The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 66

Cheng Shifei was well aware of another kind of frustration: money could solve problems, but emotions often remained unresolved. Especially when Jiang Tingzhou finished talking about himself and asked how the filming of A Bite of China was going.

“Not so good,” Cheng Shifei shook his head, a little worried. “I’ve been filming these days and have plenty of material, but I still haven’t found the right subject.”

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t approve filming A Bite of China there. Yongqing had many famous restaurants, many still popular, and Cheng Shifei had visited and filmed them all. But after looking around, he remained unsatisfied.

“How could that be?” The nearby Li family couldn’t help but be drawn into the conversation. They were very interested in A Bite of China and asked, “There are many restaurants here.”

They listed several places, but Cheng Shifei had already been to all of them.

It wasn’t a lack of food options. Beyond just photographing dishes, A Bite of China focused on local specialties—whether a particular dish could represent the city itself.

Yongqing’s economy was developed, but everyone agreed it lacked historical and cultural heritage.

Originally just a county under the neighboring provincial capital Ying City, many famous restaurants served Dongjiang cuisine, or more precisely, dishes typical of Dongjiang. Of course, there were many snacks, but Ying City next door had a longer, richer culinary tradition. Since Ying City was the origin, it wouldn’t have been right to use those foods as Yongqing’s specialties.

Yongqing had many people and shops, so various foods were plentiful. For example, the sugar factory’s products and Zhou Lifen’s shop items were delicious, but using bread, desserts, or Yongqing ham that weren’t produced locally as Yongqing’s specialties would have felt inappropriate to anyone who knew the area.

Li Xu continued, “If you really want something, then Gongyan is the most fitting. Of course, I mean the Gongyan from the past.” He hesitated and realized the dilemma. While speaking, he glanced at Jiang Tingzhou and added, “But Gongyan aren’t what they used to be.”

Jiang Tingzhou hadn’t been gone long, but for a restaurant, losing the core chef had a huge impact. The taste changed the next day, and after a few days, many guests complained.

Moreover, the troubles in the Jiang family ran deeper than just this. Jiang You had caused such a mess that the Lu family was pulling out their investment. The restaurant was in chaos. They were reportedly planning to sell some assets to stay afloat, but with the Jiang family in disarray, a turnaround seemed unlikely.

Cheng Shifei certainly wasn’t going to film at such a troubled place, and the people of Yongqing wouldn’t have accepted such a restaurant as the city’s representative. So it was off the table.

After considering everything, even if Jiang Tingzhou and Cheng Shifei weren’t close, it seemed the best candidate was Yongqing Tofu and the CCTV award-winning Stuffed Rivers and Mountains.

And the people present had all tried it before—it remained fresh in their memories as one of the most delicious dishes they’d ever had. For Cheng Shifei, anything else paled in comparison. No matter how he shot the others, once he compared them to what Jiang Tingzhou had made, something always seemed to be lacking. He just couldn’t be satisfied.

Unfortunately, Jiang Tingzhou still wasn’t planning to participate in A Bite of China. After all, the outcome of doing so in his previous life was already known, and now he had other things he wanted to do.

“See? You still don’t want to be involved. No one can think of anything better,” Cheng Shifei shook his head. “I’ve stayed in Yongqing much longer than I originally planned. I’ve already visited every place I was supposed to. If I really can’t find anything, I’ll have to go next door to Ying City, where there’s plenty of material.”

In fact, after attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Cheng Shifei was just having one more meal with Jiang Tingzhou before leaving the next day.

Giving up Yongqing for Ying City wouldn’t have affected the cooperation with Lu Group too much; Dongjiang Province as a whole was considered Luyun’s territory. But Qin Rushuang was from Yongqing, and some members of the Li family were also locals.

Hearing this, they felt a bit rattled and all said in unison, “No, please wait a little longer.”

No matter how successful you were or how big your business, it stung to hear someone sigh and say your hometown lacked any distinctive signature dish.

“Stay a few more days,” Qin Rushuang smiled. “Let Lu Group play the host properly. A lot of people still want to meet you.”

The Li family nodded enthusiastically and kept glancing at Jiang Tingzhou, hoping he’d persuade Cheng Shifei to stay.

Cheng Shifei waved his hand. He was never one for small talk or socializing, but leaving Yongqing empty-handed after all this effort—it just didn’t sit right.

That afternoon, Mayor Lu made a special appearance at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Cheng Shifei shook his hand and exchanged a few words.

Mayor Lu’s attendance surprised many. The media covering the event were unusually enthusiastic.

Though Jiang Tingzhou didn’t give any interviews, he stood next to Mayor Lu during the ribbon-cutting. His presence said enough about his status at the sugar factory.

When the red silk was cut, thunderous applause erupted. A bright, natural smile lit up Jiang Tingzhou’s face.

He looked radiant, as if the sunlight favored him a little more.

From a distance, Lu Baiyu watched, unable to take his eyes off him. He wanted to record this moment—to relive it again and again.

After the ceremony, Jiang Tingzhou didn’t leave. He sat with Cheng Shifei in a quieter corner, chatting softly with a relaxed smile on his face.

People lingered after the event, mostly because food was still being served—it was noon, and no one wanted to go back to work hungry.

As the lunch hour began, Li Shuyan came over with a plate of various foods and sat next to Jiang Tingzhou. Another member of the Li family joined in.

Though the meal was simple, the atmosphere was casual and pleasant.

The plate was full of variety. Li Shuyan had taken a little bit of everything for him. She said Jiang Tingzhou wasn’t picky, and no one paid much attention to what he was eating.

But Lu Baiyu, watching from indoors, observed everything intently. Now paying attention to every move Jiang made—not forced, simply attentive. He mentally recorded each detail.

At this point, Lu Baiyu was glad he hadn’t shown up in person. If he had, he wouldn’t have dared to stare at Jiang Tingzhou like this.

From afar, he watched—his eyes fixed on him. If his view wasn’t clear, he had a camera that could zoom in.

He never used to be like this. But after reuniting with Jiang Tingzhou and talking for the first time, scattered memories from his past life began surfacing. Though he couldn’t recall everything, the grief of having once lost someone so dear came flooding back.

Logically, he knew this wasn’t normal. But emotionally, he couldn’t help himself.

And then he noticed something.

Jiang Tingzhou did eat everything. He wasn’t picky. But there was an order.

That large plate had items with varying flavors and temperatures. He started with a basic butter sandwich, then ate purple rice with cheese, then peanut butter…

He didn’t eat by placement or by temperature. The freshly grilled pork cutlet was eaten later—even though it wouldn’t have gotten cold quickly in the warm daytime. The fruit-and-cream pastry at the edge was eaten almost immediately.

After watching multiple videos of Jiang Tingzhou and now seeing him in person, Lu Baiyu figured it out:

Jiang Tingzhou always ate what he liked least first, and saved his favorite for last.

This habit was so ingrained that he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

By watching this one meal, Lu Baiyu concluded: his favorite wasn’t the peanut butter, the steak, or even the trendy brown sugar cake.

It was the taro paste.

Taro paste wasn’t particularly popular. Without a lot of sugar, it was bland and slightly astringent. Even with fine whipping and added cheese, it was considered mediocre by most.

But Jiang Tingzhou liked it.

After eating, he even subtly poked the empty spot with his spoon in the bowl.

Once the shared plate was gone, Cheng Shifei and Jiang wrapped up their chat, and Jiang stepped away. But he returned to the stall and took two remaining spoonfuls of taro paste—and then poured a small cup just for himself to savor the pure taro.

Lu Baiyu was sure of it now—this was his favorite.

Far from feeling bored, he found every new discovery about Jiang Tingzhou fascinating.

Why hadn’t he noticed before?

The reason Jiang Tingzhou hadn’t left yet—aside from chatting with his senior brother—was because he’d received a message after the ribbon-cutting ceremony: Wen Qi, whom he had previously ignored, was suddenly coming over. Jiang Tingzhou wasn’t sure what made him change his mind, but he stayed and ate while waiting.

Still, for some reason, he had a nagging feeling—like someone was watching him. Yet every time he turned around, there was no one there.

Maybe it was just because there were too many people that day.

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t dwell on it. He simply scooped the last spoonful of taro paste into his mouth and chewed. By then, most people were full, and the reporters had begun leaving one after another.

He waited a while by the main entrance but still didn’t see Wen Qi. Just as he turned around, he heard someone speak at a nearby stall: “Another bowl of this soup, please.”

Jiang Tingzhou turned his head and immediately recognized him—it was Wen Qi.

Compared to his resume photo, he looked more mature in person.

Wen Qi had delicate features and, in his picture, looked like a typical bookish type. Jiang Tingzhou had heard he’d been the top scorer in liberal arts during his college entrance exam. But in person, despite his gentle appearance, his sharp phoenix eyes betrayed an assertive, even forceful, personality.

His features weren’t striking at first glance, but his eyes and aura made him stand out in a crowd.

Jiang Tingzhou had read his resume thoroughly and asked around about him. If you wanted to recruit someone, understanding their preferences was the bare minimum. He’d asked Li Shuyan, who thought about it and recalled that Wen Qi liked to drink nourishing soups.

It seemed to be a family habit. Coming from an ordinary background and achieving such a high position at a young age must’ve taken a toll. At this stage in life, people who valued their health often started drinking nourishing soups.

Wen Qi had indeed been drinking a lot of medicinal soup lately. Most of it wasn’t good—some were too bitter and hard to swallow—but the aroma from this stall was different. Just one sniff, and he could tell it was well made.

Wen Qi had followed the smell in from the side and walked over.

To his surprise, though the setup was simple, there was attention to detail. The soup was prepared in clay pots on-site—not pre-made in bulk and reheated. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left of the medicinal chicken soup, and what remained was mostly dregs.

Feeling a little disappointed, Wen Qi suddenly heard a voice behind him.

“You’re here. Don’t drink the last bit,” Jiang Tingzhou said. Then he turned to the chef behind the stall and added, “Could you bring out the other pot from the back?”

The chef understood immediately and brought out a small bowl from the back. He lifted the lid and placed it in front of Jiang Tingzhou. Wen Qi saw that it was Morel Mushroom Chicken Soup. Just one sip, and he could tell it had been stewed to perfection.

The ingredients were top-notch. The heat control could’ve been a bit earlier, but it was far better than the average. Whoever made this soup clearly knew what they were doing.

At that moment, he turned and looked at the person approaching. The lighting had made it hard to see earlier, but now that he was in front of him, he got a clear view.

“You really came,” the man said casually. “I’m Jiang Tingzhou.”

Wen Qi was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected Jiang Tingzhou to look like this.

His gaze wasn’t subtle; he openly gave him a once-over before saying, “I’m Wen Qi. Let’s get straight to the point. I don’t have much time, just a short while.”

He had come partly because of Lu Baiyu and partly because Li Xu had messaged him earlier and encouraged him to check it out. His original plan was to stay half an hour. But for the sake of the soup—and this man—he decided to stay another half hour.

Standing to the side, not far off, was Li Xu. Wen Qi had met Li Shuyan many times, but this was his first time meeting Jiang Tingzhou.

Jiang Tingzhou smiled and said, “All right.”

In truth, he was still a little puzzled about why Wen Qi had come. Even the Li family couldn’t get him to budge.

But just then, Lu Baiyu approached from the other side and spoke up.

“Tingzhou,” Lu Baiyu said, “I heard from Aunt Qin that you wanted to discuss a collaboration with Wen Qi, so I gave him a quick call.” He paused for a moment before adding, “It’s not a big deal. If you can actually work together, it’ll be good for both sides.”

After the reporters had left and Wen Qi arrived, Lu Baiyu finally had a reason to step out in the open.

Jiang Tingzhou: “…”

Well, now everything makes sense.

Still, all Lu Baiyu could do was let him come. Wen Qi had previously “poached squid” from Lu Group—he wasn’t someone who could be easily ordered around in business. He politely greeted him with a “Young Master Lu,” but in his heart, he was muttering:

Lu Baiyu hadn’t been like this before.

He didn’t used to act this fake.