The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 91

Lu Baiyu felt his heart sink when he heard those words.

He had thought things were going well—especially recently. Jiang Tingzhou had accepted the lilies he sent last time, and the soup he brought today.

Lu Baiyu knew feelings couldn’t be rushed, but he thought that if he kept going—like boiling a frog in warm water—something might slowly change.

He thought what he was seeing was that change. Even the smallest shift would have been enough.

But it wasn’t. Jiang Tingzhou had always been clear.

No matter what Lu Baiyu did, it was just a transaction to him. His discussion with Qin Rushuang hadn’t been a sudden decision—it had been planned long ago. So, Jiang Tingzhou accepting those gestures wasn’t a softening of attitude; it was simply because he believed he could repay what he owed, with no vague entanglements left between them.

Lu Baiyu knew he shouldn’t say anything right then. If he just left it alone, maybe he could preserve the status quo. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Tingzhou, have you always thought this way?”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Jiang Tingzhou replied. “I just believe that making things clear between the Lu Group and the sugar factory is best for both sides.”

He didn’t even mention “us”—just Lu Group and the sugar factory.

Up until now, their cooperation hadn’t gone deep. Only a small portion of raw materials was involved. Now there was the cooking competition, but it still wasn’t at the level of an inseparable partnership. Compared to his other business partners, there wasn’t much difference. No matter how outsiders viewed them, officially, they were just business partners—no more, no less.

“Tingzhou,” Lu Baiyu’s voice trembled, even as he tried to stay calm, “I’m not doing this to get anything in return. I just want things to go well for you… and for you to be happy.”

Jiang Tingzhou paused, spoon still in hand. “Young Master Lu, whether or not I’m happy doesn’t matter here.”

He used to blur the line between life and business. Now, he could distinguish them very clearly. Business was business.

He looked down at the bowl of loofah and white clam soup in front of him and thought of the steamed lilies from before. Lu Baiyu had brought them specially. He must have remembered many things from his past life—otherwise, he wouldn’t have known Jiang liked them. But even so, he hadn’t remembered enough.

“Young Master Lu,” Jiang Tingzhou said slowly, “I don’t deny that your help has made things go smoothly. But the most important reason is that everyone here is acting out of shared interests. That’s the biggest safeguard.”

Zhou Bing might be a fan, but he wasn’t the one making decisions in his company. Bingcheng Chao and Haoshi only stood with him because they saw the value in sponsoring the competition.

Zeng Rong seemed to listen to his niece, Ye Shunxin, but she wasn’t the real reason behind his support either. Zeng Rong believed Jiang Tingzhou could manage the competition well—and as the organizer, Zeng Rong would benefit from his success. At his age, there were few ways left to gain influence in the industry, and this was one of them.

As for the TV station and short video platforms—their motivation was obvious.

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t even need to explain all this. Lu Baiyu already understood.

“I know,” Lu Baiyu said. “But unlike them, I’m doing this purely for you.”

“I know,” Jiang Tingzhou replied. “The sugar factory… or something as small as the competition—if it can make Young Master Lu personally intervene, then clearly your motivation is different from the others. But those motives are unstable. No one knows when they might change.”

Who could really control the human heart?

Jiang Tingzhou knew he couldn’t—not with Lu Baiyu. He couldn’t risk placing all his hopes on him.

But now that he had secured a deal with Qin Rushuang, Jiang Tingzhou finally felt more at ease.

He was certain now that Lu Group, too, was part of the community of shared interests. They were truly in the same boat. Even without Lu Baiyu, Qin Rushuang would ensure the smooth running of the chef competition.

As the head of the sugar factory, Jiang Tingzhou couldn’t feel secure until he confirmed that.

But Lu Baiyu’s heart was in turmoil. “Tingzhou… do you really think I’ll change? That I’d go back on my word over something like this?”

“Won’t you?” Jiang Tingzhou asked. “Who knows.”

He looked up at Lu Baiyu briefly, then lowered his head and began cleaning up the dishes in front of him.

The soup was good. Jiang Tingzhou had drunk half of it. But it had cooled quickly, and cold clam soup smelled too fishy, so he didn’t finish it.

He heard Lu Baiyu say firmly, “I won’t.”

“Don’t say that too early,” Jiang Tingzhou replied. “No matter the relationship, there will always come a time when opinions differ.”

He couldn’t leave decision-making in someone else’s hands.

He had finished eating and packed everything up. He planned to go home and take a nap before tackling more work in the afternoon. Everything that needed saying had been said.

As he was about to leave with the lunchbox, Lu Baiyu suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Tingzhou,” Lu Baiyu said, “I’m really not like what you think.”

“Young Master Lu, you don’t need to say that to me.”

It didn’t matter to him anymore.

This time, unlike before, Jiang Tingzhou easily broke free. But just as he did, Lu Baiyu stood up and pulled him into a back hug.

Jiang Tingzhou couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the uneven breathing.

Then came a choked voice. “Tingzhou… I’m sorry. Can you try trusting me, just a little? I’ll do anything.”

“I only trust myself, Young Master Lu,” Jiang Tingzhou said calmly. “And in business, the only thing that matters is who has the final say. There’s no need to apologize.”

The hug didn’t last long. A few words passed, and Lu Baiyu let go.

Jiang Tingzhou didn’t look back. But after opening the door, he stood still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then, without turning around, he walked out—past the bustling commercial street and back home.

He didn’t have the habit of napping before, but he has developed it now. Lying on the bed, he quickly drifted off, as if he’d instantly forgotten what had just happened.

During that short nap, he had a chaotic dream. Lu Baiyu was in it—but he barely remembered it after waking.

He sat on the sofa for a while and slowly made himself a cup of tea.

The tea was steaming hot. He left it untouched and muttered to himself, “…You were the one who taught me that.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Jiang Tingzhou could recognize it now—three polite, rhythmic knocks. It was someone from Lu Baiyu’s side.

But it wasn’t food this time.

He’d had only a bowl of rice at lunch, but it was enough. He didn’t want anything else.

The person at the door handed over a document envelope—thick with papers inside.

“What is this?” Jiang Tingzhou asked.

“Mr. Lu asked me to deliver contestant information for this competition,” the person replied.

“I already have that,” Jiang said. “The organizer gave me a copy.”

“That’s only basic information. Lu Group’s version is more comprehensive. We have a department that specializes in background checks. Mr. Lu personally reviewed this. He hopes it will help you.”

Lu Baiyu understood why Jiang Tingzhou cared so much about this competition. On one hand, it was to promote the sugar factory. On the other, he wanted to find chefs to partner with for the upcoming second phase of the commercial street project—his vision of a food district.

The first round of the competition had already taken place. There were far more contestants than expected, many from out of town. The organizer only had registration forms—no detailed background. But Lu Group had always been good at gathering information.

The document was thick. Some names were highlighted with sticky notes—handwritten, clearly by Lu Baiyu.

Some contestants had great resumes but poor industry reputations. Others came from humble backgrounds but were famous in their hometowns. Gathering this kind of info wasn’t something done on a whim—it had taken time and effort.

The competition would last only a month. Contestants were limited in what dishes they could make, so having this information was crucial.

Jiang Tingzhou accepted the packet. It felt heavy in his hands.

He fell silent for a moment, then simply said, “I understand.”

The entry threshold for the chef competition was high. There was no preliminary round—everyone who came had experience. This year’s contestant count had exceeded 200, doubling previous years. The scale was unprecedented.

Jiang Tingzhou had been busy these past few days, constantly traveling between the organizers, the TV station, and the competition venue. He even worked with the director to revise shooting scripts and pacing. He saw firsthand how many banners and props at the competition were printed with the Yongqing Sugar Factory logo.

Aside from the main sponsor’s water brand, the sugar factory’s name was the most visible—on seasoning bottles, contestant aprons, and even in the host’s scripts.

He saw Lu Baiyu at the venue a few times, but they didn’t talk—there was too much going on.

Jiang Tingzhou personally managed many parts of the competition, even altering some of the original rules.

He explained the changes clearly.

“The segments remain the same, but we’re changing the themes,” Jiang Tingzhou said. “The warm-up round worked not just because the dish—braised pork—tasted good, but also because it’s a shared memory for many people. It’s relatable. As we said before, to attract genuine attention, the competition must stay grounded.”

And at that moment, he had the final say.

The contestants all knew the format was fixed—it hadn’t changed in years. Including this year, there were four rounds: knife skills, heat control, seasoning pairing, and the final round.

The first three were elimination rounds. The top ten would enter the final.

The first round was knife skills.

Over 200 contestants gathered in a massive hall. Lights blazed overhead.

The bell rang. Everyone readied themselves.

They had all practiced hard—whether it was carved radish flowers, sea cucumber spirals, or chrysanthemum tofu. The industry knew those were true tests of knife work.

Though the exact prompt was a secret, there were only so many possibilities.

Cameras rolled as they waited.

Then the big screen lit up.

The prompt: Cut potatoes.

…What?

Cutting potatoes?

What could possibly be difficult about that?