The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 45

Jiang Tingzhou is now retired. He saw himself as just an ordinary person—there was no way he could cause any real trouble for the prestigious Lu family. Besides, people like Lu Baiyu and Jiang You didn’t, unlike someone like Xu Feng, have messy skeletons hiding in their closets.

How could a company as large as Lu Group not have enemies? When a large company went to war, countless people got dragged in.

The news from A Bite of China came out early. That pie wasn’t so easy to snatch. From the moment Jiang Tingzhou saw Deputy Director Sun leave a comment on Jiang You’s post, and from the moment Lu Jiahe kept pestering him about A Bite of China, he knew these two were bound to fall into the trap.

When Lu Baiyu came over yesterday and said he’d been hit by a car, Jiang Tingzhou already guessed that Suda was behind it. Only those people would dare to do something like that.

They were all targeting Lu Baiyu. This was Dongjiang Province—the Lu family’s territory. It wasn’t just this one thing. Jiang You and Lu Jiahe got caught by the so-called Deputy Director Sun from A Bite of China. It was time to close the net.

Jiang Tingzhou had seen it all coming.

In his previous life, Lu Jiahe wasn’t involved in anything like this. Though he was dim-witted and tightly monitored by his family, he still followed the path arranged by Qin Rushuang step by step and stayed out of trouble. Back then, he and Jiang Tingzhou barely interacted. They met once at a Jiang board meeting and quarreled. After that, they didn’t cross paths again for a long time.

Jiang You wasn’t in such a rush either. After all, in his last life he’d already secured the vice president position. Everything proceeded step by step, so there was no need to hurry.

In this life, everything was different. People’s motives changed. Those who had aims but lacked caution were easy to trap.

Whether it was the Jiang family or the Lu family, both were focused on their own business.

An Xiaoping didn’t expect things to develop this way—he froze, until Jiang Tingzhou asked him: “What, are you disappointed in me over this?”

“Of course not!” An Xiaoping quickly snapped out of it, pushed away all the noise in his head, and said loudly, “Brother, you’re the best person! What do other people’s problems have to do with you? Whatever you do is right! Don’t think like that!”

He immediately turned off the trending search about Lu Jiahe and made up his mind not to look at that kind of stuff anymore. Then, as if trying to prove his point, he pulled up the comment section of the video featuring the mini-bread that he posted yesterday. “Look, a lot of people really like you.”

Jiang Tingzhou glanced through those comments before. He usually didn’t use his phone much. This was the first time he saw so many random compliments. His first reaction was, “Did you pay for promotion?”

The video was only posted last night, and it already racked up over 800,000 likes, climbing higher with every refresh.

An Xiaoping’s popularity far exceeded expectations.

“I didn’t! It’s all real. Why don’t you believe it? And it’s not me who’s popular—it’s you,” An Xiaoping said. “Wait, bro, I’ll show you.”

The platform just opened the livestream feature and pushed it to him that morning. An Xiaoping quickly verified his identity and turned it on.

Jiang Tingzhou wasn’t against being on camera anymore, but he felt it was a bit rushed. “Who’s even going to watch if you go live so suddenly?”

At first, not many people did. But within two minutes, after An Xiaoping found the right angle and set up the camera, the viewership began to rise.

Jiang Tingzhou sat farther from the screen, and his screen had glare, so he couldn’t see the comments clearly. When he leaned closer, all he could make out were strings of “Ahhhhhh” and “Brother Brother Brother Brother,” as if the platform only allowed those two words.

As he moved closer to take a better look, his face appeared clearly on-screen. Suddenly, a giant firework exploded across the screen, followed by a spaceship animation.

Jiang Tingzhou never did livestreaming, but he heard about it. This must have been some kind of gift—though he didn’t know how much it was worth.

An Xiaoping, equally inexperienced, checked the comments and was also shocked. “Supernova spaceship… 80,000 gold coins? Isn’t that… 8,000 yuan? Thank you, thank you! The person who sent the spaceship left a message. Thank you, boss! Brother, the gift’s for you. It’s from a young lady. She said she saw the video with the crisp-bottom bread, watched it over and over, and really likes you.”

Even though Jiang Tingzhou was reborn, he didn’t grasp these newer things. He heard of them, but had no real experience—just like a newbie—so he was stunned.

“8,000? RMB?”

An Xiaoping: “Yes!”

(Translator’s Notes: 80,000 gold coins equals 8,000 RMB, which is approximately 1,100 USD depending on the exchange rate.)

Just moments ago, Jiang Tingzhou was calm, quietly keeping track of the chaos within the Lu family. But now, listening to An Xiaoping’s words, he stared at the screen in disbelief.

He knew that people spent a lot of money on gifts online. He’d seen eight thousand yuan before.

Back when he worked as a chef, he used to receive red envelope tips worth tens of thousands, or very expensive gifts from guests. Sometimes, clients like Mr. Li Xu would spend hundreds of thousands of yuan on a single glass of wine just to show their support.

But this situation was different.

Those guests actually ate his food. They met in person many times. Jiang Tingzhou often customized banquets to create just the right atmosphere for his regulars to do business. In that context, tips and gifts were part of the exchange. It made sense.

But this was different.

He didn’t do anything for the people online.

Yesterday’s little afternoon tea with the crispy bread was just something he wanted to make—and he ate it himself. He didn’t even notice that An Xiaoping was filming him while he worked. He didn’t say a word to the camera. How could someone give such an expensive gift?

Something didn’t feel right.

Jiang Tingzhou froze, silent.

Then, more special effects appeared—another spaceship. And after that, all kinds of effects continued non-stop. More and more people started sending gifts, and the viewer count kept climbing.

【“Ahhhh! It’s the fresh big brother!”】

【“He started live streaming out of nowhere. I’ve watched yesterday’s video countless times. Especially the part where he smiled under the tree—I took a screenshot and made it my wallpaper.”】

An Xiaoping reacted quickly and thanked the viewers with a sweet smile. But Jiang Tingzhou remained a little stunned, even a bit serious.

After thinking for a moment, he asked solemnly, “Thank you all. Is there anything you want?”

The instant he said that, the flood of comments nearly blocked the screen. He leaned in to get a clearer look.

【“I want big brother!”】

【“Brother, you’re my favorite food blogger now. Can you update every day from now on?”】

【“Wow, turns out there really are no filters in the video. His face looks exactly the same up close. Who said he’s only good-looking because of filters? I think big brother looks just like this.”】

【“Haha, I won’t name names, but some food bloggers rely on beauty filters and lighting. Even their food photos are distorted. The colors of the ingredients don’t even look right. When their posts went viral, fans tried to argue it wasn’t fake. Haha. Once the original pictures got out, it was obvious.”】

【“Hey, don’t say names or their fans will come try to whitewash it again.”】

【“Don’t bring up bad things when we’re having fun! I used to believe in that guy too and followed him. What a black mark in my history.”】

The Jiang You and Lu Jiahe scandal was trending at number one and marked as “explosive,” so it was inevitable that someone would bring it up. But those messy comments quickly got buried. Most people were just happily chatting with Jiang Tingzhou.

At first An Xiaoping spoke, then Jiang Tingzhou took over—and soon, he became the one dominating the conversation—both on screen and in the comments.

Jiang Tingzhou responded to the comments one by one. “Want me? Sorry, can’t. As for daily updates, Xiaoping’s behind the camera and can’t come back every day to film, but he’ll gradually release footage on Saturdays and weekends.”

Aside from eating at the morning market, Jiang Tingzhou cooked the other two meals himself every day, and each meal was different. An Xiaoping usually came back on Friday afternoons. The footage he shot was quite good and could be uploaded gradually. He also filmed some by himself.

“Is the ham sauce from the previous video for sale? Sister Zhou has opened a shop on Morning Market Street. Business is doing well. If you live nearby, you can drop by and try it,” he said. “Homemade sauce doesn’t ship easily. I’m afraid it’ll spoil, so we’re not selling it online.”

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t sugarcoat his words. He interacted seriously, reading the comments he could see.

【“I received the sugar from the old sugar factory. It still tastes the same. My parents love it, but I’m not used to it. I watched the video yesterday and wanted to try that small bread, so I bought some near my home, but it feels different from the one in the video.”】

As soon as this comment appeared, many others agreed.

【“Yeah, I went to Yongqing Old Bakery this morning. It’s better than what you find at regular stalls. I compared it with big brother’s in the video, and there really is a difference. You can even see it in the texture.”】

Sugar crispy bread wasn’t a secret. It was sold everywhere—from supermarkets to street stalls. But different ingredients and techniques produced very different results.

“I made some adjustments to the method,” Jiang Tingzhou explained honestly. “It should taste better than the ones sold outside.”

He baked too much bread the day before, so the neighbors each took some. There were still a few left at home. Jiang Tingzhou brought one out to show the camera and said as he demonstrated, “Use better ingredients. Don’t be lazy when kneading the dough. And the baked bread should stay soft. Since most of the neighbors are older, I made it extra soft for them.”

As he spoke, An Xiaoping grabbed a leftover piece and ate it. Even though it wasn’t freshly baked, it still tasted fragrant and sweet.

“When rolling the dough, make sure to roll it tightly. The texture of filling rolled inside versus wrapped loosely is completely different. The size of the bread also matters. I prefer a crispy bottom, so I made mine a little thicker. That way, the inside stays soft and the outside crisp—makes the flavor more layered.”

Jiang Tingzhou was a little nervous at first, but once he started talking about his craft, he relaxed. After a pause, he asked, “Am I talking too much?”

【“No! You explained it perfectly. I love listening to you,”】 one comment read.

【“Can you livestream every day? Even if you’re not cooking—it’s fine. Just hearing you talk feels so comforting, like chatting with a friend.”】

【“Ahhh, Xiao An, stop eating! The more you eat, the more I want it too.”】

Jiang Tingzhou spoke slowly, no excessive smile or dramatic gestures, enunciating clearly. In previous videos he focused on cooking, but now, doing live and talking naturally, viewers said he was unexpectedly charismatic.

The number of viewers in the livestream kept rising. It already surpassed 10,000, and the barrage of comments got faster and faster.

【“I really want to eat the crispy-bottomed bread from the video. The more I watch, the more I crave it. What I have in front of me just isn’t the same.”】

【“So how exactly do you make the crispy bottom? The one I bought didn’t have it. Can you explain?”】

“There’s no secret,” Jiang Tingzhou replied. “Just thicken the sugar water a bit, oil the tray, and the bottom will naturally become crispy during baking.”

He continued chatting and introducing the bread. It felt like talking with his neighbors. Then he looked up and noticed the gift animations had become nonstop. It wasn’t just one person sending things anymore.

That made him uneasy, and he gently reminded everyone: “These gifts are really expensive.”

The comments filled with hahahaha, followed by another wave of spaceship special effects.

Jiang Tingzhou: …

He stopped talking.

Even An Xiaoping didn’t expect the stream to blow up like this. They weren’t even live for that long.

Afterward, he tallied up the gifts and told Jiang Tingzhou that even after the platform took its cut, they received tens of thousands of yuan.

There were seven or eight spaceships alone, not to mention all the smaller gifts worth hundreds. And this was in less than ten minutes of streaming—if they went longer, it would’ve been even more.

Jiang Tingzhou said, “That much?”

After he started talking, the number of gifts surged.

An Xiaoping watched the replay and even thought: When brother leaned in and looked into the camera, even I wanted to send a gift just to hear him talk again.

“Brother, most of this reward was for you. You can’t return this money to me,” An Xiaoping said cheerfully, not the least bit jealous. “See? I told you—you’re really popular. Without you, my account wouldn’t have taken off this fast.”

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t reply. After they ended the stream, he remained quiet, head down, lost in thought.

He already knew the video was popular. He met the high school students who asked to take a photo with him at the morning market. He used to think people were just watching for fun. But this time, it felt different.

He was still a little surprised by how enthusiastic the viewers were.

The experience of chatting with people online was new to him. But he didn’t dislike it. Anyone receiving that much goodwill would naturally feel happy.

What made him uncomfortable, though, was the same feeling he felt when he first moved into this yard—an unease born from the momentum of his old life. To this day, he still maintained his old schedule, same as before.

In the past, in a world driven by fame and profit, everything was a transaction. That was always his default mindset. Whether as a chef or a business owner, Jiang Tingzhou learned that getting ahead meant giving more.

Even though he left that world now, the mark it left on him was deeply ingrained and hard to erase.

To receive so much without giving anything in return—it didn’t feel right.

In Jiang Tingzhou’s mind, anything that came without effort was suspicious and unsustainable. Everything needed maintenance—just like how he used to maintain close relationships with regular clients at the restaurant.

He couldn’t accept all this so casually. He had to do something about it.

He didn’t have experience dealing with fans, but he knew how to treat VIP guests.