The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 67

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t care about Lu Baiyu at that moment. As Wen Qi said, his time was limited—just one hour.

It seemed impossible to convince Wen Qi with only that bowl of soup. Li Shuyan and Li Xu, standing beside Jiang Tingzhou, didn’t have much hope either.

Even though Jiang Tingzhou once managed to get Mayor Lu to cooperate, that was because the sugar factory bid was already finalized.

People like Wen Qi were not so easy to impress.

Still, he didn’t mind taking the time to enjoy a bowl of soup. And he truly hadn’t seen Lu Baiyu, his former employer, looking like that before—he actually seemed to be in a decent mood.

“This soup is really good,” Wen Qi even complimented. “Looks like it was made for me. Who’s the chef?”

Compared to the sugar factory project, that was his most important question. He even thought about ordering the soup regularly in the future.

Jiang Tingzhou said, “It’s me.”

Wen Qi responded with an “Oh,” feeling a little disappointed. He thought it would probably be impossible to place a regular order. But when Jiang Tingzhou said that, he noticed Lu Baiyu’s face change subtly—and found it all the more intriguing.

He didn’t know what kind of magic that man possessed. It was one thing for the Li family to budge, but even Lu Baiyu didn’t look quite the same as before.

Wen Qi asked, “This bowl is for me?”

Wen Qi was indeed a special guest, but the visiting reporters were also guests of the sugar factory that day.

Other shops had their own specialized chefs, but the soups for that section were personally prepared by Jiang Tingzhou. He figured there were many sweet treats there, so soups would pair well—and they proved popular. There was almost nothing left in the two large casserole rows.

Wen Qi smiled, thinking that man was refreshingly straightforward, without any trace of flattery.

He had met many people who beat around the bush before, so communicating with Jiang Tingzhou felt relaxing.

Now that everyone had left the venue, plenty of seats were available, so several people sat down together, eating and chatting more comfortably.

After sitting, Wen Qi spoke first: “Why did you choose me for this project?”

“Your team is the best, at least in Yongqing,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “I heard you’re working on two types of projects: one to make money and one that interests you. You don’t have any new projects now, so I thought maybe there’s a chance with this sugar factory.”

That much was true.

Wen Qi smiled and said, “You’ve done your homework, but this project seems to be neither.”

Jiang Tingzhou spoke frankly, and Wen Qi didn’t bother with pleasantries either.

Even Lu Baiyu, seated beside him, glanced over with a warning in his eyes at that remark. But that was exactly what Wen Qi meant.

In fact, when young Mr. Lu called him, he hinted that if the money wasn’t enough, he would make up the difference. Li Shuyan was present, and the Li family was wealthy, but Wen Qi had a personality that insisted on earning on his own.

He judged the project on its own merits. If the sugar factory couldn’t hold up, no amount of support would matter.

Jiang Tingzhou certainly had some capability—being able to turn things around in such a short time. The soup he made was excellent, not just hype. But even so, too many uncertainties remained for Wen Qi.

He could tell at a glance that the current state of the sugar factory likely wouldn’t incur losses. The flavors were good, and there seemed to be a stable customer base. Jiang Tingzhou was already a well-known food blogger online. If they opened a few more stores around Chuangyuan, turning a profit long-term wouldn’t be hard—but that still fell short of Wen Qi’s standards.

Wen Qi took another slow sip of soup. The morels had soaked up the broth, and the bite burst with umami in his mouth.

Jiang Tingzhou’s cooking skills impressed him. He spoke with more patience than usual: “Everyone knows physical businesses are sunset industries these days. If you focused on online sales, I might really consider joining.”

He believed Jiang Tingzhou had the potential to become a top figure in the food field. If he used his personal IP to promote the entire sugar factory, it could be very profitable.

Wen Qi had already grasped that online sales were a major trend.

But the project info Jiang Tingzhou gave him showed physical sales still accounted for a large proportion. Even if he was now an online blogger, online sales were only one method; his focus remained on physical stores. He hadn’t fully stepped into the frontline yet, and that day’s interviews were all done by Li Shuyan.

Jiang Tingzhou’s idea source was simple. He smiled: “There’s no way around it. For a chef, most food tastes best when freshly baked.”

Wen Qi, drinking the stew, said: “…Okay.”

He really couldn’t refute that.

“Mr. Wen, there’s indeed a lot of money on the Internet. The sugar factory won’t give up those sales channels, but the traffic is fleeting and too changeable. For long-term success, you need a solid foundation,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “The physical industry may be a sunset industry, but if you make a brand that takes root in people’s hearts, it will never become outdated.”

The sugar factory couldn’t be a gust of wind; it had to be a deeply rooted tree.

“Do you really want to build a brand?” Wen Qi was stunned, then became serious: “This path is much harder than making quick money.”

“Yes, I want to build a brand,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “This should be something Mr. Wen has never done before, right?”

Wen Qi was speechless.

Indeed, he had made a lot of quick money before. His experience and team were sharpened in that environment. For him, now was the time to do something different.

If anything, the sugar factory did seem to have that potential.

There was Jiang Tingzhou. There was history and tradition. Enough time had passed. And it already had a reputation for good quality at fair prices.

Looking at the project materials Jiang Tingzhou gave him, the more he read, the more he felt that the phrase “building a brand” still seemed like empty words.

The physical food industry was fading, saturated with copycats fighting over prices. Without recognition or a brand identity, there was no future.

Wen Qi knew that once customers truly recognized a brand, the situation would change.

No wonder Jiang Tingzhou listed the materials so clearly.

Wen Qi had done many “projects” before, but he had never done a “brand.”

He carefully read the materials Jiang Tingzhou gave him, and the more he read, the more he felt it was just as he thought from the start.

“Do you plan to give employees stock ownership in the future?” Wen Qi turned a page and saw the back. “What’s the idea?”

Usually, some high-tech companies offered employee stock ownership, and only key technical experts received equity or options. But Jiang Tingzhou wanted to give shares not only to those key experts but also to some workers who had been on the sugar factory’s assembly line for a long time. He wrote about this in detail.

“Not in the future. Right away,” Jiang replied. “Those old masters making our small breads and sandwiches—once they finalize their recipes in the factory’s food lab, they’re training apprentices. Once those apprentices are trained, the production line can operate on its own, and the masters can start getting profit shares from that line.”

And not just the old masters—newcomers would also have opportunities.

It took time to build a big store on the commercial street, but opening a small store near the factory was very fast. As long as they worked on the assembly line, those top apprentices could quickly start working and serve customers at the window.

Some were good at mixing fillings, some at baking bread, and some had ideas about taste. Everyone had their role in different positions. If they did well, besides their salary, they had the opportunity to get dividends from shares.

“I told them not to work so much overtime, but the veteran workers couldn’t bear to give up the pay. They thought the more they did, the more they earned. But I believe they’re worth more than that,” Jiang said. “Craftsmen of their caliber deserve to share in the profits. Apprentices who excel and contribute should too. I’ve never wanted to see these creative masters worn down by endless labor. Everyone should earn well. That’s how it should be. The sugar factory doesn’t belong to me alone—it belongs to all of us. If they get dividends, their income becomes stable. If they burn out from overwork, no one can hold on.”

It wasn’t wrong to fight for your career, but after working hard for a period, you should also take a break and live your own life. They shouldn’t have to worry about losing their jobs or livelihood. That was the level of protection the sugar factory needed to offer.

Jiang Tingzhou himself suffered such a loss. He wouldn’t repeat the same mistake and didn’t want others to either.

Lu Baiyu listened from the side, his eyes a little dazed.

He heard Jiang Tingzhou say to Wen Qi, “Mr. Wen, you work too much overtime and too hard. The healthy soup is to make up for it. We are not that busy here.”

He recognized Wen Qi at first sight—he was also a complete workaholic, still young, about 30 years old.

Wen Qi was stunned but smiled. “Boss Jiang is quite humane.”

Many companies had employee stock ownership for various reasons: work incentives and employee loyalty. But Jiang Tingzhou’s starting point seemed the same; that concept would work for a long time and matched his idea of creating a recognizable brand.

But what surprised Wen Qi most was how Jiang Tingzhou, despite his idealism, stayed clear-headed about practicalities.

He wanted an inclusive environment at the sugar factory, but he knew he couldn’t sustain that on goodwill alone. If stock ownership became a flat handout, it would be chaos. More people meant more opinions, and at the foundation of it all—there had to be profits.

Without money, all the idealism meant nothing.

Jiang understood this. A proper system, smooth operations, and most importantly—staying profitable—was the best way to protect every employee.

That’s why he needed Wen Qi’s professional team. Not just to handle increasing workloads, but to help the sugar factory compete as it scaled up. He needed people like Wen Qi to weather the storms of the commercial world.

Only the right combinations of people could make something great and push the brand forward.

Just like a sandwich—plain white toast might seem unimpressive on its own, but when paired properly with other ingredients, it became delicious. And the ratio, the balance, required the chef’s precision.

By then, Wen Qi was truly interested.

Not just in the project—but in Jiang Tingzhou as a person. His eyes lit up with curiosity. He was starting to understand why Li Shuyan, the Li family, even someone like Lu Baiyu, were so focused on this man.

Jiang Tingzhou was “just” a chef. His résumé didn’t show major investments or management experience. But Wen Qi felt—they were the same kind of person.

Wen Qi didn’t give a yes right away. He wouldn’t make decisions based on a few words or pages of a proposal. He remained sharp in tone as he said, “It all sounds great. Inspiring, even. But Boss Jiang, I’m still a businessman. I need to see real, immediate value. Everything you’re talking about is long-term. Right now, it’s just the first step. Asking me to get involved now feels like chasing a fantasy. Can your ideals turn into real money right now?”

Jiang Tingzhou replied, “Yes.”

He glanced at his mobile phone and handed it to Wen Qi.

Wen Qi thought he was being shown Jiang’s social media—he was already aware of Jiang’s platform presence. Posting a few videos to promote new items could earn some cash, but it was still small-time.

But when he took the phone, what he saw wasn’t Jiang’s homepage—but—

Wen Qi froze. “A Bite of China?”

He saw Cheng Shifei’s face and recognized him immediately.

The others were also a little stunned.

Li Xu and Li Shuyan leaned over to look.

Lu Baiyu didn’t move but kept watching Jiang Tingzhou. When he heard the word “A Bite of China,” he guessed something.

Cheng Shifei had left there a while ago but didn’t go far. He was now on Morning Market Street, carrying a camera with a team.

In the bustling crowd of Morning Market Street, the camera team squeezed in temporarily, like they had in the clean, tidy places before.

But as steam rose and crowds gathered, this was the daily life of ordinary people—the atmosphere of the first season.

“There’s a sugar factory pastry shop on Morning Market Street that’s delicious,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “Today, my senior brother told me he hadn’t found suitable filming materials in Yongqing. Actually, I also talked about what Yongqing’s style is before, but today I thought about it and recommended this shop to him.”

“This shop has been open for many years, but it’s too big. Uncle Deng and Aunt Deng have wanted to move to a new shop for a long time. They don’t want to go far and haven’t found a suitable place. I suggested they cooperate with me some time ago and move to the commercial street of the sugar factory.”