The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 37

When Jiang Tingzhou left, the courtyard gate was still wide open. He stood there for a while watching the two leave, then locked the house door.

The neighbors around there were used to living like that. Because there weren’t many outsiders passing through, people were in the habit of not picking things off the road and leaving their doors unlocked at night. Jiang Tingzhou gradually adapted to this slower pace of life.

At first, the neighbors didn’t know him well. They only knew he was a friend of the An family and seemed to be a bit of a trouble magnet. People kept coming to cause problems. He always had a cold expression on his face, making him look difficult to approach. So most people didn’t dare greet him on their own.

But several vendors from Morning Market Street lived nearby too—especially Aunt Deng. She spoke highly of him, saying he was a very good person.

In fact, Morning Market Street became so lively largely because of the publicity done by Jiang Tingzhou and An Xiaoping. Aunt Deng even shared the ham sauce that Jiang Tingzhou gave her with other neighbors.

That ham could be made into a lot of sauce, more than Jiang Tingzhou could ever eat on his own. Since he liked variety in his meals, he gave Aunt Deng a large jar of it. Aunt Deng then divided it up and passed some to other nearby neighbors, saying it was made by Jiang.

The next morning, he saw fresh vegetables and fruits like eggplants and string beans hanging on his door—still dewy, clearly just picked. They were thank-you gifts in return for the ham sauce.

Aunt Deng explained that this was the custom around there. Most residents were elderly, and many didn’t have children around. They had to look out for one another to live well.

That was why Aunt Deng and Aunt Tian, upon learning about Zhou Lifen’s situation, helped her find a shop space that day.

Jiang Tingzhou followed behind as Aunt Deng, Aunt Tian, and Zhou Lifen walked ahead. The three women were about the same age, but Zhou Lifen was more reserved and less outgoing than the others, quietly listening as Aunt Deng spoke.

“Now that you’ve got a shop, you can apply for an official business license. Homemade ham sauce like this—taking a few small orders isn’t a problem. But if you want to scale up, you’ll need to go legit. Let me tell you, that shop may not look like much, but there’s a resting space in the back. You’re working alone, so you can cook out front and live in the back. It’s enough for one person. A hotel costs over a hundred a night—why not rent this shop for 4,000 yuan a month? I know the landlord. If you’re renting long-term, I can help you negotiate the price down. Of course, being a shop owner will be much harder than before.”

Zhou Lifen replied, “I’m not afraid of hard work. As long as I can make money and survive, I can endure any hardship.”

“That’s why I brought you to check it out right away. In our town, you can’t afford to wait around when it comes to business.”

People in Yongqing made quick business decisions and didn’t dawdle.

Morning Market Street was just a ten-minute walk away. Many shops were already open. The old sugar factory’s candy store sat diagonally across from the garden and was one of the biggest shops on the street. Thanks to the screen video featuring it, the place was bustling with customers buying retro-style candies.

Next to it was the Yongqing Pastry Shop, and next to that was the vacant shop for rent. It was an old fried rice stall, still open but with hardly any customers.

The original shop owner was also the landlord. He used to run it casually just to make a living, never caring much about taste. Now he was getting older and could no longer keep it up.

He greeted Aunt Deng lazily when she walked in with people, still seated in his chair.

“You want to rent it? What kind of business?” he asked.

Zhou Lifen answered nervously, “Ham sauce.”

“Ham sauce? Sounds alright, but can you really sell that around here? People can’t just eat sauce straight,” the landlord replied. “I can give you a long-term lease, but if you can’t keep it up, it’s trouble for me too. Think it through.”

Just as Zhou Lifen was about to respond, two students arrived—wearing the uniform of Yongqing No. 2 Middle School and riding bikes.

“Boss! Two egg fried rice, to-go!” they called from the door.

The shop was fully stocked and ready for cooking, but the landlord was too lazy to move. “Sorry, I’m not making food anymore. I’m in the middle of business talks,” he said.

He was ready to hand off the shop, so he didn’t care about a little pocket change.

The students were about to leave when Jiang Tingzhou, who was standing by the door, stopped them.

“Wait,” he said. “She can cook.” He gave Zhou Lifen a look. “Two egg fried rice. Go on—didn’t you say you wanted to run a business?”

Zhou Lifen hesitated but followed his cue, rolling up her sleeves and stepping up.

Egg fried rice didn’t require much technique. The ingredients were simple: scallions, eggs, and rice. In just a few minutes, Zhou Lifen had two steaming boxes of fried rice ready to go.

As she was about to pack them, Jiang Tingzhou said, “We’ve got a special sauce—want to try a spoonful?”

The students asked, “It’s not extra, right?”

“No extra charge,” Jiang Tingzhou replied. “Ten yuan per portion.”

That price wasn’t cheap, even for Morning Market Street.

Zhou Lifen nodded quickly. She had brought samples. She placed a big scoop of ham sauce beside the rice and handed the meals over. The two students took their food and rode off.

There was still a small bowl left in the pan—Zhou Lifen had made a bit too much. It couldn’t fit in the takeaway boxes, so Jiang Tingzhou packed it, added a spoonful of ham sauce, and handed it to the landlord.

The landlord had been making fried rice for half his life and was sick of eating it. But when he took this bowl, he perked up slightly. The rice was fluffy and well-separated, simply seasoned with salt, pepper, and a bit of lard. Even plain, it was delicious. With the ham sauce?

After one bite, he gave his verdict: “I’ll rent it to you at the price you asked for,” he said. “If you can keep this flavor—and as long as you don’t go out there beating up customers—you’ll definitely make money.”

Zhou Lifen was still stunned, but Jiang Tingzhou jumped in.

“Finding a shop is easy. The issue is that not many people eat sauce by itself—it might limit your customer base,” he explained. “Ham sauce tastes better paired with staples like fried rice, noodles, congee… You know what dishes you can make—I don’t need to say it.”

He was thinking beyond just the taste.

“Renting a shop increases your costs. If you need to hire someone later, selling just sauce won’t be enough to cover expenses. And the sauce gets used up fast—your 200 hams might not even last the month. You’ll have to pace it. Any new cost needs to be offset by new revenue streams. Ideally, a restaurant should keep a 30–40% profit margin. What I mean is: pair your sauce with other food. It’ll be easier to sell, bring in more money, and last longer. Got it?”

Zhou Lifen more or less understood.

Jiang Tingzhou had already thought about everything far ahead for her.

Since the accident, he hadn’t said much in the way of comfort, and he wasn’t particularly comforting to begin with. He always seemed difficult to get along with. But at every key moment, he was the one pushing her forward.

Soon, Aunt Deng returned from the pastry shop, handing out shortbread to everyone.

“This is the new flavor I mentioned,” she said.

Jiang Tingzhou took a bite and was surprised. “Ham sauce filling?”

“Old Deng was inspired by your Yunnan-style ham mooncakes. He thinks this could be our shop’s new flavor. What do you think? It tastes good, right?” Aunt Deng grinned. “Actually, I brought Zhou Lifen here with some selfish intentions. If this new flavor becomes popular, we can just stock up from her. It’ll be good for both our businesses.”

Jiang Tingzhou praised the flavor and was impressed at how quickly she pulled it off.

But Aunt Deng shook her head. “This isn’t fast for us. We’ve always worked like this. Oh, Xiao Jiang—do you know where this shortbread comes from?”

Jiang Tingzhou had been eating that shortbread since high school. He knew a little: Uncle Deng and Aunt Deng were once chefs at the sugar factory and had developed the recipe themselves.

Aunt Deng chuckled. “Honestly, we started working on it because our cooking skills weren’t that great—nothing compared to yours. Back then, the workers in the factory canteen kept complaining that the food wasn’t to their taste.”

Yongqing was a typical migrant-worker city, developed only in recent decades due to its location. It didn’t have much historical or cultural background. The neighboring Shangying City was once just a fishing village. Very few locals had roots there—go back three generations, and nearly everyone came from somewhere else.

The sugar factory was the same. Many workers were from other provinces, and the drivers transporting sugar all over the country came from different regions, too. Everyone had their own tastes. The local cuisine couldn’t satisfy them all.

Back then, it wasn’t like today—you couldn’t just look up recipes online. Master Deng and Aunt Deng were the chefs in the sugar factory and had to experiment for a long time. But they still couldn’t recreate everyone’s hometown flavors.

“The factory even considered hiring outside chefs, but they couldn’t hire someone from every regional cuisine,” said Aunt Deng. “So I thought, if we couldn’t make big, fancy dishes, we’d just make something small and good.”

When workers missed the taste of home, it wasn’t about elaborate meals—sometimes just a handful of chili or a bite of pickled cabbage could satisfy them.

Since the factory was busy, meals had to be filling, portable, and easy to eat between shifts. Master Deng’s signature shortbread was the perfect choice.

“At first, the shortbread had no filling—just plain. Later we experimented with fillings: sesame candy, brown sugar, coconut; then savory ones like preserved mustard greens with meat, scallion oil, beef, special braised pork… At one point, we made over twenty different flavors. Just last year, we added salted egg yolk and pork floss.”

Currently, eight types were being sold, all with well-balanced flavors. The ham filling inside the crisp, flaky crust was sure to be a hit.

This was the first time Jiang Tingzhou learned about its origins. He munched on the shortbread while listening and found it all very interesting.

Just as he was chatting with Aunt Deng, Zhou Lifen got a phone call.

She asked who it was, but the person didn’t answer—just said, “Can you let Jiang Tingzhou take the call?”

Her knockoff phone didn’t have good sound quality, and the morning market was noisy. She couldn’t hear clearly and kept saying “Hello?” a few times, but all she got was muffled murmuring.

It was Lu Jiahe calling.

At that moment, he was on the way back, riding in a company car.

Lu Jiahe knew Lu Baiyu was probably right—pushing any further would ruin everything. But still, he couldn’t let it go.

He hadn’t been able to reach Jiang Tingzhou directly, but there was still so much he wanted to say. Racking his brain, he thought of calling Zhou Lifen—and it worked.

“I was wrong before. I’ll make up for the money you lost,” he said, trying to be polite. “I also… Anyway, just let Jiang Tingzhou take the call. We need to talk this through. He can’t just ignore me. I still…”

But on Zhou Lifen’s end, she couldn’t hear a word in all the noise.

Yet everything from her side came through loud and clear in the quiet car. Even Lu Baiyu could hear it.

Then came Jiang Tingzhou’s voice—cheerful, chatting about shortbread. More people arrived—clearly fans from the screen video. They recognized him and surrounded him. A few were young girls, still students, calling out brightly, “Big brother! We really like you!”

Every sound was transmitted perfectly.

Lu Baiyu prided himself on being rational. After the earlier conversation, he held himself back, determined not to act impulsively like a reckless young man. He told himself that realizing the problem now wasn’t a bad thing—there would still be time and opportunities.

He believed that as a mature, logical partner, he could give space at this stage, and everything would eventually be resolved. He even told Lu Jiahe to hang up. It was the right thing to do.

But now—he could hardly bear to keep listening. His hands clenched into fists. His eyes darkened.

Lu Jiahe ignored him and tried to keep his voice down, but the other end still couldn’t hear. He got more and more frustrated, and his temper flared up again. He ended up shouting, his voice cracking:

“…You let Jiang Tingzhou answer the phone! Let Jiang Tingzhou answer the phone!”

At that moment, Zhou Lifen, who truly couldn’t hear him, simply hung up.

She had answered for nothing—another customer had just arrived.

And at that moment, Jiang Tingzhou had no time to worry about anyone else.

He had been peacefully eating and listening to a story, only to suddenly find himself surrounded by a group of female student fans. His face appeared blank, but he was clearly stiff—he could handle many things with ease, but in that kind of situation… he really had no idea what to do.