The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 40

An Xiaoping wasn’t just anyone—he was a close friend, so Jiang Tingzhou spoke frankly.

The products from the old sugar factory weren’t expensive, which also meant the profit margins were low. Their best-seller was a 9.9-yuan sampler set, which already sold over 2,000 units. Jiang Tingzhou did a rough calculation—it was basically hard-earned money for little gain.

He asked, “Where are you getting your stock?”

“The nearest wholesale market to the school. It’s about a half-hour drive,” An Xiaoping said. “We also rented a van and, through some connections, borrowed the student union’s unused warehouse for packing and shipping. It works for now.”

The wholesale market was already a secondary source. When Jiang Tingzhou asked for exact prices, he found they weren’t much cheaper than retail.

Thankfully, one of Xiaoping’s roommates had a good head on their shoulders. They found a senior with experience running an online shop, and with that help, managed to negotiate lower courier rates. For now, they saved on warehouse costs and hired classmates to help part-time. But Jiang Tingzhou could see this setup wasn’t sustainable.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Why not talk directly to the sugar factory and the bakery? If you buy from them, the factory price will be much cheaper and your profit margins higher.”

An Xiaoping paused, mid-bite of a cucumber. “Me?”

He hadn’t thought that far.

Even though orders were rising, he and his roommates still saw it as a small operation. It hadn’t occurred to them that they could place orders directly with the factory.

The online shop had only been running for a few days. Though the sugar factory and old bakery weren’t what they once were, even an aging ship still had three pounds of nails—it was still a large-scale facility.

“If you can sell their products, you can negotiate with them,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

An Xiaoping hesitated. “But I don’t know anyone. Who would I even talk to? Would they even take me seriously?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t know anyone at all. Li Shuyan was looking into renovating the sugar factory and even visited the site. Getting the manager’s contact wouldn’t be difficult.

Jiang Tingzhou glanced at him. He claimed to be exhausted, but when he called his roommates, he was energetic and motivated.

Jiang Tingzhou couldn’t help him with everything, but after some thought, he still messaged Li Shuyan.

He only asked for the manager’s contact, but Li Shuyan immediately grasped the situation. “What a coincidence,” she said. “I’m heading there tomorrow. You and Xiaoping can come with me—I’ll help you talk to them.”

The next day, Li Shuyan arrived early and met Jiang Tingzhou at the sugar factory entrance.

The road was busy with people coming and going, but when Jiang Tingzhou appeared at the intersection, she spotted him right away.

He was wearing a simple gray hoodie, and at first glance, he looked just like he did in high school. The morning sun lit up his face, casting light across the noticeable scar on his cheek—the one from back then. He stood there tall and lean, like a poster. And when he looked at someone, he was still just as focused.

Li Shuyan waved and watched him walk over.

Later, when she calmed down, she realized Jiang Tingzhou was right—she hadn’t liked him in a romantic way. She realized that what she felt for Jiang Tingzhou wasn’t quite love—it was more like a sense of trust, of appreciation. It wasn’t about romance. It was the kind of admiration that quietly grew when everyone else dismissed him back in high school.

It was a shame she was too young back then—not as brave or decisive as she imagined herself. But luckily, she still had a chance.

“Let’s go,” Jiang Tingzhou said, walking up to her with a smile. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

“It’s fine,” Li Shuyan replied with a smile. “I just got here myself.”

The three of them walked together, just like they used to in high school—Jiang Tingzhou in the middle, the three of them forming the shape of the Chinese character for “mountain” (山), walking between the factory buildings.

An Xiaoping wondered if Li Shuyan really planned to take on this renovation project.

“At first, I didn’t expect much,” Li Shuyan said. “But the more I think about it, the more I can’t let it go.”

She returned again and again to learn more about the factory. Looking back, if she hadn’t met Jiang Tingzhou, she might never have argued with Jang Li about this—might not have had the courage to go against him.

Investment should be rational, not emotional.

But the day she visited the factory, the crowd, the setting—it all felt like fate.

As they walked, she shared a memory: “When I was a kid, I loved the sugar factory’s brown sugar bread. It was small, with brown sugar layered inside. Our nanny brought it to me, but my mom wouldn’t let me eat it—said it was cheap and unhealthy. Later, the nanny left, and that bread disappeared. Nothing else ever tasted the same. You remember how I used to love the shortbread here too?” she added. “The one with the brown sugar filling—that’s what reminded me of that bread. But it’s not sold anymore.”

“I had it too—it was delicious,” An Xiaoping said.

Too bad Jiang Tingzhou never got to try it.

When the sugar factory and bakery were thriving, they made all kinds of cakes, candies, and breads. But those days were over.

They stopped making brown sugar products due to financial constraints. The raw material quality required was too high, and the costs too steep.

Still, if possible, she hoped those old recipes could be revived.

“Tingzhou, Xiaoping, I really have to thank you both,” she said. “Without you, I wouldn’t have realized what kind of project I actually want to take on.”

What started as a vague idea became clearer thanks to them. The renovated sugar factory garden project drew crowds, and the morning market food was a hit. She read online comments—so many people had deep feelings for the sugar factory. It reminded her of Yongqing’s past glory, once known as the city’s leading industry.

People’s memories, it turned out, just needed a spark.

The more she saw, the more she couldn’t give it up.

She clashed with Jang Li and even considered postponing the wedding. At first, she thought Jiang Tingzhou was being unreasonable warning her about Jang Li, but now she wasn’t so sure.

By this point, the three of them had entered the factory.

The manager of the old sugar factory came out to greet them warmly and chatted with them for a long time.

Jiang Tingzhou learned that the old bakery near Tian Hui’s house was part of the sugar factory too. Though built on separate land, they belonged to the same company.

“No wonder I saw the sugar factory logo on the bakery’s packaging,” An Xiaoping said. “That makes things easier—we can discuss them together.”

Sales from the online shop were still rising, with many orders coming from out of town.

The factory, though, was clearly struggling. The bakery was doing slightly better, but the sugar factory was barely hanging on.

Even so, the price negotiation went unexpectedly well. Jiang Tingzhou and Xiaoping’s proposal to buy direct seemed unrealistic at first—but the sugar factory offered them a price that was half what the wholesale market charged. If their volume increased, they could negotiate even lower.

“We’re too old for the internet,” the factory manager said with an honest smile. “But the team says sales have picked up thanks to your video. And since Miss Li introduced you, the price is flexible. We’re not looking to make a killing—just enough to keep the place running. Everyone gets paid, that’s what matters.”

Most of the factory workers were over forty. Thanks to this one order, their wages were covered for the next few months.

They were all skilled workers, diligent in their tasks. Some of the sugar products, like the jujube and walnut candy that An Xiaoping praised, were still handmade. Though the factory was old, its sterile and cleaning facilities were complete, the production lines spotless. They still followed the standards and methods of the older generation—it was like time had stopped there.

An Xiaoping brought a camera and filmed everything—he took footage of Jiang Tingzhou as well as scenes from the factory.

The workers’ movements were smooth and practiced. Watching them work gave a sense of quiet rhythm and harmony.

But manual work couldn’t compete with machines in terms of speed and output. If they raised prices, business dried up. If the factory closed, these workers—many nearing retirement—would have nowhere else to go.

The manager explained why brown sugar production stopped.

“Brown sugar takes more steps than red sugar. The raw materials need to be better, and the cost is higher. Everyone’s lowering prices these days—we can’t sacrifice quality,” he said. “The production line’s still intact, just sealed off on the left side.”

Jiang Tingzhou glanced that way. Half the equipment sat unused under thick dust covers. A real shame.

Business wrapped up, Jiang Tingzhou and Xiaoping were about to leave when a worker jogged after them. His badge read “Workshop Director.”

Jiang Tingzhou recognized him—he seemed like a neighbor. After a moment, he remembered. “Uncle Nan?”

“Yup, it’s me,” the man grinned. “Xiao Jiang, I was looking for you. Do you want some brown sugar? I’ve got two sealed jars left. Take them—this is the last batch from before production stopped a year and a half ago. It’s still good. Two-year shelf life. Ours is definitely sweeter and more authentic than anything outside.”

Jiang Tingzhou was about to pay, but Uncle Nan waved it off.

“No need. It’s not worth much.”

He stuffed another bag into their hands—white sugar and brown sugar, all factory-made samples to take home.

“Orders like yours are rare nowadays,” he said, rubbing his hands. “You young people should keep it up.”

There was real gratitude in his voice.

Jiang Tingzhou wanted to say it wasn’t his doing. The funding was Li Shuyan’s, the videos were An Xiaoping’s, and the shop was run by his roommates. But Uncle Nan already turned back to work.

They finally carried the bag of sugar home.

As they walked, Jiang Tingzhou asked, “Want to have afternoon tea?”

An Xiaoping, busy updating his roommates about the lowered prices, replied, “Huh?”

“There’s too much sugar—we won’t finish it all. I’m thinking of baking some bread. Especially that brown sugar bread you mentioned—I want to try it. We can make plenty and have everyone over for afternoon tea in the yard.”

The weather was great. He had dinner at Aunt Deng’s recently and felt so relaxed, he wanted to host something himself.

An Xiaoping was a bit surprised. Jiang Tingzhou wasn’t busy farming today—and was in the mood for tea and bread?

“Then can I film you baking bread?” he asked. “Everyone wants to see you on camera.”

He couldn’t go home often, being in college. The most common comment under his videos was: We want to see your brother.

Jiang Tingzhou had always declined. That previous video was posted by mistake.

But today, after thinking about it, he nodded. “Okay.”

An Xiaoping froze. “Really?”

Jiang Tingzhou replied, “Really.”

He was starting to think there was no harm in trying something new.

“That’s awesome!”

The sun was shining today, but Lu Jiahe was still in a bad mood.

It was Saturday, and he was stuck working overtime. The production crew for the second season of A Bite of China would be arriving in Yongqing soon.

He sat through today’s meeting, but couldn’t recall a word of it. All he could think about was how Jiang Tingzhou was off talking pastries with someone and not answering his calls.

What made things worse was when his assistant came over after the meeting and said that Director Cheng Shifei had specifically asked a question during the call:

—“Will Jiang Tingzhou be attending?”

Lu Jiahe didn’t know how to answer.

He knew he wasn’t the clever one in the family. He could only place his hopes on his older brother, Lu Baiyu, who always had a solution for everything.

But lately, Lu Baiyu was so busy that he barely came home. Even getting in touch with him required an appointment. It was only by chance that Lu Jiahe bumped into him in the underground garage yesterday—and even then, Lu Baiyu completely ignored him.

He seemed to be on a call, so Lu Jiahe mustered up his courage and trailed behind him, catching bits of the conversation.

“What’s the point of doing that again? Try something else,” Lu Baiyu was saying. “I did take a cold shower, but I’ve had a fever the last two days. Maybe even caught a cold. Would taking two more tablets of that medicine help? At least it’ll look effective on the surface. Are you sure it can’t be taken in higher doses? Is there any research behind that?”

Lu Jiahe, listening in: …?

What the hell was that about?