Taking Liu Yifei back to Northeast China for the Chinese New Year has sent the entire internet into

3. It's lunchtime.

Chen Daoming glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the few still-wet calligraphy and paintings in the study, and smiled as he raised his hand to greet everyone.

"Alright."

"The words were written, and the painting was taken."

"If we don't eat soon, the food will get cold."

After he finished speaking, he turned to look at Fang Yu and tapped him twice with his finger.

"Xiao Fang really worked hard today; he used up a lot of ink."

"We should treat Master Fang to a proper meal."

Only then did the group move from the study to the dining room, completely satisfied.

The six people took their seats in turn.

It must be said that the private chef hired by the Chen family at great expense is indeed very skilled.

The cold dishes are served first.

Braised goose feet, osmanthus-flavored glutinous rice lotus root, pine nut sausage, plus a traditional mustard green dish.

Then, one hot dish after another was served.

Braised sea cucumber with scallions, steamed abalone, roast duck, and a clay pot of shark fin soup.

Each dish was presented with great care, and the color, cooking time, and aroma were all perfect.

This table setting would be enough to impress any top-tier private restaurant in Beijing.

Zhou Yuanshan raised his glass in a toast.

After a few glasses of Moutai, the conversation naturally circled back to Fang Yu.

Qi Wenhai was still obsessively working on the details of freehand brushwork.

He Zheng, on the other hand, was like a broken record, staring intently at those few lines from "A Laughter in the Vast Sea," determined to get to the bottom of how Fang Yu had come up with them.

Fang Yu picked up some food while casually giving a perfunctory reply.

The main feature is a read-and-respond-random approach: you ask your questions, I'll just eat my food.

Liu Yifei sat to his right, quietly picking up food and eating.

Today, the "Fairy Sister" is mainly playing the role of a "stunningly beautiful vase." It's not that she can't join the conversation, but rather that she prefers to quietly watch the show in this setting.

Occasionally, when she looked up, she could see those big shots in the entertainment industry who could shake the world with a stomp of their feet, now surrounding Fang Yu, asking him about calligraphy, paintings, and songs.

This feeling is somewhat surreal.

When my husband left home this morning, he was carrying a tattered canvas bag with a can of "Awooojiao" (a brand of soda) inside.

The scene looked like a group of villagers visiting their neighbors and bringing some local specialties from Northeast China.

Now look what's happened.

In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

Chen Daoming, He Zheng, Shen Weimin, Zhou Yuanshan, Qi Wenhai.

He meticulously planned out half of the film and television cultural investment in Beijing using just a few sheets of Xuan paper and a brush.

Chen Daoming picked up a slice of roast duck and placed it on the plate in front of him.

He finished his meal slowly and deliberately, put down his chopsticks, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Everyone at the table praised the authentic roast duck and the fresh sea cucumber.

Chen Daoming glanced around and slowly began to speak:

"The food is alright."

"However, it's still a bit lacking compared to Xiao Fang's skills."

The restaurant fell silent instantly upon hearing this.

If these words had been spoken half an hour earlier, the people at the table would most likely have exchanged knowing smiles, simply assuming that Chen Daoming was trying too hard to flatter a younger generation.

A 24-year-old new singer.

He can sing, write catchy songs, write incredible calligraphy, and paint master-level traditional Chinese paintings.

This is outrageous enough.

You still say that his cooking skills can surpass those of the famous chef specially hired by the Chen family?

It's somewhat mystical.

The problem is, those few paintings and calligraphy in the study have just thoroughly shattered the minds of these bigwigs.

Now Chen Daoming says that Fang Yu can cook.

The first reaction of the crowd was no longer doubt, but rather their brains began to work frantically.

Holy crap, this kid might actually have some skills, right?

Zhou Yuanshan swallowed a mouthful of Moutai and gestured with his chopsticks towards the sea cucumber on the table.

"Old Chen, your chef used to work at a state banquet-level restaurant."

"Brother Fang, is your cooking really better than this?"

Chen Daoming leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"You've all heard about the grand banquet for ten thousand people in Mohe, haven't you?"

He Zheng nodded.

"I saw the trending video."

"At Polaris Square, hundreds of giant cauldrons were boiling simultaneously, and tens of thousands of tourists enjoyed a feast."

"At the time, I was thinking, if this scene were filmed as a long take in a movie, just managing the extras would give me a headache for half a month."

Chen Daoming raised his finger and pointed at Fang Yu, who was eating with his head down.

"Xiao Fang was the head chef at that grand banquet for ten thousand people."

"A hundred or so large pots were burning red-hot, filled with dishes like pork stew, stir-fried potatoes, eggplant, green peppers, and green peppers, braised pork slices, braised pork hock, and chicken stew with mushrooms."

"Tens of thousands of people couldn't stop eating."

Zhou Yuanshan laughed and said, "I know about this. It really went viral online at the time."

Chen Daoming nodded.

"The banquet for ten thousand people was indeed lively."

"But that wasn't something Xiao Fang did all by himself; it was more like a communal meal."

"What truly amazed me and that I still remember is a bowl of unassuming noodles."

As soon as these words were uttered, the bigwigs at the table all stopped eating.

Chen Daoming picked up his teacup and moistened his throat.

His expression seemed to transport him back to the snow-covered primeval forest of the Greater Khingan Mountains.

"In the final episode of 'Going Home for the New Year,' a few of us went hiking in the outer reaches of the Greater Khingan Mountains."

"Extreme cold of minus twenty or thirty degrees Celsius."

"The snow was so thick it reached above my calves."

"The wind whistled through the gaps in the trees and into my collar, like a knife."

"By noon, no one wanted to talk anymore. Their hands and feet were so cold that their breath could freeze into ice crystals."

"Back then, let alone sea cucumbers and abalone."

"Even if you set out a Manchu Han Imperial Feast for me, I might not have the strength to sit down and eat it."

The heating in the Chen family's restaurant was very strong.

But after Chen Daoming finished speaking, everyone felt a chill run down their spines, as if they could truly feel the bone-chilling cold of the northern black soil.

Chen Daoming ignored them and continued releasing the poison:

"Back then, Xiao Fang simply used what was available, such as birch bark, to start a fire."

"First, melt the clean snow into boiling water."

"A few simple paper bowls and a few ordinary packets of instant noodles."

"Put the flatbread in the pan, add large chunks of Harbin red sausage, crack in a few local eggs, and finally sprinkle some seaweed and wild scallions."

"The moment the lid was lifted, the aroma of red sausage mixed with the strong smell of oil from the instant noodles hit my nose!"

Gudong.

He Zheng couldn't help but let his Adam's apple bob heavily.

Chen Daoming spoke slowly and without using any exaggerated language.

But the more minimalist the sketch, the stronger the visual impact.

"The noodle soup was piping hot."

"I gulped it down in the wind and snow, and the warmth went from my throat all the way to my stomach."

"The chill on my body dissipated instantly."