Chapter 84: Another Kind of Defense Broken

The next day.

Han Jiayi went to the restaurant, while Bai Renzong began drafting his review of “Heart of the Grasslands.” For this, he needed Yang Hua’s consent.

“There’s no need to ask me about things like that,” Yang Hua responded cheerfully on the other end of the line. “You’re always welcome to visit my restaurant, there’s no need for my approval. It’s my honor that you wish to taste my cuisine.”

“Uh, thanks,” Bai Renzong replied, feeling a little embarrassed by Yang Hua’s graciousness.

But then Yang Hua shifted the conversation, “However, for easier communication, let’s add each other on WeChat.”

Bai Renzong hesitated for a moment, but ultimately accepted Yang Hua’s friend request. He already had a plan for how he would write his review of “Heart of the Grasslands.”

Taking a deep breath, Bai Renzong sat down in front of his computer and began to type.

“The first time I met Yang Hua, the chef of Lanwafang, and tasted his food, I came to the conclusion that ‘this is an arrogant man.’ He reverses the roles of leads and supporting characters in his dishes, allows appetizers to overshadow main courses—his technique seems to mock his guests: ‘You don’t understand my cooking at all, you only know how to mindlessly say it’s delicious.’”

“But after experiencing ‘Heart of the Grasslands,’ I realized his arrogance springs from the fact that he is an artist. Chef Yang Hua’s cuisine is dazzling and delicate, yet never loses its grandeur. Not everyone can understand him. Because this is what art is.”

“He treats cooking as art, pouring his passion, his thoughts, even his very soul into each dish, hoping that someone might understand him through taste alone.”

“‘Heart of the Grasslands’ is such a dessert—one through which you can sense the chef’s soul... I have always thought that the decorative elements in haute cuisine were far too extravagant and unnecessary, yet in this dessert, even the decorations are part of the dish. The crisps are baked so thin they’ve absorbed the fragrance of the edible flowers used as garnishes...”

Words flowed from Bai Renzong like a spring as he wrote his understanding of “Heart of the Grasslands.”

“I look forward to the day when I am fortunate enough to taste the entire course and feel the soul and passion that man has poured into it.” He finished with this line and leaned back in his chair.

The article had come together in one breath, without pause or need for editing. Yet, to be precise, this piece was not just a review of “Heart of the Grasslands,” but more a commentary on Yang Hua himself.

He sent the article to Grape Violet, who would help him check for any typos before publishing it on the public WeChat account.

With that, all his plans were complete. Now, all he had to do was wait.

Bai Renzong stepped out onto the balcony, gazing at the azure sky and letting out a long breath, feeling an extraordinary sense of ease.

“Oh, I’m in such a good mood today... It’s the end of the month again. I think I’ll go eat at Yijia Pavilion,” he said to himself, nodding with satisfaction.

Lanwafang.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Yang Hua stared at the article on his phone, struck speechless for a moment.

Those around him were baffled: The usually stern Chef Yang Hua—what had come over him? Never mind tears of joy; no one in the restaurant had ever seen him truly smile.

Most often, they’d seen Chef Yang Hua scolding his staff, berating them for ruining his dishes.

What could he have seen on his phone?

“Xiao Bai, you really are someone who understands me!” Yang Hua said, trembling as he wiped his eyes. “Ah, I am so happy! How wonderful it is to be a chef!”

Since his official debut at twenty-three, Yang Hua had poured his soul into his cooking. Even then, in his youth and fervor, he longed to hear words from his guests that would truly touch his soul.

But he was disappointed time and again. People only ever said “delicious,” “tasty,” never understanding the heart and effort he invested.

So Yang Hua became more and more extreme, pouring more of himself into his dishes, which only made his cuisine more idiosyncratic—and made him understood by even fewer people.

He became like a lone dancer performing on an empty stage, displaying his purest self all the more madly the fewer the spectators there were.

And just when he thought there would never be an audience, applause came from the darkness.

As a chef—or rather, as an artist—how could he not be moved to tears?

“Ah, I’m so glad I never gave up being a chef!” Yang Hua exclaimed joyfully, his tears still wet on his cheeks. He straightened his chef’s hat with excitement and declared, “I will make this full course as soon as possible, so you can feel the purest part of me! Then you’ll understand me, you’ll see that this is where your talents belong!”

Yijia Pavilion.

“What?” Bai Renzong frowned at Han Jiayi, who was standing beside him.

The girl was hugging her right elbow with her left hand, looking off to the side with a pout, clearly in a sulky mood.

“You praised him so effusively...” Han Jiayi muttered under her breath.

“And yet, in the end, I still came here to eat,” Bai Renzong said, propping his chin up with both hands, dissatisfied.

“That’s just because his food can’t fill you up...” Han Jiayi complained, a little aggrieved.

“No,” Bai Renzong denied flatly. “It’s because I can’t afford to eat there.”

With that, he picked up the menu and consoled her, “Come on, I praised you plenty when I wrote about Cloud Veil, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but...” Han Jiayi protested, but couldn’t quite bring herself to say, “You have to praise me more than him,” because no matter how she said it, it sounded like jealousy.

“I’m giving you a chance to be praised right now, aren’t I? Make the most of it, okay?” Bai Renzong said, handing the menu to Han Jiayi. “I’ll have the green curry chicken set.”

“Hmph...” Han Jiayi shot him a glare, a little angry, then took the menu and headed off.

After ordering, Bai Renzong glanced around the restaurant. Business was indeed much better than before.

As a regular, he knew that on weekdays, the place rarely filled up, given the per-person cost of three to four hundred. But now, even though it was already half past one, the restaurant was still nearly full, and more customers were coming in—clearly drawn by the “Cloud Veil” in the afternoon tea set.

Just then, his phone vibrated. Looking down, he saw a notification from the app where he published his food review for Grape Violet: “The chef has been moved to tears”—earning him a bonus of six hundred thousand popularity points.

Bai Renzong was briefly puzzled: Why had Yang Hua been so affected?

Then he understood: “Moved to tears” didn’t have to mean anger—it could mean being deeply touched as well.

And now, with his reviewer level rising, the reward for moving a chef had increased, too.

“Not bad at all,” Bai Renzong nodded in satisfaction.

Soon, Han Jiayi placed a plate of green curry chicken before him, along with a small platter of side dishes: a morsel of roasted lamb, a slice of sausage, a piece of fried shrimp cake, a serving of vegetables, and for dessert, coconut milk sago cake.

Bai Renzong took a spoonful of curry chicken and tasted it—the flavors of the spices spread through his mouth, intense yet harmonious.

Interestingly, although it was called “green curry,” there was actually no curry in it at all. The flavor came from green pepper, basil, garlic, mint, kaffir lime leaves, all combined and heightened with a splash of coconut milk.

Han Jiayi stood beside him with a bright smile, waiting for his praise.

But Bai Renzong instead asked, “Do you know where you fall short compared to Yang Hua?”

Han Jiayi instantly bristled, stamping her foot. “You just said I’m no worse than him!”

(Thank you to Yuanqi Yuanyuan Yuanziziyuan for the tip, and to Mofeng88, Lan JL, Mingxing22, Niu? Niu, and Shiyu Zhichen for the monthly tickets, and to Greedy Little Mouse and Me on a Rainy Day for the two additional monthly tickets.)