The Game of Life

Journalists at a table began to notice the commotion nearby and started to discuss it.

“What’s happening over there?”

“It seems Mr. Xu Cheng is ordering food.”

“Ordering food? The dishes aren’t to Mr. Xu Cheng’s liking? This is big news, write it down! Who will go over there to take a look and ask around?” One journalist, who loved to fan the flames, saw the opportunity to stoke the fire and couldn’t resist the urge.

A colleague from the same magazine tugged at his clothes and gave him a hint with a meaningful glance.

We were paid by this place, and the price was quite high!

The journalist immediately caught on and changed the subject, “I just saw that this restaurant uses tablets for ordering, which is quite interesting. Old Wang, let’s ask a server for a tablet to check out the menu.

Wang, his colleague, thought it was a good idea and went to ask a server for a tablet.

Eventually, Ji Yue came over with a stack of tablets, followed by two young, beautiful, professional waitresses who came over to explain. Two minutes later, the customers in area C, like all the other guests, were engrossed in their tablets and couldn’t put them down.

How should I put it, this ordering system is actually quite fun.

Initially, Xu Cheng just wanted to order a bowl of porridge for Xia Mushi, remembering that Jiang Feng’s mixed grains porridge was exceptionally good. But once he got the tablet, it was like a woman opening Taobao; he couldn’t stop scrolling down.

The more he looked, the more intrigued he became. The Jiang family really had something going; three of the final four chefs in the Good Taste culinary competition were now employees at Taifeng Building, and even Ji Xue and Sun Jikai were there. It turned out that his and Han Guishan’s cooking competition had inadvertently become a recruitment drive for Chefs at Taifeng.

There were many dishes he wanted to try, in particular, Jiang Weiming’s chicken broth tofu, but today was not the day. He had already planned to stay in Beiping for a while longer; there would be plenty of time to slowly enjoy the cooking of the two chefs from the Jiang Family at Taifeng, especially those dishes he had never had at Healthy Stir-fry Restaurant.

“Jiang Feng’s restaurant is really impressive now; guess who they’ve recruited as chefs?” Pei Shenghua said to Tong Deyan with a grin.

Tong Deyan focused on his meal and ignored him.

“Wu Minqi?” Zhu Chang asked.

“Not just her. There’s more, someone we all know.” Pei Shenghua smiled mysteriously.

“Someone we all know? I heard Yao Xingsheng from Ruyi House is emigrating to be with his son; they didn’t recruit him, did they?” Zhu Chang’s imagination ran wild.

“Where did you get that from? Yao Xingsheng was still posting in his Moments about cooking lunch for his son yesterday. We know Yao Xingsheng but Zang Mu doesn’t; guess again!” Pei Shenghua looked smug, as if he were in on some secret.

“The dishes are here, Sweet and Sour Yam,” Tong Deyan said.

Pei Shenghua immediately stopped playing the guessing game and passed the tablet to Zhu Chang instead, whipped out his phone, and didn’t forget to warn Tong Deyan, “Let me take a picture first.”

Zhu Chang looked at the tablet and was surprised, “Wow, so it’s Jiang Feng who persuaded Master Sun to retire, and his grandson is here too. Good thing Master Sun didn’t come today or he’d really be hopping mad.” “Hmm?” Tong Deyan’s interest was piqued, and he leaned over for a look, “Zhang Guanghang is here too, no wonder Old Sir Xia came today.

“Who’s Zhang Guanghang? Is he related to Old Sir Xia?” another chef at the table asked curiously.

“Abel Durand, the genius chef from France, don’t you know? He’s Sir Xia’s apprentice. Remember the food competition I judged a while ago, the one Tong Deyan, Zhu Chang, and Zang Mu also judged, and that was broadcast on TV? My appearance was so dashing, it’s outrageous that you didn’t watch it. That online show had hundreds of millions of views, and my Weibo followers are now in the hundreds of thousands. Zhang Guanghang was the third-place winner in that competition,” Pei Shenghua, after taking the photo, unleashed his gift of the gab.

“He’s actually Old Sir Xia’s apprentice! Hasn’t he won many international awards? I remember seeing a report on him recently. He only placed third? Then who’s the first?” The chef sitting at the same table was a friend of Pei Shenghua and was skilled at quickly extracting key information from his barrage of nonsense.

“You haven’t told us why you didn’t watch that show. Why didn’t you even watch the variety shows? Didn’t I post about it on my social circle? Didn’t you see my post?” Pei Shenghua continued his gift of the gab.

“This Sweet and Sour Yam must have been made by Jiang Feng, the runner-up in our contest. It’s quite good. You should try it while it’s hot,” Zhu Chang suggested, effectively tuning out Pei Shenghua.

The chef at the same table picked up a piece of the Sweet and Sour Yam with his chopsticks and took a small bite; the yam inside was still steaming.

Just one bite was enough to amaze.

“Not bad, this Sweet and Sour Yam is really good. Who is this Jiang Feng, though? How come I never heard of him before?” the chef’s eyes lit up, and he too tuned out Pei Shenghua.

“He’s the young owner of this restaurant. I hadn’t heard of him before either. All I knew was that their family used to run a restaurant near UAL University, which was quite famous. We were also taken aback when we suddenly heard that the Taifeng Building was opened by their family,” Pei Shenghua attempted to rejoin the conversation.

“Eat up, the Sweet and Sour Yam will be cold soon.” Tong Deyan really couldn’t understand how Pei Shenghua had spent most of his life talking nonsense and where he found the time to perfect his culinary skills.

Spoken from experience?

At the journalists’ table, the photographers were looking for the best angles to make the Sweet and Sour Yam look even more delicious, and no one was reaching for their chopsticks. In this profession, that’s just how it goes- the food that makes it to your mouth is always cold, except for those food magazine journalists who occasionally get to eat hot food during interviews. Most of the time, they’re just photographing hot food.

“Tang, take a close-up of the sugar strings,” Reporter Hu instructed as he picked up a piece of the Sweet and Sour Yam with his chopsticks.

The sugar threads were delicate, transparent, and clearly defined.

After Tang finished taking the picture, Reporter Hu forgot to dip them in water, pulling out an excessively long sugar string. He flustered for a moment and, with a reminder from the reporter next to him, managed to dip it in water to break off the strings.

“Reporter Hu, have you never eaten Sweet and Sour Yam before?” The reporter next to him worked for a food magazine. Although it wasn’t as well-known as Taste, it also had a bit of a status within the food circle.

“I’m from Chun City. Ever since I came to Beiping for work, I’ve been so busy with overtime that I’ve had no time to eat out. We don’t have this kind of dish back home,” Reporter Hu explained, preparing to try the Sweet and Sour Yam. “You’ve got to be careful with this. The sugar coating might be cool on the outside, but the yam inside can still be scalding. Be careful not to burn your mouth,” the reporter kindly advised. “Chun City is a nice place – the environment is good, and there isn’t much work pressure. Life is laid-back there.”

Reporter Hu smiled faintly, thinking that of course life was laid-back without money. If it weren’t for the financial need to provide a better life for his family, who would leave the comfort of home and travel a thousand miles to drift about uncertainly in Beiping?

He took a bite.

Sweet, crispy, soft, and an indescribable taste-not the sweetness of food nor the sweetness of syrup, but rather like the honey smeared on the lips during a romance, sweet in the depths of one’s heart, full of excitement, joy, sincerity, and happiness.

Reporter Hu thought of the girl from high school, the one who had always sat behind him with heavy bangs covering half her face as she looked down, silent and seemingly insignificant. After the final exam, she had handed him a note as they reviewed their answers: “Wishing to be like the stars to your moon, shining brightly each night in unison.”

Alas, the final outcome was: This sentiment could have been a fond memory, but at the time it just felt lost.

He was in Beiping, drifting aimlessly like duckweed, while she was in Chun City, in the prime of her life.

“Reporter Hu, how is it?” the food magazine reporter asked with a smile. “It’s delicious, the best dessert I’ve ever had,” Reporter Hu replied with a smile.