The Game of Life

At 8 o’clock, the competition started on time.

The sweet voice of the female host had already been automatically blocked out by the contestants; each one sprang into action, racing against time, and the atmosphere turned tense in an instant.

Jiang Feng untied the little hen from the farm on his cooking station. The hen was quite bewildered, and before it could stretch its wings to limber up, he grabbed it, his hand rose, and the knife fell, killing it with one swift cut.

This fine hen, which had only been in the world for two months, left behind only an ambiguous “cluck” as it met its end.

Jiang Feng expertly bled and plucked the hen, then deboned it with practiced skill and quick movements. In no time, he had the chicken neatly prepared. Nowadays he could debone an entire chicken in less than seven minutes without any special practice—a very impressive feat indeed.

To facilitate the audience’s viewing, the huge screen behind the stage was divided into 16 equal squares to broadcast the progress of the 16 contestants. The five judges also watched the contestants’ fine manipulations through the large screen at the back.

“Isn’t that contestant number 13 the one who got knocked out last round?” Tong Deyan leaned over and asked Pei Shenghua sitting next to him, “His chicken deboning skills are pretty good.”

“Yes, he probably has the best knife skills among these contestants,” Pei Shenghua agreed with a nod.

“He has the best knife skills? But you only gave him 8 points last round,” Han Guishan exclaimed in shock. After the last competition, he had gone home and doubted himself for a long time, feeling that all the delicacies he had eaten over the years had been in vain. Now Pei Shenghua was saying that Jiang Feng had the best knife skills.

“Mr. Han, knife skills and taste don’t equate,” Pei Shenghua said, still very patient when facing the sponsor. “Although his knifework is outstanding, it’s obvious he doesn’t knowhow to ‘slice fish alive’.”

“Actually, it’s the competition format that’s not good enough. The bespectacled contestant who got eliminated last round actually had decent knife skills too, it’s just that the finished product, well…” Zhu Chang joined the conversation, “If we’re just testing knife skills, I think it would be better to have a direct competition with ‘Wensi Tofu.’

‘”WensiTofu¹ won’t do, that Gu Li is a White Chef. Isn’t it like bullying to compete with him?”

“That’s why I’m saying, Red Chefs and White Chefs should compete separately.”

“Right, Red Chefs…”

The conversation among the judges began to veer off its original course, while Jiang Feng’s Eight-Treasure Chicken was officially on track. The stuffing, which he had practiced mixing a hundred times, consisted of chestnuts, winter bamboo shoots, ham, shiitake mushrooms, lilies, and other ingredients, which Jiang Feng cut into chunks, strips, and shreds, before mixing them with seasoning.

Chicken bones and giblets were put in the pot to make broth, the vegetarian stuffing was filled into the chicken cavity, secured with a knot, and then placed into the steamer to steam.

Now, all that was left was the waiting.

Jiang Feng began carving radish flowers.

As an excellent plating artist, how could he call it plating without some beautiful garnishes?

The atmosphere gradually became more relaxed.

“Feng’s performance is good today; his speed at deboning the chicken is very fast,” Jiang Weiming commented with a smile.

“He’s still got the mood to carve radish flowers, always into these flashy tricks,” Jiang Weiguo said.

“The Kung Pao chicken in the bottom right corner isn’t quite right with the fire control; even the flipping of the wok is off,” Jiang Jiankang, a top-level Kung Pao chicken chef, couldn’t stand seeing such mediocrity.

“The second row’s Kung Pao chicken isn’t good either; it’s okay that he wanted to add cucumber cubes, but he added too many,” Jiang Jianguo also felt it wasn’t up to par.

The young man sitting in front of Jiang Jiankang felt he had reached the limit of his patience. He really wanted to turn around and rebuke the row of nitpickers behind him. If you’re so good, why don’t you come up here and cook? Sitting in the audience and babbling, do you think you’re so great?

He moved, turning his head in anger.

And he saw the row of imposing big guys behind him.

“What’s up, young man?” Jiang Jiankang saw the man in front of him turn around to look at him and asked.

“No, nothing, my neck just felt a bit stiff, needed to stretch it,” the young man replied, his face adorned with an awkward, forced smile as he mechanically turned back, sweating profusely in just a few seconds.

Quiet as a chicken.

Jiang Feng continued to leisurely carve radish flowers on stage.

Not only radish flowers, but he also carved radish chickens, radish rabbits, Peppa Pig, chick emoticons—there was a wide variety of styles, and he found himself recalling the days when he sold radish carvings at the Healthy Stir-fry Restaurant.

Business wasn’t booming now, and the impulsive girls had regained their senses, so radish carvings didn’t sell anymore.

It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to carve so many things at once.

Wu Minqi’s Kung Pao chicken was the first to come out of the wok.

“Number 6’s Kung Pao chicken is ready,” Pei Shenghua announced.

“There are many contestants making Kung Pao chicken this round; is it a very simple dish?” Han Guishan wondered, “There are full seven of them!”

“It’s a dish for chef certification exams, quick but challenging; going for Kung Pao chicken is naturally playing it safe,” Pei Shenghua explained.

Han Guishan: …

Oh.

Wu Minqi, without the same passion for plating as Jiang Feng, simply arranged her Kung Pao chicken on the plate and then raised her hand to signal to the staff that she was finished.

Wu Minqi’s Kung Pao chicken was very traditional, with only chicken and peanuts as the main ingredients, heavily seasoned, with dry chili peppers visible on the surface and Sichuan peppercorns hidden in the crevices, the sauce looking like bright red chili oil.

As soon it reached the judges’ table, Han Guishan exclaimed, “Wow, authentic.”

“Has Mr. Han ever been to Shu?” Zhu Chang asked.

“Back in my youth, I was a peddler around Shu,” Han Guishan started first, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen gong bao chicken like this. Here in Alan City, it’s mostly sweet and sour, completely lacking that initial numbing, followed by spicy and then sweet sensation.”

Gong bao chicken connoisseur Han Guishan declared this dish perfect.

The other four judges tried a peanut and a piece of chicken and then put down their chopsticks to score the dish. It was clear they were there to judge.

After Han Guishan finished scoring, seeing that the others had stopped eating, he directly moved the plate in front of himself and continued to eat.

Obviously, he was there to eat.

But he wasn’t worried, since he was the sponsor, even if the cameras caught him, the director wouldn’t dare to cut to his shot.

The scores were quickly announced – 8.6 points, a rather impressive score, and Han Guishan, as always, gave a perfect 10.

The square belonging to Wu Minqi now showed her score, and the female host timely reported Wu Minqi’s points.

“The first contestant to finish, contestant number 6, Wu Minqi, has received a score of 8.6 points, congratulations to you.”

Soon, the other contestants who also made gong bao chicken had their dishes ready one after another.

After Han Guishan tasted them, he said this one was no good, that one no good, this other one still no good, and another yet no good. But because he feared that arbitrary scoring would affect the fairness of the competition, he reluctantly continued to give 10s.

Feeling that none were satisfactory, Han Guishan continued to eat the gong bao chicken Wu Minqi had stir-fried.

“Mr. Han, there’s still half of the contestants’ dishes that haven’t come out yet, save some room in your stomach,” Zhu Chang reminded him with friendly advice, seeing Han Guishan eating with great enjoyment.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I can eat a lot. This big meatbail, my wife would be full after just one, but I can eat three!” Han Guishan raised his fist to indicate the meatballs were as big as his fist.

The other four judges, unable to comprehend how filling Jiang Feng’s buff- added meatballs were, could only offer a sycophantic laugh to the sponsor and said in unison, “Mrs. Han really eats very little.”

Han Guishan could obviously hear what they meant but could only prove it to them with actions: “Those meatballs do fill you up, but never mind, you’ll know in a moment.”

As they talked, several more contestants finished their dishes.

Simple stir-frying, starting from careful preparation, could be smoothly served within 20 to 30 minutes.

Including Jiang Feng, there were still six contestants who hadn’t finished on the stage.

Jiang Feng was still engrossed in carving radishes, an odd sight to behold.

Gu Li was stirring the chicken soup in the pot, gauging the time.

Ji Xue was intently watching the clay pot in front of her.

Sun Jikai had just finished soaking the chicken and was now slicing the soaked Wenchang chicken on the chopping board.

Zhang Guanghang was using chopsticks to pick out all the pieces of chicken from the pot that had been stewing bacon, onions, potatoes, mushrooms, and chicken.

“What is that young lady making?” Zhu Chang couldn’t quite see through the dish Ji Yue was creating. “I saw her seem to smear something on the chicken before.”

“Can’t tell,” Pei Shenghua was also at a loss.

Tong Deyan, observing Ji Yue’s movements and based on the ingredients on her cooking station, guessed, “If I’m not mistaken, it should be clay pot flower carving chicken.”

“Clay pot flower carving chicken?!” Zhu Chang, Pei Shenghua, and even the always silent Zang Mu exclaimed in unison, their faces nearly spilling over with surprise.

“Didn’t that dish get lost after Sir Tan passed away?” Zhu Chang watched Ji Yue, “Goodness, if that’s really clay pot flower carving chicken, those who make Cantonese cuisine are going to go crazy.”

“I had the dish once seven years ago, but whether the method was authentic or not, I don’t know, and I barely remember the taste. Grandpa Sun is right there in the audience, we can ask him later,” Tong Deyan said, swiftly changing the subject. “Zhang Guanghang’s red wine braised chicken is about ready.”

“I was also fortunate to have it twice. Yes, Zhang Guanghang’s is nearly done, and Gu Li’s dish must be chicken noodle soup, there will be some waiting,” Zang Mu, who had been paying close attention to Gu Li, said.

“A good dish is worth the wait, only afraid the wait is for nothing,” Pei Shenghua wasn’t optimistic about Gu Li, “Although he is a disciple of Master Fu, his talent really is a bit… never mind, let’s not talk about it. But the number 13 contestant should be making eight treasure chicken, that too will take a while.”

“I heard about him too, his talent really isn’t that great,” Zhu Chang remarked.

“Diligence can compensate for lack of skill,” Tong Deyan said.

“The ingredients for number 13’s eight treasure chicken are interesting, with chestnuts as the main stuffing,” Pei Shenghua chuckled, “He has also been carving radishes for about 20 minutes now.”

“His chicken should taste fine; it’s Grandpa Sun’s grandson who might have a problem. He didn’t slice the chicken well earlier, and now that it’s steaming, I bet it won’t retain its original shape when served,” Zhu Chang said.

“Then his Cantonese-style Wenchang chicken is ruined,” Tong Deyan commented without mincing words.

Han Guishan, who had finished off Wu Minqi’s plate of gong bao chicken without any rice, listened blankly to the four professional judges chatting. What’s this clay pot flower carving chicken? Who’s Sir Tan? What’s this Gu Li? What do they mean when they say his talent isn’t great? What’s about getting it back into shape?

He understood every word they said, but why couldn’t he understand when they were all strung together?

He, who was usually so talkative, found himself unable to join their conversation at this moment.

Han Guishan suddenly felt like Jiang Feng had before.

You are all isolating me!