You got your marriage certificate and then abandoned me? I'll feed the richest woman in the wor

Warm breaths mingled in the cramped glass cabin of the Ferris wheel.

That spectacular fireworks display that captivated the entire city of Jianghai became the most solid mark of their contract.

Time passed quietly amidst the cicadas' chirping in early summer, and half a month had passed in the blink of an eye.

A morning at Genting Manor.

Sunlight pierced through the thin morning mist, bathing every inch of the manor in a soft, warm gold.

In the kitchen.

The priceless meteorite iron kitchen knife, "Dragon Scale," was in Chen Yuan's hand.

The blade flashed across the cutting board, making a continuous clattering sound.

A top-quality Wagyu beef, sliced ​​under a nanometer-sized blade.

It was sliced ​​into pieces as thin as cicada wings.

The fat texture was clearly visible, and not a single drop of blood had seeped out.

This is a legendary weapon that would make chefs all over the world fight tooth and nail for it.

Its only use now.

It's what we use every morning to cut meat, peel fruit, and make vegetable salad for Shen Wanzhou.

If that Japanese master who broke the blade on the cruise ship could see this...

He would probably vomit three liters of blood on the spot and suffer a heart attack.

On the gas stove, the purple clay stew pot was bubbling away.

A rich aroma of astragalus and codonopsis chicken soup, mixed with the sweetness of goji berries.

It spread rampantly in the kitchen.

That was a traditional medicinal diet that Chen Yuan specially prepared for Shen Wanzhou's fragile gastric mucosa, taking three hours to brew.

"It smells so good..."

A soft, sleepy nasal voice came from the kitchen doorway.

Shen Wanzhou was wearing a large, pure white cotton T-shirt.

Those are Chen Yuan's clothes.

It was draped over her petite frame, the hem of which covered her upper thighs.

Two straight, fair legs were exposed.

She walked barefoot on the smooth floor tiles, like a hungry cat that had followed the scent.

Her peach blossom eyes were half-closed and not fully open yet.

In a daze, she hugged Chen Yuan's waist from behind.

Her cheeks were habitually pressed against the man's broad, muscular back.

It rubbed against me.

"Go put on your shoes, the floor is cold."

Chen Yuan's hands didn't stop moving.

His voice, however, carried an unyielding air of languor and indulgence.

Ever since that day when I came back from the amusement park.

This wealthy woman, who was originally so socially awkward that she didn't even dare to leave her room, was now a socially anxious woman.

It can be said that she completely let herself go.

Every day, he's like a clingy ghost, always there whenever Chen Yuan is in the kitchen.

She would definitely hang on to him with her hair all messy, begging for the first sip of hot soup.

"It's not cold, there's underfloor heating."

Shen Wanzhou closed her eyes and tried to argue, not only refusing to let go but actually tightening her grip on his arm.

Through the fabric of the T-shirt, my fingertips could feel the taut muscle lines of the man's abdomen.

This caused Chen Yuan's Adam's apple to slide up and down uncontrollably.

"If you don't let go now, this soup will turn to mush."

Chen Yuan neatly arranged the sliced ​​Wagyu beef on a white porcelain plate.

He gently ruffled the top of her head with his other hand.

"Go to the restaurant and take a seat, dinner will be served shortly."

Shen Wanzhou reluctantly let go of his hand.

He yawned and slowly made his way towards the restaurant.

Looking at her sleepy and adorable appearance.

The smile in Chen Yuan's eyes deepened.

This is the everyday life of an elderly married couple, full of warmth and human touch.

This is more impressive than him commanding vast armies on the dark web or signing multi-billion dollar contracts with Star Ventures.

You also need to make him feel secure.

Just as Chen Yuan brought the steaming hot medicinal meal to the table, preparing to serve her soup...

At the entrance of the lobby.

The old butler, Uncle Fu, was holding a thick, kraft paper international letter.

He walked in with hurried steps.

Uncle Fu, who was usually calm and composed, had a strange expression on his face at this moment.

He seemed to be both angry and amused, yet also found it absurd.

"Mr. Chen."

Uncle Fu stopped two steps away from the dining table and bowed slightly.

"Star Ventures just sent an urgent document."

"It was sent from Paris, France."

Chen Yuan placed a small bowl filled with chicken soup in front of Shen Wanzhou.

He pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands and turned around.

His deep black eyes swept indifferently over the brown paper bag.

"Paris?"

His recent business ventures have not involved the core regions of Europe.

Who would be so bored as to send such retro international mail to the headquarters of Star Ventures?

Uncle Fu handed the letter forward with both hands.

The kraft paper bag was sealed with a conspicuous wax seal.

On the dark red sealing wax, an emblem consisting of crossed knives and forks and three stars was embossed.

This is the exclusive mark of the Michelin three-star headquarters, the highest hall of the global catering industry.

"I just spoke with Mr. Wang on the phone."

Uncle Fu lowered his voice, his tone revealing a hint of barely suppressed anger.

"Two weeks ago, you participated in the cruise ship culinary competition."

"The surveillance video shows someone blindly cutting a peony with an ordinary dinner knife and then winning the 'Dragon Scale' sword with a bowl of fried rice."

"I don't know who posted it on an overseas food forum."

"That video caused a huge uproar in the European culinary community."

"The top judges in Paris..."

Fu Bo paused, seemingly finding what was about to be insulting.

"They released a public statement after watching the video."

"They say Chinese cuisine is nothing but a cheap trick to attract attention, and that the fried rice is a cheating product made with chemical flavorings."

"They don't acknowledge your title as a culinary master at all, let alone the status of Eastern cuisine."

Upon hearing this...

Shen Wanzhou, who was drinking soup with her head down, paused.

The fair fingers holding the porcelain spoon tightened instantly, the knuckles turning slightly white.

Those peach blossom eyes, which had been full of sleepiness, immediately turned cold.

Like a blade chilled with ice.

Dare to say that her man cheated while cooking?

These foreigners who eat raw grass and undercooked meat abroad are simply asking for trouble!

Chen Yuan's expression remained completely calm.

He didn't even frown.

He reached out and took the heavy letter.

Tear open the seal of the kraft paper bag.

Inside was a formal challenge letter written in authentic French with gold foil edging.

The gist of it is that they invited President Chen from Xingchen Venture Capital.

He is also known as the "God of Chinese Chefs".

A month later, they traveled to the Royal Opera House in Paris.

It will undergo a joint public review by the thirty Supreme Council members at Michelin headquarters.

To prove that the victory on the cruise ship was not a despicable Eastern magic trick.

The signature section was filled with the names of chefs who considered themselves to be at the pinnacle of world cuisine.

This challenge is written in a haughty and arrogant style.

The words convey a sense of superiority, as if one were standing on the high ground of civilization looking down on backward regions.

It seemed as if Chen Yuan simply dared not go.

The entire Chinese catering industry will be forever nailed to the pillar of shame.

Chen Yuan quickly scanned the cursive French text.

There were no bloodshot veins of anger in his deep eyes, nor any impulse to rush his blood.

There is only one way to view the monkey performance in the circus: indifference and mockery.

If he really cares about these empty titles.

Five years ago, he went to Paris and stomped on those stars.

In his eyes, the "dragon scale" chopping tool in his hand was far more valuable than the group of arrogant white old men.

Because of this knife, his wife can eat half a bowl more rice.

As for going to Paris to cook for those foreigners who can't even control the heat properly?

This is the most absurd joke I've heard in the past two weeks.

Chen Yuan held the challenge letter in his hand.

Walk to the smart recycling bin next to the dining table.

The fingers loosened slightly.

Chen Yuan glanced at the French challenge letter on the table, stamped with gold lacquer, and casually tossed it into the trash can: "Who do they think they are, to make me cross the ocean to cook for them?"