars of seasonings and cooking samples. He had taken this one separately. The seal was tight, and it didn’t leak in his pocket.

Tian Hui praised him: “Smart move. It’s perfect. You know what they say—dumplings without garlic lose half the flavor!”

An Xiaoping giggled. His big coat pocket was like Doraemon’s magic pouch. In addition to the Laba garlic, he also packed a bottle of rose rice vinegar and a golden soy sauce that looked quite fancy.

Jiang Tingzhou sighed. “You really…”

“I know this soy sauce is expensive,” An Xiaoping said smugly. “I didn’t steal it. That restaurant usually never bought high-end stuff like that. If you needed special ingredients, you had to buy it yourself and maybe get reimbursed later—and don’t let them act pitiful now. They used to wear you down with petty nonsense. You better not regret leaving. You paid for all this stuff yourself—why shouldn’t I take it?”

Tian Hui chimed in, “Exactly! If my bag were bigger, I’d have taken everything. Not a single thing should be left to that black-hearted boss.”

The two of them kept at it like a comedy duo. The taxi driver didn’t know the backstory but found them hilarious. Even Jiang Tingzhou laughed along with them.

The car drove along the ring road and began to slow as it reached the old city.

The roads here were narrow, and as they got closer to the old market, the more crowded it became—trucks and tricycles weaving in and out, horns blaring nonstop.

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t have a fond impression of this place.

Back when he lived here with his adoptive father, Wang the Butcher, life was full of hardship and sorrow.

And now, it still looked the same.

The old market included several sub-markets like Yongqing’s vegetable market and wholesale market, with countless stalls and all kinds of vendors—hence all the small trucks. There were also factories around the area. It was once the most bustling part of Yongqing, where many people came to work and live.

Several old schools were nearby too, including Yongqing’s best: No. 2 Middle School. That made the area even more crowded.

As the taxi inched forward, Jiang Tingzhou spotted a few students on bicycles who got stuck behind their car half an hour ago. Wearing No. 2 Middle School uniforms, they now slowly passed by.

The urban layout of the old city was a mess. Industrial lots, schools, and markets were all crammed together, and it wasn’t easy to relocate them. Compared to the modern city, this part of town was chaotic and shabby. People with money moved out long ago.

Eventually, the road became nearly impassable, so the three of them got out to walk. Jiang Tingzhou picked up a fruit-and-nut gift box at a roadside stall.

Despite the mess, the proximity to the wholesale fruit market meant everything was fresh and cheap, with sweet fragrances wafting through the streets.

He carried pineapples and melons—the pineapples were already peeled and packed, filling the air around him with their fruity scent. Then, following Tian Hui into a side alley, they walked a few steps before the street noise began to fade away.

It was here that Jiang Tingzhou started to notice the difference.

The cab windows were shut earlier—he was just out of the hospital and still had a low-grade fever, so he avoided drafts. But now he realized the weather was gorgeous. Sunshine poured through the trees along the old bread factory’s walls. A breeze carried down flower petals like confetti.

Tian Hui’s house was next to the old bakery. As they passed it, Jiang Tingzhou caught the faint aroma of cream and baked wheat drifting on the wind.

Aunt Tian was waiting for them outside, waving cheerfully.

Tian Hui’s home was a self-built house with a small yard—humble but tidy. Hydrangeas bloomed on one side; green onions, peppers, and other vegetables grew in flower pots on the other. It looked lush and vibrant.

“You kids go sit down and watch TV for a bit,” Aunt Tian said. “The food will be ready soon.”

Jiang Tingzhou instinctively wanted to help in the kitchen. He never just sat and watched while others worked, but he was soon pushed out.

In the kitchen was Aunt Tian’s husband, an honest, good-natured man, making dumplings. He had met Jiang Tingzhou once before when he came to the hospital to bring food to his wife. Now, he smiled and said, “How could we let a distinguished guest help? Go sit down. We can’t help Huihui with her work, but we really do want to thank you.”

Tian Hui’s promotion was thanks to the news he helped post, so the Tian family naturally regarded him as a benefactor.

And so Jiang Tingzhou was firmly pushed out of the kitchen and told to rest. He was placed on a small stool while the TV played a soap opera. Tian Hui’s fat orange cat, woken from its nap in the flowers, padded over with a meow and rubbed up against his legs, very familiar and affectionate.

Jiang Tingzhou felt a little out of place.

He rarely had such idle time. When he was sick the past two days, he had no choice but to rest, mostly sleeping. Now that he was awake, all he could do was pet the cat. He had nothing else to worry about, and his only task ahead was to eat dumplings.

He sat for a while, then got up to find something to do, maybe clean the table or set out dishes. But just then, Aunt Tian brought out a plate of fruit and a pot of tea, placed them on the small coffee table in front of him, and gently pressed him down to sit again. “Eat some fruit and pastries first.”

Along with the pineapple he brought, there were also several pieces of honey crispy bread stacked on the plate, giving off a sweet, tempting aroma.

Jiang Tingzhou hadn’t eaten this kind of bread in a long time.

He could tell at a glance it was from the old Yongqing bakery. He used to live nearby, and the bread was still warm when bought fresh. That bakery was known for using real ingredients: the crispy bottom of the bread was thicker than what you’d find at regular stalls. The top was soft and fragrant, while the bottom was crunchy, with sesame and sugar grains adding extra texture.

When he bit down, he heard the crackle of the crispy crust breaking. The inside was soft and chewy, still carrying that classic Yongqing flavor.

When he was young, his adoptive father wouldn’t spend money on such treats. Occasionally, kind neighbors gave him one out of pity. Back then, Jiang Tingzhou’s dream was simple: to be able to eat honey crispy bread every day when he grew up. He didn’t even dare imagine what success would look like.

Now, of course, life was different. But the bread hadn’t changed. It was still sweet, crisp, and comforting—it made him feel inexplicably at ease.

“Come on, it’s time to eat!” After he finished the bread, Aunt Tian called them to the table. The hot dumplings were ready. She smiled and said, “Our old man makes great dumplings. Even the neighbors praise them. Come give them a try.”

The dumplings were fresh out of the pot, steaming hot and aromatic. Just by looking, you could tell the dough was hand-rolled and each dumpling handmade. The Tian family also cooked three hot dishes and one cold dish. There were four types of dumplings: vegetarian sanxian, zucchini with egg, carrot with lamb, and pickled pork—two meat, two vegetarian—brought out one after another until the table was full.

Jiang Tingzhou had been eating bland food the past couple of days. Now that he was feeling better, this hearty meal felt incredibly satisfying.

An Xiaoping also took out the soy sauce, vinegar, and Laba garlic he brought along and invited everyone to try.

Tian Hui laid out bowls and chopsticks, and the five of them sat down to a warm and lively meal.

The homemade dumplings were made with fresh ingredients. Still hot when served, a bite released fragrant juices. A splash of soy sauce and vinegar made the filling even more flavorful, and the sour, crisp Laba garlic added a refreshing contrast to the richness.

An Xiaoping devoured them, ignoring all his earlier “I need to diet” comments. Even Jiang Tingzhou—usually picky—looked impressed.

The Tian family’s dumplings really were excellent. He had tried dumplings at many upscale Chinese restaurants that cost hundreds or even thousands of yuan, but none of them compared to these. No wonder Tian Hui kept boasting about them on the way—it wasn’t just talk.

As they ate, the Tian family was surprised too: “This Laba garlic is amazing. And this vinegar—what is it? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“It’s called rose rice vinegar,” An Xiaoping said, smacking her lips. “Though I can’t taste any rose, just a slight sweetness.”

Jiang Tingzhou smiled. “The name comes from the color. It’s mild and smooth, and goes especially well with northern-style dumplings. If you like it, I can send you a few bottles later.”

An Xiaoping really knew how to pick ingredients. Jiang Tingzhou sourced this vinegar from another province. This jar had aged for two years, just recently opened for use at the shop. Let it age longer, and the flavor deepened even more. It was perfect with dumplings.

Aunt Tian smiled and filled Jiang Tingzhou’s bowl again. “Eat this—it’s especially good for someone recovering.”

She pushed the carrot and lamb dumplings toward him. “Our old man picked the meat fresh this morning. Lamb is good for nourishing qi and blood. When Huihui was sick as a child, we always made this. She’d get better quickly.”

The lamb dumplings had a distinct, rich aroma. The skin was soft, the meat flavorful, and a hint of sweetness showed the care behind the preparation.

This was truly good lamb. Many lamb dumplings sold outside had a strong, gamey smell that most couldn’t handle. But these had none of that. April wasn’t even lamb season, and Yongqing’s lamb wasn’t as renowned as northern varieties. Yet Jiang Tingzhou could tell this was high-quality rib meat—only loyal early customers would be able to get it.

Though the weather was still a little cold, eating a few of those lamb dumplings made Jiang Tingzhou feel warm—both in body and in heart.

He was always the one cooking for others. But this time, someone—despite being mere acquaintances—cooked with such care for him.

And that really was something different.