The Game of Life

Professor Ye Shi’s personality is as pleasant as his appearance, gentle like a soft spring rain, making it difficult for anyone to feel any resistance. His face always carried a smile, and even his white streaks of hair seemed to emit a kindly aura.

After chatting for about twenty minutes, Wang Suli mustered enough courage to ask, “Professor Ye, why did you think of joining us for a meal at Jiang Feng’s family restaurant?”

As soon as she said this, everyone turned to look at Ye Shi, including Guo Mengting, who had been drifting on the fringes of the conversation. Everyone was quite curious.

“Because Jiang Feng here is a talented cook,” Ye Shi said with a smile. “I’m here on a business trip, and the organizers contacted me yesterday, asking me to step in as a last-minute jury member, so I came. I’m heading back the day after tomorrow. I’ve been to nearly all the well-known restaurants in Alan City, and since Jiang Feng’s cooking skills are so outstanding, of course, I want to try out your family’s restaurant.”

At these words, Jiang Feng was genuinely flattered.

Just as he was about to say something, Mr. Jiang Jiankang gave him a call.

“Hello, Dad, what’s up?” Jiang Feng answered the phone.

“Son, why haven’t you come back yet? How did the competition go? Were you eliminated? Don’t be sad, my boy. Your grandpa and Granduncle Weiming are both at the restaurant. If you’re eliminated, just go hide somewhere for a bit. Minqi is already back, and the restaurant is bustling with business. Oh, I can’t talk now – your grandpa is coming out. Go hide somewhere, and I’ll call you after he and the others have left.”

“Dad, I…”

“Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…”

Jiang Feng:…

Mr. Jiang Jiankang is really something else for a father.

“What did your dad want?” asked Zhang Luyu casually.

“He wants me to go back to the restaurant to help out,” replied Jiang Feng.

“Your family’s restaurant seems really busy!” Zhang Luyu exclaimed.

“It’s not too bad at night, but lunchtimes are pretty hectic because we’re really strapped for time,” Jiang Feng replied seriously, glancing at his phone. It was already six o’clock, and they had at most half an hour before they could reach the place.

By six-thirty, there probably wouldn’t be a table free.

He called Ji Yue and asked her to hold a table for them. It took over twenty seconds for her to answer, indicating the restaurant was indeed very busy.

“Hello, Jiang Feng. Have you finished your competition? Wu Minqi was back ages ago; why aren’t you here yet? The place is going crazy,” complained Ji Yue. “Business is that good today?” Jiang Feng was surprised. Itwasn’t a holiday or anything. What was going on today?

“Did you forget? This morning, your dad cooked five Dezhou braised chickens, right? They all sold out before 5 p.m., with people going mad lining up to reserve them. I even saw that damn old Filipina lady again. Some old ladies are reserving two or three chickens at a time. The pot’s only so big; how many can we make in a day? The line’s stretched out to a month from now – my hand’s sore from taking down all the orders,” Ji Yue complained.

Of course, Jiang Feng knew. The spices for the failed batch he had been handling were dumped, but the ones Jiang Weiming mixed were still there. Jiang Jiankang thought it was a waste not to use such good spices, so that morning, they had prepared six chickens – one boneless for the family and five others that could be boiled for three to four hours before they were ready.

Mrs. Wang Xiulian boldly priced them aggressively at 198 yuan each, and to their surprise, they sold like hotcakes.

“Sorry for the trouble. Eat up tonight,” Jiang Feng said sheepishly. “Are there any tables left? Can you reserve a table for six? I just finished the competition, and some friends I met want to come to the restaurant to eat. I’ll be there soon, in half an hour tops.”

“Yeah, hurry back. Okay, so the reservations for Dezhou braised chicken are now a month out, right? One chicken, is it? Alright, please wait while I take note of that. I can’t talk more now; you come back quickly,” hurriedly said Ji Yue as she hung up.

When Jiang Feng finished his call and tried to rejoin their conversation, he found that the topic had shifted to the recent hit TV series.

Ever since he got saddled with this lousy game, Jiang Feng had been cut off from the usual college student entertainment: anime, TV dramas, games, and music were virtually untouched by him now. Only occasionally would he pick up some gossip from the class group chat or social media. Jiang Feng listened for a bit, but couldn’t understand the conversation and had no way to chime in. So, he simply played the listener.

They talked about one TV drama’s soaring viewership, another’s dismal failure, a female lead’s botched nose job, a male star being blacklisted, and someone’s crumbling public persona. When it came to gossip, even though Zhang Luyu was a good talker, he couldn’t outpace Wang Suli and Guo Mengting. Jiang Feng found their stories utterly captivating, devouring one juicy piece of news after another.

The brief twenty minutes passed quickly, and Jiang Feng led them to the Healthy Stir-fry Restaurant. Ji Yue had reserved a table for them. Jiang Feng asked them to order first, while he went to help in the kitchen.

The wall was plastered with a menu consisting of seventy or eighty dishes – enough selection to throw someone with decision paralysis into half an hour of dithering over just what to eat.

Upon entering the kitchen, Jiang Feng saw the two elder gentlemen engrossed in their selection of spices, with Jiang Weiming sniffing a piece of cinnamon intently.

“My boy, what brings you back?” Jiang Jiankang was surprised to see Jiang Feng walk in.

Jiang Weiguo glanced at him, his face a canvas of resignation seemingly concluding his son was a lost cause. He then turned to Jiang Feng, asking, “Did you advance to the next round?”

“I advanced,” said Jiang Feng, donning an apron to start helpingout.

Jiang Weiguo nodded, continuing to sift through the spices.

“Dad, why are grandpa and Granduncle Weiming picking out spices?” Jiang Feng glanced at the orders, preparing to make fish-fragrant eggplants.

“Our Dezhou braised chicken sold extremely well today. Your mom and I are planning to add two more stoves in the kitchen just for cooking those chickens,” Jiang Jiankang explained excitedly. “Son, why didn’t you tell me you advanced when I called you? You had me worried for nothing.”

“Dad, you hung up too quickly. I was about to tell you,” replied Jiang Feng, sizing up the kitchen that already housed six stoves and could indeed accommodate two more.

“What did you make today?” asked Wu Minqi.

“Eggplant and green beans in garlic sauce,” Jiang Feng replied. “What about you?”

“Mapo tofu,” Wu Minqi answered, lifting her wok off the stove with a frown. “They only gave me eight red cards, and I barely used a handful of Sichuan peppercorns.”

Jiang Feng glanced at Wu Minqi’s fiery red wok.

Giving you eight red cards was already quite generous.

The way you’re throwing in chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns, who could handle that?