“Thirty kilos of coarse rock salt and two hoses of cold tap water,” Chef Pierre-Wang hummed in a fake Parisian accent, tipping a bucket into an eighty-liter cauldron. “Bon appétit, you provincial peasants.”
The stainless-steel double doors of the Cloud-Crown Grand Kitchen swung open with a sharp clang.
Lin Mo stepped across the threshold first, hands tucked into the pockets of his charcoal windbreaker. Beside him walked Su Wan with her leather ledger open, followed by newly promoted General Manager Xiao Lin and two marina security guards.
Heat and the stench of over-salted poultry fat rolled across the tiled floor. Beneath twelve exhaust hoods, a tall man in a white chef’s jacket with gold stars on the collar was emptying grey rock salt into the bone-broth stockpots. Around the prep islands, twenty-five senior line cooks had untied their aprons, tossing them onto the butcher blocks while smoking cigarettes.
Lin Mo’s [Pure-Heart Eye] flickered with a cool golden sheen.
[Target: Chef Pierre-Wang (Birth Name: Wang Ergou) | Goodness Score: 16/100.]
[Status: Pretentious fake-French chef bribed by Song Zihao — Forged his Lyon diplomas and steals traditional Jiangnan recipes from bullied sous-chefs.]
Pierre-Wang turned around, wiping his manicured hands on a linen towel and tossing his silver-dyed hair back.
“Ah, the new slumlord of Berth Nine has arrived,” Pierre-Wang sneered. “Too late, Chairman Lin. Per Young Master Song Zihao’s retainer, my brigade and I have resigned. Oh, and my hand slipped with the salt bucket. All twelve cauldrons of twenty-four-hour stock are undrinkable.”
He pointed at the wall clock, which read 23:42.
“Provincial Commerce Elder Zheng and his delegation take their seats in eighteen minutes,” Pierre-Wang said with a venomous smile. “Without my brigade, you couldn’t boil instant noodles in time. Enjoy watching your hotel lose its license on your first night as owner!”
Several defecting line cooks snickered, kicking bowls across the floor as they swaggered toward the locker room.
Over by the scullery sinks, standing with a bruised cheekbone, was twenty-nine-year-old sous-chef Lin Dahai. Behind him, huddled near the pastry cellar door, stood fifteen young apprentices in flour-dusted smocks, signing anxiously to one another.
[Target: Lin Dahai | Goodness Score: 90/100.]
[Status: Traditional Jiangnan chef — Bullied for five years by Pierre-Wang, who stole his steamed sea bass recipes. Mentors 15 deaf-mute pastry apprentices (Goodness: 88–92/100).]
Lin Dahai stepped forward, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Chairman Lin. I tried to pull the stockpots off the burners when he brought out the salt. Two cooks held me against the freezer door. Pierre-Wang swore that if I fought back, he would report my fifteen deaf-mute apprentices on fake hygiene violations.”
Behind him, a nineteen-year-old girl with a burn scar on her wrist signed rapidly, pointing toward a stack of bamboo steamers they had shielded in the corner.
Lin Mo looked from the ruined cauldrons to Pierre-Wang’s smug face.
Ruining twenty-four-hour chicken broth for a bribe from a guy who just got evicted from his own lobby, Lin Mo thought deadpan. Wang Ergou from suburban Hefei really thinks sticking ‘Pierre’ in front of his surname makes him immune to unemployment.
“You aren’t resigning, Wang Ergou,” Lin Mo said calmly. “You and your twenty-five vandals are fired for sabotage. Su Wan has already billed your identity card for eighty-six thousand yuan in wasted matsutake mushrooms.”
Pierre-Wang flushed beet red. “Don’t call me Wang Ergou! It is Chef Pierre-Wang! Sue me all you want! Money won’t buy you twenty-four hours of simmered stock in seventeen minutes!”
“Who said the plates would be empty?” Lin Mo asked. He tapped his phone. “Tie Niu. Bring the culinary heavy artillery up through the freight elevator.”
Thirty seconds later, the service lift doors slid open.
Out stepped seventy-two-year-old Grandma Chen in her white Taichu Canteen apron. Beside her skipped six-year-old Little Guo’er, hugging a basket of mountain ginger, dried tangerine peel, and wild astragalus roots. Behind them, Tie Niu and two deckhands from Captain Old Hai’s superyacht fleet rolled in three insulated vats and four aerated tanks teeming with live wild river prawns.
[Target: Grandma Chen | Goodness Score: 98/100.]
[Target: Little Guo’er | Goodness Score: 100/100.]
Grandma Chen dipped a ladle into the nearest cauldron, spat into a waste napkin, and glared at Pierre-Wang.
“Bah! What kind of beast dumps pickled-cabbage salt into old-hen soup?” Grandma Chen scolded, rolling up her sleeves. “And look at this stove—grease in the corners and not a single clay crock! You wouldn’t last half a morning at our Taichu canteen!”
“You senile street-stall hag!” Pierre-Wang sputtered. “Do you know what molecular gastronomy is?!”
“I know people want hot soup that warms their stomach, not soap bubbles on a cold plate!” Grandma Chen shot back, tying her apron strings. “Boss Lin, clear these lazy peacocks out of my way!”
Lin Mo turned to Lin Dahai and the fifteen apprentices. “Lin Dahai, how long do you need to steam forty baskets of jade-skin prawn wontons and twelve platters of Jiangnan scallion-oil sea bass?”
Lin Dahai’s breath caught. “With live prawns and Dr. Gu’s herbal base? Twelve minutes, Chairman Lin! My apprentices fold three hundred wontons a minute together—but Pierre-Wang locked up the copper steamers!”
“He won’t lock up anything ever again,” Lin Mo said, tapping the authorization button on his vault phone.
[System Prompt: Benevolence Expenditure Detected!]
[Recipients: Sous-Chef Lin Dahai (90/100) & 15 Deaf-Mute Pastry Apprentices (88–92/100) | Amount: ¥100,000,000 RMB.]
[Breakdown: Hand-Hammered Copper Steamer Array, Live Wild River Prawns from Captain Old Hai’s Trawlers, Dr. Gu Qinghe’s (96/100) Nourishing Herb Broth Concentrates, and Executive Promotions.]
[100x Refund Triggered! +¥10,000,000,000 RMB (+¥10.00B) deposited into Host’s Personal Liquid Vault!]
[Current Personal Liquid Vault Balance: ¥336,700,000,000 RMB (¥336.70 Billion)!]
Ding-aling!
Sixteen phones buzzed simultaneously in the corner of the kitchen.
Lin Dahai pulled his cracked smartphone from his trousers and stared at the screen. An official Taichu Group appointment letter promoted him to Executive Culinary Director of Taichu Cloud-Crown Headquarters at a three-million-yuan salary, plus a one-million-yuan signing bonus. Around him, all fifteen deaf-mute apprentices stared at their screens. Each had received a six-hundred-thousand-yuan housing and master-apprenticeship grant alongside permanent full-benefit contracts.
The nineteen-year-old girl with the burn scar clapped a hand over her mouth, tears spilling down her flour-dusted cheeks as she signed rapidly: We don’t have to sleep in the basement storage room anymore! We are real chefs!
“Chairman Lin...” Lin Dahai’s voice cracked. He started to drop to one knee before Lin Mo caught his elbow and hauled him upright.
“Save your knees for the wok pedal,” Lin Mo said deadpan. “The stove doesn’t care about bowing. Cook.”
Spending a hundred million to upgrade a kitchen and pay sixteen honest cooks nets me ten billion, Lin Mo thought with quiet satisfaction. Even if Elder Zheng eats twenty bowls, this is still the highest-yield wonton stall on earth.
“Yes, Boss!” Lin Dahai roared, five years of timidity vanishing from his spine.
He spun toward the central island and clapped his hands twice—a sharp vibration that his fifteen deaf-mute apprentices felt through the floor tiles.
Instantly, the kitchen erupted into synchronized Jiangnan craftsmanship.
Tie Niu and the dockworkers dumped the salted slop down the floor drains, blasted the cauldrons clean with high-pressure steam, and poured in three vats of Grandma Chen’s twelve-hour marrow base. Grandma Chen dropped in amber cubes of Dr. Gu Qinghe’s nourishing nine-herb concentrate.
At the long maple pastry table, the fifteen deaf-mute apprentices moved without needing a single spoken word. Five worked bamboo rolling pins in unison, pressing dough into sheets so thin the overhead lights shone through them like pale green jade. Five scooped fresh wild river prawn paste seasoned with ginger juice squeezed by Little Guo’er. The final five folded each wrapper with a flick of their wrists, leaving eighteen pleats that looked like swimming goldfish tails.
Meanwhile, Lin Dahai stood before four roaring wok burners at once. His heavy carbon-steel cleaver flashed like silver lightning. He butterflied twelve live deep-water sea bass along the spine in ninety seconds without severing a single rib bone. Steam billowed as hand-hammered copper steamers stacked six tiers high over the boiling herbal cauldrons.
As Lin Mo stood near the pass-through counter, the invisible [Culinary Vitality] buff woven into Grandma Chen’s broth and Dr. Gu’s herbs merged with Lin Dahai’s knife-work. A rich, golden-amber aroma—smelling of sweet river water, aged mountain ginseng, toasted scallion oil, and warm home cooking—drifted down the marble corridor.
Pierre-Wang, who had been lingering near the service doors waiting to watch Lin Mo beg him to come back, froze mid-sneer.
“How is that possible?” Pierre-Wang whispered, his eyes bulging at the golden steam. “How did that old woman clarify a rich marrow stock in ten minutes?!”
Out in the Imperial Dining Hall, the carved mahogany doors opened at midnight sharp.
Sixty-two-year-old Provincial Commerce Elder Zheng walked in with eight provincial auditors. Elder Zheng wore a simple dark grey suit, though his face was pale and a deep crease sat between his eyebrows. Every few steps, he pressed two fingers against his right temple, wincing against his chronic ten-year migraine.
[Target: Provincial Commerce Elder Zheng (Zheng Guoliang) | Goodness Score: 84/100.]
“Chairman Lin,” Elder Zheng said, forcing a polite nod as he took his seat. “Forgive my tardiness, and forgive me if I only take a few bites. My old headache is acting up, and my doctor warned me to avoid banquet grease.”
“We threw out the banquet grease ten minutes ago, Elder Zheng,” Lin Mo said, pulling out a chair while Su Wan poured warm barley tea. “Tonight we’re serving home-cooked soup and steamed fish.”
Waitresses in clean aprons glided out of the kitchen, led by Grandma Chen and Lin Dahai in his new Executive Culinary Director jacket. They set down a celadon tureen before Elder Zheng and lifted the lid.
Fragrant white steam rose from the bowl. Inside swam twelve jade-skin prawn wontons, their wrappers so thin the coral-pink shrimp glowed inside like agate, floating in a clear golden broth with yellow chives and goji berries. Beside it sat a platter of Jiangnan steamed sea bass, the white fillets curled under sizzling ginger and scallion oil.
Every auditor at the table swallowed hard. Even from three feet away, the aroma made their tired eyelids feel refreshed.
“Fancy French goose liver just gives people fatty liver, old brother,” Grandma Chen said warmly, ladling a bowl of wontons for him. “Drink this while it’s hot. Our Little Guo’er peeled the ginger herself, and Dr. Gu’s herbs are simmered right into the bone marrow. One bowl and that tight knot behind your eyebrows will loosen right up.”
Elder Zheng smiled faintly at Grandma Chen’s warmth. Picking up his porcelain spoon, he blew gently on the golden broth and took a sip.
The moment the warm liquid slid across his tongue, Elder Zheng’s body went rigid.
As the soup reached his stomach, a gentle, warm current of [Culinary Vitality] surged upward into the tight blood vessels at the base of his skull. The iron vise that had squeezed his temples for ten long years melted away like frost under a spring sun. A warm bead of sweat broke out on his forehead, carrying away the throbbing nausea and leaving his vision crystal clear.
Elder Zheng didn’t speak. He ate one wonton, then a second, then a third, before lifting the celadon bowl with both hands and drinking every last drop of the golden broth.
[Good People Network Updated: 10,367 (+1)!]
“Elder Zheng?” his secretary whispered nervously. “Is the seasoning acceptable?”
Elder Zheng set the empty bowl down with a crisp clink and let out a long breath. A healthy, ruddy glow had returned to his cheeks.
“Acceptable?” Elder Zheng laughed aloud, his voice booming with vigor as he reached for a flaky fillet of Lin Dahai’s steamed sea bass. “I haven’t had a pain-free hour past midnight in ten years, and this single bowl of wonton soup just cured my migraine completely! Who is the master chef behind this banquet?!”
“Executive Director Lin Dahai, Matriarch Grandma Chen, and our fifteen master pastry chefs,” Lin Mo said, gesturing toward the doorway. “As of tonight, every Taichu hospitality kitchen in Tianhai Province runs on their standards.”
The eight provincial auditors, having tasted their own bowls, broke into loud applause.
Out in the service corridor behind the glass partition, Pierre-Wang pressed his face against the porthole window, watching Elder Zheng shake Lin Dahai’s scarred hand and praise the steamed sea bass as the finest dish in Jiangnan.
Cold sweat drenched Pierre-Wang’s back. If word got out that Elder Zheng had crowned Lin Dahai’s kitchen the pinnacle of provincial hospitality right after Pierre-Wang staged a walkout, no five-star hotel in the country would ever hire him again!
“No—that steamed sea bass recipe is mine!” Pierre-Wang shrieked under his breath. He shoved past his bewildered line cooks and lunged for the electronic access panel beside the kitchen doors, slapping his staff badge against the POS security reader. “Let me in! I was just testing the sous-chef’s crisis response! Chairman Lin, I withdraw my resignation!”
Inside the reader, the Taichu morality-linked security terminal scanned his badge.
BEEP — BEEP — BEEP!
A crimson warning flashed across the LED screen above the doorway, and the automated voice boomed down the corridor:
`[ACCESS PERMANENTLY DENIED! FORMER EMPLOYEE: WANG ERGOU (SCORE: 16/100 — MALICIOUS SOUP SALTING & RECIPE THEFT). PLEASE EXIT VIA THE GARBAGE LOADING BAY!]`
The twenty-five line cooks stared at the flashing red `WANG ERGOU — SCORE: 16/100` sign, then turned on him in fury as four marina guards dragged the wailing fake Frenchman toward the dumpster ramp.
Best security upgrade money can buy, Lin Mo mused, taking a sip of barley tea. It filters out food critics and kitchen traitors at the same time.
Back at the main banquet table, Elder Zheng finished his second bowl of broth, wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, and set his chopsticks down. The warm smile faded from his face, replaced by a solemn expression.
He waved his assistants back ten paces and leaned across the tablecloth toward Lin Mo and Su Wan.
“Chairman Lin, Matriarch Chen’s broth cured a ten-year illness for me tonight, and I saw how you treated those fifteen young deaf-mute artisans,” Elder Zheng said in a low voice. “So I am going to give you an urgent warning before the municipal court bailiffs move at dawn.”
Lin Mo met the old official’s eyes. “I’m listening, Elder Zheng.”
“Twenty minutes before I arrived here, Song Zihao and his father triggered a predatory foreclosure clause against Hongxing Shipyard, Tianhai’s oldest inland shipyard,” Elder Zheng whispered, his knuckles tightening on the table edge. “They deliberately defaulted on five cargo-ship orders to bankrupt patriotic chief hull-designer Master Zhou Guodong. At dawn, Song Shipping’s liquidators are bringing bulldozers to seize the drydocks, tear down the workers’ canteen, and evict eight hundred honest welders into the rain!”