Chef Laurent gripped his silver walking stick so tightly that his knuckles turned chalky white.
“Elder Gu!” Laurent stammered, pulling back his chin as his arrogant posture melted away. “I... I was merely explaining our international culinary standards to Mademoiselle Su. It was a misunderstanding!”
“A misunderstanding?” Elder Gu said coldly. He took three measured steps forward, his leather shoes tapping sharply against the polished granite floor. “I stood behind you for two full minutes, Laurent. You demanded ten million yuan under the table, or you would use our committee’s name to slander this establishment. Is that what you call international standards?”
Zhao Kai took a step backward, looking frantically between the foreign inspector and the old man in the blue silk robe. Zhao Kai had paid five million yuan through private channels to bring Laurent to Jiangcheng. He had never expected the grand patriarch of the Asia-Pacific Culinary Council to be standing in the same building.
“Elder Gu,” Zhao Kai intervened with an oily smile, bowing slightly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zhao Kai, heir to the Zhao Group. Our family has always respected the culinary arts. Today’s meeting was arranged to ensure that Jiangcheng dining meets global elegance. Surely you agree that rustic street food does not belong in the Golden-Fork Guide?”
Elder Gu turned his sharp gaze onto Zhao Kai. The seventy-two-year-old master had judged state banquets for half a century. A single look from him was enough to silence seasoned executives.
“A young man who has never held a kitchen knife has no business lecturing me on elegance,” Elder Gu said dismissively. “Follow me inside to the VIP tasting hall. We will judge food with our palates, not with checkbooks and blackmail.”
Elder Gu waved his sleeve and walked toward the grand mahogany doors of the VIP tasting room on the fourth floor.
Lin Mo, Su Wan, Grandma Chen, and Master Chef Lao Tang followed closely behind. Tie Niu and four Iron Guard veterans walked on either side of Zhao Kai and Laurent, ensuring the two men could not slip away into the elevators.
Inside the private tasting hall, sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling street below. A round rosewood banquet table sat in the center of the room, set with antique celadon porcelain.
Lin Mo activated his [Pure-Heart Eye Lv.1].
[Target: Elder Gu.]
[Role: Chairman of the Asia-Pacific Culinary Council & National Gastronomy Master.]
[Goodness Score: 91/100.]
[Condition: Severe stomach qi-depletion, chronic digestive atrophy, five years of acute anorexia.]
Lin Mo observed the old master carefully. Elder Gu stood upright with immense pride, but his skin was paper-pale. His wrists were thin as dry willow branches. Lin Mo’s internal qi sense could feel that the elder’s stomach meridians were cold and nearly dormant. For years, the master had struggled to swallow even half a bowl of thin rice porridge.
Waiters in clean red jackets placed five covered porcelain bowls onto the lazy Susan.
Grandma Chen stepped forward and gently lifted the lid of the center bowl.
A cloud of fragrant steam drifted into the air. The scent was clean, rich, and utterly pure. It carried the natural sweetness of live river shrimp, slow-simmered chicken marrow, and the subtle herbal freshness of pure-heart lotus seeds.
Chef Laurent pulled a silver spoon from his pocket, his face hardening as he looked for any excuse to save his reputation. He glared down at the translucent broth and pushed the bowl aside with his index finger.
“Barbaric,” Laurent sneered, crossing his arms. “Clear chicken broth with floating dough dumplings. No reduction sauce. No truffle foam. No artistic symmetry on the rim. In European fine dining, this is peasant gruel. Unless your Taichu Group pays my consulting firm ten million yuan today, I will fail your entire street for rustic plating and zero technical presentation!”
Zhao Kai smiled smugly behind Laurent, crossing his legs on the velvet chair.
Su Wan took a calm step forward, her expression cool as ice. “Chef Laurent, true gastronomy serves human health and honest flavor. It does not exist to satisfy your vanity or your extortion racket.”
“Silence, little girl!” Laurent barked, raising his silver cane. “I am the Vice-Chief Inspector! My judgment is absolute law!”
“Your judgment is garbage, Laurent,” a raspy voice broke in.
Everyone turned toward the head of the table.
Elder Gu had not touched the silver utensils. Instead, he picked up a pair of simple bamboo chopsticks and a white porcelain soup spoon. His hand shook slightly as he drew the bowl toward his chest.
The aroma of the broth curled around Elder Gu’s face. For five long years, the smell of food had made his stomach churn with bitter nausea. Doctors across three continents had failed to heal his digestive atrophy, warning him that his organs would fail within months.
Yet, as the warm steam entered Elder Gu’s nostrils, a strange, forgotten feeling stirred deep in his abdomen. It was hunger. Pure, sharp, living hunger.
Elder Gu lowered the spoon into the amber broth and brought it to his lips.
He took a single sip.
The hot broth rolled over his tongue. It was light as silk, yet packed with intense natural umami. The moment the broth slid down his throat, a brilliant surge of golden vitality bloomed in his chest.
The freezing chill that had locked his stomach for five years melted instantly. His dormant meridians pulsed with warmth, like frozen river ice cracking under spring sunshine. Color rushed into Elder Gu’s hollow cheeks. His eyes grew wide, sparkling with vivid life.
“This broth...” Elder Gu choked out.
Without waiting for another breath, the seventy-two-year-old legend scooped up a plump shrimp wonton and placed it in his mouth. The paper-thin wrapper gave way to sweet, crunchy river shrimp and fragrant mountain pork. Every chew released sweet juices that coated his throat in pure vitality.
Elder Gu ate with abandon. He did not care about table etiquette or slow tasting rituals. In less than two minutes, he drank every single drop of broth and cleaned the bowl entirely.
“Another bowl!” Elder Gu shouted, banging his spoon on the table with joy. “Bring me another bowl immediately!”
Grandma Chen smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling. “Take your time, Old Brother. There is plenty in the kitchen.”
She quickly ladled a fresh, steaming bowl from the insulated server and handed it to the old master.
Elder Gu attacked the second bowl with the vigor of a young athlete. Then he finished a third bowl, scooping out every last scallion leaf and drinking the broth until the celadon glaze was spotless.
Silence filled the banquet hall.
Zhao Kai’s smirk froze on his face. He stared at the empty bowls, his mouth falling open.
Chef Laurent’s jaw dropped. He had traveled with Elder Gu for three years. He had seen the old master refuse three-star French foie gras, Japanese Wagyu, and Italian white truffles, unable to eat more than a spoonful of broth without vomiting.
Yet right before their eyes, Elder Gu had devoured three full bowls of five-yuan street wontons in five minutes!
Two large tears rolled down Elder Gu’s cheeks. He placed his porcelain spoon down and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.
“For five years, I thought I was waiting to die in an empty bed,” Elder Gu said, his voice trembling with deep emotion. “Doctors gave me bitter powders and injections, but my stomach remained cold as stone. Today, this bowl of wontons brought my soul back into my body.”
Elder Gu stood up from his chair. His back was straight, his eyes burning with renewed strength. He walked over to Grandma Chen and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle.
“Madam Chen, Master Lao Tang,” Elder Gu said solemnly. “This is not merely food. This is the living soul of our national culinary heritage. It nourishes the spirit and heals the flesh.”
Grandma Chen hurried to lift the old master up. “Oh, please do not bow, Old Brother! It is just good flour, fresh river shrimp, and clean water. Food is meant to comfort hungry people.”
Elder Gu nodded with immense respect. Then, he turned around. His gaze fell upon Chef Laurent like a heavy frost.
“Laurent,” Elder Gu said, his voice icy. “You dared to call this miracle peasant gruel? You dared to demand ten million yuan to grant a false star?”
Chef Laurent backed up until his spine hit the glass window. “Elder Gu... I was testing them! It was an integrity check! I would never take a bribe!”
Shen Qiaoqiao stepped forward with a cheerful dimpled smile. She held up her smartphone and pressed play.
A crisp, high-definition recording played loudly through the room:
“My standard advisory fee is ten million yuan. Pay my consulting agency ten million yuan by noon today, and I will grant your Golden-Lotus Banquet Hall three stars... Refuse to pay, and I will issue a worldwide public report condemning this entire street for health code violations!”
Laurent’s face turned completely gray. He slumped against the window frame, his silver cane clattering uselessly against the floor.
“You... you recorded me?!” Laurent gasped, pointing a shaking finger at Shen Qiaoqiao.
“Chief Legal Counsel of Taichu Group,” Shen Qiaoqiao said sweetly, locking her phone. “Our legal team records all commercial negotiations involving racketeering and municipal extortion. The audio file has already been transmitted to the Municipal Commercial Crimes Bureau and the French Embassy’s commercial attache.”
Elder Gu stepped forward, reached out, and ripped the gold medallion inspector badge right off Laurent’s chest.
“Laurent, by my authority as Chairman of the Asia-Pacific Culinary Council, you are stripped of your inspector credentials,” Elder Gu roared. “You are banned for life from every culinary guide, competition, and hospitality board across Asia! Get out of my sight before I have the police drag you out in chains!”
Tie Niu stepped up, grabbed Laurent by the back of his embroidered collar with one massive hand, and lifted the foreign inspector completely off his feet.
“Move your legs, fake chef,” Tie Niu rumbled, hauling Laurent toward the service elevator like a bag of dirty laundry.
Zhao Kai swallowed hard, backing toward the door. “Elder Gu... Lin Mo... this was entirely Laurent’s private scheme! Our Zhao Group had no knowledge of this extortion!”
Lin Mo took a slow sip of tea from his thermos and looked at Zhao Kai with deadpan amusement.
“Young Master Zhao, your five-million-yuan deposit to Laurent’s offshore account will make fascinating reading for the anti-fraud bureau,” Lin Mo said calmly. “Tie Niu, escort Young Master Zhao down the stairs. The elevator is too comfortable for him.”
Tie Niu tossed Laurent into the elevator, turned around, and cracked his knuckles with a grim smile. “With pleasure, Chairman Lin.”
Zhao Kai turned pale, scrambled for the exit door, and bolted down the emergency stairs with Tie Niu lumbering right behind him.
The room fell quiet once more.
Elder Gu took a deep breath, looking out over the crowded avenue where tens of thousands of families were happily eating together.
“Chairman Lin,” Elder Gu said, turning to Lin Mo with sincere admiration. “I spent my life chasing luxury banquets, gold medals, and European approval. But seeing these people smile over a five-yuan bowl of wontons has taught me what food is truly about. Our traditional culinary heritage is dying because young cooks are chased away by corporate monopolies and greedy syndicates.”
Lin Mo smiled faintly. “Then let us give them a home where skill and conscience come first.”
Lin Mo turned to Su Wan and handed her his black-gold card.
“Su Wan, allocate ten million yuan from our foundation account immediately,” Lin Mo announced. “We will establish the Taichu Heritage Culinary Apprentice Academy today. Elder Gu will serve as our Honorary Dean. We will provide full tuition scholarships, room, board, and apprentice stipends to three hundred young, ethical cooks from poor families across the province.”
Elder Gu gasped, clutching his chest in disbelief. “Ten million yuan for culinary scholarships?! Chairman Lin, you... you are truly a patron of our culture!”
Su Wan swiped the card on her terminal: ¥10,000,000.00.
BEEP.
A magnificent chime resonated inside Lin Mo’s consciousness:
[Ding! Detected spending of ¥10,000,000.00 RMB on Taichu Heritage Culinary Apprentice Academy!]
[Beneficiaries: Elder Gu (Goodness: 91/100) & 300 Honest Culinary Apprentices (Avg Goodness: 88/100)!]
[Target Integrity Verified: Preservation of national culinary heritage and vocational education for underprivileged youth.]
[Triggered 100x Pure Benevolence System Refund!]
[Received Cash Refund: +¥1,000,000,000.00 RMB!]
[Funds deposited directly into Host Personal Liquid Vault!]
[Personal Liquid Vault: ¥47,500,000,000.00 RMB!]
[Benevolence Merit Points: +1,000,000 BMP | Total BMP: 140,449,528 BMP!]
[Good People Network Expanded: 8,150 Verified Righteous Allies (+50: senior culinary masters and traditional chefs)!]
One billion cash refund, Lin Mo thought, watching his vault balance reach forty-seven point five billion. Spending ten million to revive an ancient craft and feed three hundred poor students, while earning a billion in pure cash. Doing good is the most profitable endeavor on earth.
“Elder Gu, the academy grounds will be prepared by Master Lu Jian within three days,” Lin Mo said warmly. “You can teach our young cooks how to put love and health into every dish.”
“Chairman Lin, I will dedicate the rest of my days to this academy!” Elder Gu pledged, his eyes shining with pride. “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, our Council will hold an official ceremony right here on Old Lantern Street. We will present Grandma Chen and the Taichu Sanctuary with our highest civic honor: the Three-Star Heritage & Civic Gold Plaque!”
Grandma Chen beamed, hugging Little Guo’er tightly as the little girl clapped her hands in delight.
Outside the banquet hall, the cheers of one hundred thousand satisfied citizens echoed across the historic avenue. The future of Old Lantern Street seemed brighter than ever.
Yet, deep within the shadows of an industrial warehouse in the southern docks, a different plan was being hatched.
Zhao Peng sat in a dim office, his bloodshot eyes staring at his bail release papers. His face was twisted with hatred. His eighty restaurants had been shut down, his fortune was frozen, and his family name was ruined across the city.
A heavily tattooed man in a black tactical jacket stepped out from the darkness of the warehouse.
“Young Master Zhao,” the thug whispered, placing a metal crate onto the table. “The poison vials and fifty bags of sewer filth are ready. Tomorrow at three in the morning, our four shadow crawlers will enter the Golden-Lotus rooftop vents.”
Zhao Peng slammed his fist onto the wooden desk, baring his yellow teeth in a feral snarl.
“Lin Mo took everything from me,” Zhao Peng hissed into the dark. “If I cannot have the food market in this city, then tomorrow’s grand award ceremony will turn into a funeral for a thousand poisoned guests!”