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

The dark blue blade flashed in the early summer sunlight.

It seemed to sense the murderous aura in its master's bones.

It emitted a crisp, almost inaudible buzzing sound.

Thirteen hours later.

The Royal Opera House in Paris, France.

This is a classical building with a history of three hundred years.

A huge crystal chandelier hung from the dome, casting a dazzling white light.

The lights illuminated the dozens of stainless steel cooking islands temporarily erected in the center of the stage.

The air was filled with the smell of Gallic cigars and the sweet scent of expensive perfumes.

in the audience.

The room was filled with members of European royal families, wealthy tycoons, and hundreds of journalists carrying cameras and microphones.

The sounds of conversations in various languages ​​were like a pot of boiling water.

Noisy, clamorous.

It carries a kind of Western arrogance and prejudice that is unique to Westerners.

"Does that Chinese guy really dare to come?"

A French food critic swirled the wine in his glass.

A mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"I heard he worked as a butler doing odd jobs in China."

"They won the competition with just a bowl of fried rice and dared to challenge the entire Michelin Council."

"This is simply the biggest joke of the century."

A burst of unrestrained laughter erupted around them.

on the stage.

Thirty chefs, each wearing a Michelin three-star badge, were already standing in front of their respective stoves.

Each person was accompanied by three or four assistant chefs.

The temperature-controlled container is filled with top-quality ingredients air-freighted from all over the world.

White sturgeon caviar from the Lihai Sea, Albanian white truffles, and Spanish red shrimp.

These ingredients, exuding the scent of money, shimmered with a luxurious luster under the lights.

squeak-

The heavy, carved wooden doors of the Grand Theatre were pushed open from the outside.

The dull sound didn't attract much attention in the noisy hall.

until.

A man with a tall and straight posture, wearing a black bespoke suit.

He walked down the red carpet alone, carrying a black briefcase in one hand.

There were no assistants, no sous chefs, and they didn't even bring any large cold chain containers for ingredients.

He was like a leisurely visitor strolling in his own backyard.

His steps were steady and unhurried.

The leather shoes made a crisp, rhythmic clattering sound as they stepped on the dark red carpet.

Chen Yuan's appearance gradually calmed the noise in the theater.

Countless gazes, like spotlights, were fixed on him.

Inquiry, disdain, contempt.

They are interwoven into an invisible net.

They attempted to crush this Chinese man who had come to the meeting alone.

Chen Yuan didn't even lift his eyelids.

His deep, cold black eyes swept calmly across the entire room.

That oppressive feeling, forged in the crucible of long-standing positions of power and amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

It instantly spread out along with his line of sight.

The commentators in the front row who were laughing the loudest just moments ago.

For some reason, I was struck by that gaze.

It felt like there was a block of ice stuck in my throat, and my laughter was abruptly blocked.

A fine layer of cold sweat inexplicably seeped out from my back.

Chen Yuan walked to the very edge of the stage, to the isolated stove.

He placed the black briefcase on the marble table.

Click.

The latch popped open.

There were no precious truffles inside.

There was no rare seafood either.

There was only one "Dragon Scale" kitchen knife, which was entirely black and gleamed with a ghostly blue light.

And a Chinese cabbage, washed clean and bright green with a hint of yellow.

This scene.

The images were projected onto giant screens on both sides of the Grand Theater using high-definition cameras on site.

After a brief period of deathly silence.

The entire audience erupted in even louder laughter and boos than before.

"My God! What kind of joke is he playing?"

"He's planning to challenge our royal truffle foie gras with a boiled vegetable?"

"This is blasphemy against sacred cooking! Get him out!"

The insults came like a tsunami.

Chen Yuan turned a deaf ear.

He took off his suit jacket and casually draped it over the back of a chair next to him.

Roll up the cuffs of the white shirt.

His strong, muscular forearms were on full display.

"Thump!"

A gong was struck.

The three-hour competition officially began.

The European chefs in the center of the stage immediately sprang into action.

The butter sizzled in the pan.

The rich, oily aroma of foie gras blends with the sweet, slightly fishy taste of caviar.

It quickly filled the entire theater.

This is a highly aggressive complex fragrance.

Intense, heavy, with a sense of luxury built on capital.

And Chen Yuan was in the corner.

The movements were slow and deliberate, as if they were performing an ancient ritual.

He ignored the cabbage that everyone was mocking.

Instead, they started boiling water in a pot.

Prepare ingredients such as old hen, pork ribs, dried scallops, and ham in advance.

They were placed one by one into a huge soup pot.

Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a simmer and cook slowly.

Time passed by, second by second.

Two hours later.

The dishes prepared by the European chefs were plated one after another, and the exquisite French plating made each dish look like a work of art.

Meanwhile, in Chen Yuan's pot, the broth was originally thick and murky.

Under his repeated manipulations, an unbelievable change occurred.

He chopped the chicken and pork into very fine mince.

Add it to the boiling soup in batches.

The minced meat solidified rapidly under high temperature, like a giant sponge.

It absorbs all the impurities and oil in the soup.

As the minced meat was scooped out.

The soup was originally thick and oily.

It became as clear and transparent as mineral water, with not a trace of oil visible.

Its color is like a clear spring, yet it conceals a vast universe within.

At this point, only ten minutes remained until the end of the match.

Chen Yuan finally picked up the "Dragon Scale" sword.

The blade flashed a cold, eerie blue light as it sliced ​​through the air.

Only the core and tenderest part of the Chinese cabbage is used.

The tip of the knife deftly sliced ​​several invisible cross patterns into the heart of the cabbage.

The movement was so fast that even a high-definition camera could only capture a fleeting afterimage.

The bok choy was placed in a deep white porcelain dish.

It looks ordinary and bland, like a bowl of dishwater.

"Time's up!"

With a command from the chief judge.

Dozens of Western dishes, exuding luxurious aromas, were served to the judges.

The judges, holding silver knives and forks, cut open the truffle foie gras and exclaimed with satisfaction.

"This is the pinnacle of taste!"

"Magnificent, rich, and impeccable!"

Until the very end.

The staff member carried Chen Yuan's white porcelain plate, which was covered with a pure silver insulated lid.

It was placed at the very end of the long table.

The arrogant Michelin board members wouldn't even give it a second glance.

"This kind of boiled vegetable isn't even worthy of being used as a mouthwash."

The chief judge was a chef who served the French royal family. He pinched his nose and looked disgusted.

Chen Yuan had one hand in his pocket.

With steady steps, he walked to the judges' table.

Faced with those disdainful looks.

He didn't offer a single word of explanation.

A large, well-defined hand extends out.

The pure silver lid was lifted.

at the same time.

He picked up a silver spoon from the side.

Scoop up a spoonful of piping hot, clear broth.

When Chen Yuan poured that seemingly bland hot soup onto the heart of the cabbage, the originally closed cabbage blossomed like a lotus flower, and a wonderful fragrance that could shake the soul instantly swept through the entire Royal Grand Theatre.