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

The broth in the silver ladle was as clear as glacial water that had just melted from the snow-capped mountains.

There wasn't a single speck of oil, not even a trace of turbidity or impurities.

It meanders down the edge of the deep white porcelain plate.

The exquisitely carved cabbage heart, the moment it came into contact with the boiling broth...

It seemed to have been infused with life.

The vegetable leaves, which were originally tightly wrapped together, were catalyzed by the heat.

It made a soft rustling sound.

One after another.

It slowly stretches outwards and falls over.

It's like a white jade lotus quietly blooming in the morning mist, welcoming the first rays of sunlight.

But this almost magical visual impact was not enough to subdue this group of arrogant Western elites.

What truly drove them to lose their minds was...

It was that aroma that burst forth from the white porcelain plate as the cabbage unfurled.

This fragrance.

It doesn't have the heavy, greasy feeling of butter, cheese, and red wine found in Western cuisine.

It is pure, domineering, and straightforward.

It's like having a whole free-range old hen, the finest Jinhua ham, and deep-sea dried scallops.

All the delicious essence was compressed into these few mouthfuls of clear soup.

The fragrance was like an invisible net, instantly covering the air in every corner of the grand theater.

The chief judge, who was originally sitting upright on the judging panel, was pinching his nose and looking disgusted.

That arrogant old man from the French royal family, who possessed three Michelin medals.

The sneer at the corner of his mouth froze on his face.

It was as if the pause button had been pressed.

His gray-blue eyes suddenly bulged outwards, and his nostrils twitched uncontrollably.

They inhaled deeply the deadly aroma in the air.

"What...what is this taste?"

His hand holding the silver fork began to tremble.

The fork clattered against the plate in front of me, making a crisp sound.

The other judges' reactions weren't much better than his.

They were like travelers who had been thirsty in the desert for three days, suddenly smelling the moisture of an oasis.

Adam's apple bobbed violently, and the sound of swallowing saliva rose and fell in the quiet judges' panel.

Those comments just now mocking Chinese cuisine as nothing more than street food gimmicks...

At that moment, the aroma swayed them back, choking them in their throats, preventing them from uttering a single syllable.

The chief judge no longer cared about maintaining the dignity of a royal chef.

He pushed aside the plate of top-quality white truffle risotto worth tens of thousands of euros in front of him.

Like a hungry tiger pouncing on its prey.

He picked up the deep white porcelain plate containing boiled cabbage with both hands.

They didn't even use a spoon.

He put his face right up to the edge of the plate.

He eagerly slurped up a large mouthful of clear soup.

The moment the broth touches your mouth.

The old man suddenly shuddered, as if a tiny electric current rushed up his spine and straight to the back of his head.

It wasn't as bland as I'd expected.

The intensely rich aroma of meat blends perfectly with the pure, sweet flavor of Chinese cabbage.

It created a devastating flavor explosion on the tip of the tongue.

fresh!

It was so fresh it made your scalp tingle, so fresh it made your very soul tremble.

The aftertaste of the soup has a subtle, medicinal sweetness.

It completely cleansed away the greasy taste of those Western-style sauces that lingered in the mouth.

The chief judge remained frozen in his seat.

He closed his eyes, gripping the white porcelain plate tightly in his hand.

The knuckles turned bluish-white from excessive force.

In his mind, the magnificent Michelin Hall collapsed.

Instead, he spent his childhood in the countryside of southern France.

In that simple kitchen.

His mother used the most ordinary ingredients to cook him a pot of steaming hot meat soup.

That was the warmest and purest taste he had ever had in his life.

It was also the obsession that he could never replicate, no matter how many expensive ingredients he used later.

Now, this obsession...

A young Chinese man presented him with a large cabbage with ease.

Large, cloudy tears.

It welled up from the old man's tightly closed eyes without warning.

It rolled down her wrinkled cheeks and landed on her sharp suit and tie.

Dark water stains spread out in concentric circles.

"Oh my god...it tastes so good...Mom..."

Tears streaming down his face, he recklessly ate the remaining cabbage heart along with the broth.

They stuffed large mouthfuls into their mouths.

The chewing sounds, amplified by the microphone, echoed throughout the entire theater.

Seeing his crazy behavior, the judges next to him could no longer contain themselves.

"Leave me a bite! Let me have a taste!"

A top Italian gourmet stood up abruptly and reached out to snatch the plate from the head chef's hand.

"Get out of my way! This is mine!"

The chief judge, like an old dog guarding its food, suddenly turned around and used its broad back to block its colleague from snatching it away.

For the last sip of soup.

These are several culinary titans who are usually gentle and eloquent in front of the media.

They actually started fighting right there on the judges' panel, completely disregarding any semblance of decorum.

The pure silver cutlery was scattered all over the floor.

The crisp sound of shattering wine glasses mingled with their shouts as they scrambled for food.

The hundreds of Western media reporters in the stands were dumbfounded.

The shutter clicked wildly, and the flashes created a blindingly bright daylight.

Center stage.

Those Western chefs who have just finished their dishes and are now poised and waiting for praise.

They all stood frozen in place, mouths agape, as if they had been struck by a pressure point.

They looked at the plate of cabbage that the judges had snatched up so much that not a drop of soup was left.

Then look at the extravagant dishes in front of you, made with money.

An unprecedented sense of frustration and shame washed over me like a bucket of ice water.

Chen Yuan stood in front of stove number 99.

He had one hand in the pocket of his black trousers.

With her other hand, she grabbed a disinfectant wipe and slowly wiped away the few drops of moisture that clung to her fingertips.

He didn't even glance at the farcical competition taking place on the judges' panel.

That so-called "boiled cabbage in clear broth".

It was just a small dish he usually made for Shen Wanzhou when he stayed up late at Cloud Top Manor to cleanse her stomach.

They didn't even use the top-quality, specially supplied vegetables from the estate.

That alone is enough to utterly crush those arrogant foreigners a hundred times over.

He casually tossed the used wet wipe into the nearby trash can.

He raised his wrist and glanced at the custom-made Patek Philippe.

It's 8 PM Paris time.

It should be 3 a.m. in Jianghai City right now.

Right now, that timid cat is probably curled up in bed.

She was tightly hugging the Pikachu plush pillow in her arms.

He was fast asleep.

If I wake up tomorrow morning and don't smell the aroma of scallion pancakes in the kitchen...

She'll probably be sitting on the sofa with red eyes, sulking again.

Thinking of this, a warm, indulgent feeling, which he himself did not even realize, welled up in Chen Yuan's deep eyes.

He turned around and picked up the black bespoke suit jacket draped over the back of the chair.

He casually draped his arm over his shoulder, ready to leave.

The moment he took his long stride.

"thump!"

A dull thud of a knee hitting the floor broke the silence of the stage.

The chief judge who just got into a fight with his colleague over the last sip of soup.

With messy white hair and a drop of soup on the corner of his mouth.

I don't know when, but I rushed to Chen Yuan's chopping board.

Without hesitation, he knelt down on the marble floor.

The chief judge knelt down in front of Chen Yuan's cutting board, holding an empty bowl in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably: "My God, our proud French cuisine is nothing but a pile of crude animal feed in the face of your culinary skills!"