Chapter 6: Is Everyone Fond of the Troublemaker?

Yijia Pavilion is a one-star Michelin restaurant in their city. Bai Renzong had been introduced to it on a blind date and found himself fond of the place ever since. The average cost per person is over four hundred yuan, which, for a second-tier city like Beichang, marks it as an establishment of some distinction. The reviews had been quite favorable at first, yet recently, its reputation has been steadily declining.

Bai Renzong, a regular patron, was well aware of the reasons behind this shift. He decided to seize the opportunity to “criticize” the restaurant, partly to see if the audience truly enjoyed such critical videos, and to determine the future direction for his content.

After returning home, Bai Renzong spent half the day resting and restoring his energy, as well as managing the comment section of his videos.

His follower count was rapidly increasing, now exceeding five thousand. The first video had broken a million views, earning him the coveted “Site-wide Leaderboard Number One” on D Station; the second video, though less well received with just over seven hundred thousand views, was still a solid success.

These two videos had already brought him nearly ten thousand in earnings—more than he ever made at his previous job.

In the afternoon, Bai Renzong prepared for the next day’s food video by purchasing a high-resolution camera. He then headed to Yijia Pavilion to gather footage.

Ordinarily, food videos require the host to appear on camera, but Bai Renzong wasn’t planning to show his face this time. He filmed only the food, offering commentary without any shots of himself eating.

This was mainly because he found it impossible to both film and eat alone; he needed someone opposite him to operate the camera. Until he hired an assistant, he would proceed with this format for his food reviews.

To avoid the lunch rush and ensure smooth filming, he chose to visit at ten in the morning, just as Yijia Pavilion opened. After finishing up around lunchtime, he’d edit the footage in the afternoon and post the video the following day.

Bai Renzong was a familiar face at the restaurant, usually bringing women on blind dates. The prices were acceptable, the ambiance was excellent—perfect for leaving a good impression. Though none of the dates had ever worked out…

“One ribeye set A, any starter and soup, scallop salad, salt-and-pepper cod for the side, and a serving of garlic bread,” Bai Renzong ordered with practiced ease. The server recognized him as a regular and quickly noted his choices.

Once the dishes arrived, Bai Renzong picked up his phone and snapped several photos of the meal.

Soon the food was served; Bai Renzong tasted each dish, then drafted the video script for later narration: “The beef ribs are pan-seared to a tender finish. All the dishes here are original creations by the chef. For example, this deep purple sauce you see—it’s not just a simple black pepper sauce, but a tangy, sweet concoction…”

He sampled the sauce again and wrote: “There’s a bittersweet aftertaste to this sauce, reminiscent of tomato sauce but less intense… It feels like plum.”

He continued tasting and outlining the script: “The flavors here are flawless. The ribeye set costs three hundred sixty-eight, and includes starter, soup, salad, bread, side, and main. It’s reasonably priced—great for impressing your girlfriend—but… there’s always a but!”

The original chef was also the owner, but after the restaurant gained its Michelin star, the owner stepped aside and a new chef took over. The owner’s whereabouts were unknown, and the new chef’s skills were somewhat inferior. Previously, the restaurant regularly introduced new dishes, but since the change, the menu had stagnated.

This was Bai Renzong’s chief complaint.

It seemed the original chef-owner had grown complacent, believing popularity was assured, and handed the restaurant over while pursuing other interests.

Bai Renzong made this the focal point of his critique in the video.

Yet even in criticism, Bai Renzong felt his appraisal was fair. He acknowledged the culinary excellence, but expressed disappointment with the owner’s attitude.

After editing the final video, Bai Renzong reviewed it once more and scheduled it for upload. He retired early that night—filming, eating, and editing all alone was exhausting.

He resolved that once he understood the reasons behind the positive feedback on his reviews, he would hire an assistant. Only with steady praise for his critiques could he guarantee the quality and reception of his videos, and thus afford to pay an assistant. Otherwise, there would be no means to support one.

The next day, Saturday. Perhaps because he didn’t need to film, Bai Renzong slept soundly, waking after ten in the morning. He stretched languidly, grabbed his phone, and checked his notifications.

His eyes immediately caught the “S” rating, and he was instantly alert, moving to his computer to read the comments online.

After a brief analysis of the comment section, Bai Renzong understood why viewers preferred critical videos: authenticity.

The current trend in videos is overwhelmingly sycophantic—whether eating, playing, or watching, all are showered with praise.

Everyone is eager to flatter certain works, and few dare to criticize. After all, every work has its fans. Criticize one, and you’re bound to be attacked by its supporters.

But Bai Renzong’s videos were fair and logical, leaving fans unable to refute his points. Often, they even agreed with the flaws he highlighted, resulting in more likes and contributions.

“I see…” Bai Renzong nodded, “From now on, criticism will be my main direction.”

He scrolled through the notifications and was surprised to find that his latest video had prompted a reaction from the restaurant owner, who rewarded him with five hundred thousand points of popularity!

Seeing this, Bai Renzong felt a bit anxious: would he be banned from the restaurant next time?

“Still, achieving three ‘breakthrough’ moments in three videos is not bad,” Bai Renzong mused, resting his chin in his hand.

These three breakthroughs had earned his videos a total of one and a half million popularity points, and his follower count soared to over twenty thousand in a week—a perfect debut. As the saying goes, a good start is half the battle. With these successes, he was confident he could soon become a professional content creator.

Still… deep down, Bai Renzong felt a little guilty toward those he had “broken through.”

“Sorry, once I’m famous, I’ll definitely support your new works,” Bai Renzong prayed silently. “But what can I do? People just love critics these days.”