The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 34

The weather warmed slightly, as if Yongqing’s long-delayed spring had finally arrived.

But Lu Jiahe was still in a terrible mood.

He felt exhausted.

Last time, he called Jiang Tingzhou brimming with confidence, hoping to secure his cooperation—but it made no difference. To make matters worse, Qin Rushuang received some bad news: they weren’t the only ones competing for a spot on A Bite of China.

The entire department was on edge again.

Fortunately, Jiang Tingzhou informed them early, giving the Lu Group a slight edge.

But now, the program director Cheng Shifei was preparing to leave with the crew, and more competitors had gotten wind of it.

In terms of connections in the capital, the Lu Group wasn’t the most dominant. Suda Express had its headquarters in Beijing and closer ties with CCTV. Even if Director Cheng had the final say, it remained uncertain who would come out on top. Suda’s tactics were never simple.

This partnership became the key focus of the Lu Group publicity department.

Qin Rushuang pushed for Lu Jiahe to lead the project, hoping he could make a name for himself. But if he failed, the entire group would have a good laugh at her expense.

For days, Lu Jiahe crammed everything he could about A Bite of China, reading food reviews and studying local cuisines. But his anxiety grew each time he thought about Jiang Tingzhou.

That afternoon, he finally made a call.

“I’ve been suppressing Jiang Tingzhou for three days,” he said. “How is he doing?”

It was actually closer to two and a half days, but whatever. He was clearly out of options and ready to admit defeat.

“Please be patient. Only after suffering will he understand how good it is to have Lu’s support,” came the reply. It was Secretary Song, Lu Baiyu’s assistant.

“Can’t we hurry this up? I’m out of patience.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll act soon on our end. Per your instructions, we’ll raise the price and make a public offer to buy those hams at 200 yuan per jin,” Secretary Song said. “At that point, the poor indecisive rural woman will probably drop to her knees and beg Jiang Tingzhou to help her.”

Once people saw hope after despair, they didn’t let it go.

Secretary Song also knew Jiang Tingzhou well—he was soft at heart.

Lu Jiahe finally relaxed after hearing that.

Just now, the manager of Gongyan Restaurant called to complain. They ran out of ingredients for their signature dish, the Xianchun Pot. Substituting ingredients from other suppliers would compromise the flavor, and they were afraid to serve it to guests.

It was just one dish, but with the Bite of China crew arriving soon, the last thing they needed was a slip-up.

“Does my brother know about this?” Lu Jiahe asked.

“Mr. Lu has enough on his plate. These are just minor matters, and since he’s not around Jiang Tingzhou, of course he doesn’t know. There’s plenty he doesn’t know. We’ll handle this in three days—quick and clean,” said Secretary Song. “Besides, the sooner we deliver results, the better.”

Jiang Tingzhou would come back—sooner or later. Even if he returned reluctantly, they’d just coax him again afterward. All would be well.

Lu Jiahe felt much better after the call.

He had been swamped lately. It was almost 2:00 p.m. when he finally opened his lunchbox and, while eating, checked the message Jiang You sent him.

He made a new dish. Like his previous abalone sauce and fish fin dish, this one was fancy and refined—a lobster roll. He uploaded a beautifully shot video online.

Lu Jiahe clicked like out of habit, left three drooling emojis, and used his own verified account. As the second young master of the Lu family, he had over 5 million followers just from sharing daily moments.

His comment was instantly noticed.

【“Is this really the second young master, Lu Jiahe?”】

【“Xiaoyou’s friends are on another level! If he’s not a blogger, he’s off to inherit his family fortune.”】

【“He’s the heir who descended to cook for us commoners!”】

【“No wonder he’s a top food blogger. It won’t be long before A Bite of China features him!”】

But Lu Jiahe didn’t even watch the full video.

Lobster rolls looked fancy but didn’t taste that special. Most seafood was similar—once you ate enough, it all blended together. He had seen plenty of Jiang You’s content before.

Then he scrolled down and saw a new video—featuring An Xiaoping.

He remembered him—a short, skinny student who showed up with Jiang Tingzhou before. Dyed orange hair. Seemed like a university student.

An Xiaoping’s username was his real name. The video had just been posted and was less polished than Jiang You’s. It began with laughter—his roommates hanging out in their dorm. Four guys, joking around.

“Today I’m treating everyone. There’s some amazing food—my brother made it!” An Xiaoping grinned at the camera.

That sentence caught Lu Jiahe’s attention.

“Is your brother’s cooking really that good? Be honest, did you add a filter to that last video?” asked Ma Xiaoliang, the roommate on the diagonal bunk. He practically drooled recalling it.

“No filter, I swear! He’s amazing at cooking. You’ll know when you eat it.”

College students never turned down a good meal. Even if it was poison, they still tried it for the experience.

Of course, An Xiaoping didn’t eat alone—he told them in advance, and four servings of food were delivered.

“Help me out afterward. Let me know how it tastes. I’m filming this,” he reminded them.

“No problem! If it’s good, I’ll praise it to the skies!” Wu Jianghe promised, slapping his chest.

Liu Chang, the bespectacled roommate, added, “I got full marks on my college entrance exam essay. Just wait—I’ll describe it like I’m a poet!”

When the delivery car arrived, An Xiaoping grabbed a few cans of beer and went down to pick it up.

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t deliver stir-fry—food didn’t travel well over an hour. Instead, he sent a cold dish: chilled tomatoes with sugar, to refresh the palate.

The camera zoomed in on the food packaging.

Jiang Tingzhou was meticulous. The dishes were still warm. Two large casseroles were tightly sealed to preserve heat. One held ham soup from the Xianchun Pot, the other was stewed rice. The insulation was so good that even the crispy rice crust at the bottom stayed intact.

The Yunnan ham mooncakes needed their boxes slightly open to prevent steam buildup and sogginess. Below that were stir-fried ham with mushrooms, served in iron trays with alcohol burners ready to reheat the food—ensuring it was served at peak flavor.

The portions were huge—enough for four grown men. It was lunchtime, but honestly, it could count as afternoon tea.

An Xiaoping sat down and started his intro speech, addressing the fans still curious about his mysterious “brother.”

Before he could finish, his roommates had already lifted the pot lids.

The scent hit them like a tidal wave. The camera couldn’t do it justice.

They dug into the stewed rice. Every grain glistened with savory oil, and the rice crust crackled underneath. Chopped green onions were packed separately—sprinkled on top, they took the aroma to another level.

It was a feast.

And back in his office, watching through his phone, Lu Jiahe suddenly felt hungry all over again.

There was a very clear sound of someone swallowing in the video.

They skipped lunch in anticipation of that meal. That day’s cafeteria food was especially bad, so they were starving. But they had to hold off until the video properly captured the food being served.

After An Xiaoping finished speaking, he looked up to see three pairs of hungry eyes staring back at him.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m done. You can start eating now.”

Even so, he remained professional, introducing the dishes while eating, raising the camera to show everyone close-ups of the food, and even giving a cross-section view of the ham mooncake.

When it came time for his roommate to describe the taste, the whole dorm fell silent—only the sound of slurping ham soup could be heard.

An Xiaoping: “Hmm?”

Why aren’t they saying anything? Didn’t we agree earlier that they’re supposed to give reactions now?

He nudged Ma Liangliang, whose glasses were fogged up from the steam.

Still chewing, he didn’t even bother wiping them. After finishing a bowl of soup, he finally looked up at the camera, swallowed, and managed a single word: “Delicious.”

An Xiaoping: “…”

He turned to Wu Jianghe next, but his expression didn’t hold much hope either—same look of utter bliss. So he looked to someone else.

“Come on, Ah Chang, your turn. You probably don’t know, but my roommate here was a full-score essayist in the college entrance exam. Not joking—you can look it up in the Model Essays Volume 7 published by Hua Publishing House last year!”

Liu Chang swallowed a mouthful of ham mooncake. If it weren’t for the camera, he might’ve licked the crumbs from his hand. Then he opened his mouth and said three words:

“It’s really delicious.” After a moment’s pause to collect himself, he tried to summon his literary flair. “The crust is super crisp, the meat is incredibly fragrant, the soup is rich… absolutely delicious, lingering aftertaste, mouth-watering—seriously, this is insanely good!”

And that was it. He couldn’t say any more, and he couldn’t waste any more time talking.

At that age, those college guys could really eat.

An Xiaoping was quiet for two seconds, then clapped his hands and said, “Okay, let’s thank our college entrance exam full-score essayist for that elementary school-level idiom collection.”

So much for the literary prodigy—looked like that Wenquxing left any literary skill behind in high school.

The video featured many close-ups of the ham. Though the dorm lacked lighting or fancy backdrops, the group eating together looked so appetizing and the mood was great—it had that warm, communal feeling.

The comments were filled with laughter and food envy.

【“I miss this so much. Back in college, we’d all gather for meals too. Once, we secretly cooked hot pot in a little pot and almost got caught by the dorm manager.”】

【“We only had side dishes in college… you guys eat like kings.”】

【“Looks amazing. I just ate two hours ago and now I’m hungry again. I want that ham rice too!”】

Not long after the video was posted, the likes skyrocketed. Toward the end, there was a brief, seemingly last-minute clip that had just been filmed.

“This is ham sauce. My brother made it himself. We already finished everything from yesterday, so this is what I’m having for lunch,” An Xiaoping told the camera. “It’s super tasty and goes perfectly with rice.”

In the background, Ma Liangliang—the same guy who couldn’t find an adjective yesterday—spoke with newfound confidence:

“I told you the ham was amazing last night, but you didn’t believe me. You said we were hyping it up. Well, now you believe me, right? Isn’t it good? Let the whole class take a spoonful. I’d eat this on a shoe sole!”

At the same time, Zhou Lifen received a message from An Xiaoping.

【“Two kilograms of ham sauce for 200 yuan, right? That’s 100 per kilogram. Some of my classmates want it, and even students from the next class are asking if there are smaller bottles. Why don’t you make more and send a whole batch at once?”】

Dongjiang University recently moved to a new, remote campus. There was nothing good to eat nearby, and the cafeteria mostly served bland soup—and it was expensive, too.

Ham sauce wasn’t only tasty, but super convenient. Just two spoonfuls could turn a 3-yuan bowl of plain veggie noodles into a proper meal. Throw in some blanched greens, and it was way better than the chili sauces sold in supermarkets. The more you chewed the ham bits, the more fragrant they were.

Sure, it wasn’t cheap for college students, but the school cafeteria already charged way too much. Spending ten yuan in the cafeteria didn’t get you much. Compared to that, ham sauce was cost-effective. People were willing to pay for better food.

At the end of the video, Lu Jiahe watched as An Xiaoping smiled into the camera with just a hint of pride and mischief. “My brother made it and sent it specially for me. I told him not to go through the trouble, but… well, what can I say, he cares too much.”

Lu Jiahe felt like he was mocking him through the screen.

But he also sensed that things weren’t quite going his way. The comments were full of people asking where to buy the ham sauce.

Something about that didn’t sit right.

He couldn’t eat anymore. Furious, he knocked his lunchbox off the table.

Some people let their emotions get the better of them. But An Xiaoping, after posting the video, calmly sat and thought.

Ever since switching platforms to become a food blogger, his popularity had grown fast. Every video performed well. In just a few days, he gained over 200,000 followers and earned a decent amount from the platform.

The first few videos all brought in five-digit rewards, with Xu Feng’s video performing best. Later, he posted a nostalgic review of old-fashioned candies from the Yongqing Sugar Factory—things like sugared winter melon, lard candy, maltose, pear paste candy, peanut crisp, jujube walnut soft candy, and more.

Part of the factory still ran, producing retro-style sweets with “Yongqing Sugar Factory” printed in red block letters on plain paper packaging. It brought back a lot of childhood memories.

He seemed a bit nervous at first, but when describing food—especially with his expressions and clear audio—it was easy for viewers to imagine the flavors.

These candies didn’t have the same flashy appeal as modern snacks, but the ingredients were solid, and many of them tasted really good. An Xiaoping especially praised the peanut crisps and jujube walnut soft candy.

“You can really tell it’s from an old brand,” he said. “The flavor is clean and not greasy, and it’s cheap, too.” He took a bite and showed the candy’s texture on camera. “The jujube paste is smooth and fragrant, and the walnut pieces are fresh and large. The peanuts in the crisps are big and full.”

Now that he had gotten the hang of it, his videos kept getting better and better—and the momentum hadn’t slowed, even after the Xu Feng episode. The latest video featuring ham sauce fit his new lifestyle-meets-food niche perfectly.

And that day, he just cashed out his earlier earnings: over 100,000 yuan.

That might not be much for top influencers, but to him, it was life-changing.

He had already met his goal of earning 10,000–20,000 yuan a month to support Jiang Tingzhou. But now, scrolling through the comments, he noticed that many viewers came from other platforms and were especially interested in the old-fashioned candies and ham sauce.

The problem was—where could they buy it?

The ham sauce wasn’t mass-produced, so online sales were tricky. The sugar factory’s products could be mailed, but it didn’t have an official online store. People had tried looking, but most sellers carried only limited flavors or required bulk purchases. Many just wanted to sample each variety. Worse, some had accidentally bought fakes.

If only there were an official purchase link under the video, An Xiaoping thought.

If the items in the video were grouped by category and made easily available, he was sure people would buy them.

Unfortunately, the platform didn’t support that kind of feature—at least not yet.