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

This sentence.

The sound reverberated throughout the Baroque-style dome, amplified by the Royal Theatre's top-of-the-line amplification equipment.

The hundreds of Western dignitaries and media reporters in the room seemed to have been simultaneously muted.

Even the sound of breathing stopped at that moment.

Several French tycoons sat in the front row.

The glass of red wine in his hand froze in mid-air.

The wine sloshed violently against the glass, spilling onto the expensive cashmere carpet.

A few glaring scarlet marks remained.

This is the chief assessor who holds the power of life and death over Michelin ratings throughout Europe.

An arrogant old man who would nitpick even at the president's state banquet.

Now, I'm standing in front of a young Chinese man's chopping board.

She cried like a three-year-old who couldn't find his way home.

They even admitted that their top-quality French cuisine is made from animal feed.

This is nothing short of a resounding slap in the face to the entire Western culinary world.

"Quick! Capture this scene! Make it the front page!"

After a few seconds of deathly silence, the media reporters in the stands erupted in a frenzy.

Cameras with long lenses and short lenses were frantically pointed at the center of the stage.

The blinding flashes of light from the spotlights were even more dazzling than the light show at the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

And the Western chefs on stage.

At this moment, they no longer cared about the dignity and respect of a Michelin-starred chef.

They witnessed firsthand the chief judge's madness.

I also personally smelled the refreshing aroma of cabbage in the air that struck my very soul.

Faced with overwhelming strength, all arrogance becomes a laughable joke.

An Italian three-Michelin-starred chef with a large beard was the first to react.

He rushed towards his stove.

He ripped off the Michelin three-star metal badge that symbolized honor from his chest.

A crisp "snap" sound.

He broke this badge, which countless chefs dream of, in half.

He casually tossed it into the nearby swill bucket.

"Mr. Chen! Please accept me as your apprentice!"

He strode over to Chen Yuan's chopping board.

His knees buckled.

Without hesitation, he knelt down next to the chief judge.

"I'm willing to give up all my businesses in Europe and go to China with you to learn how to cook from scratch!"

This kneeling.

It's like the first domino to fall.

The dozens of chefs on the stage were cooking like dumplings in a pot.

Thump, thump.

They knelt down one after another.

In front of the once high and mighty Western-style cooking island, a large group of white chefs wearing tall hats were kneeling on the ground.

"Mr. Chen! If you're willing to teach me how to make the stock, I'm willing to pay a master's fee of one hundred million euros!"

"I'll give you all my Michelin-starred restaurants!"

"Please, let me witness the true divine skills of Eastern cuisine!"

Various awkward Chinese and hurried French were interspersed together.

A near-fanatical pilgrimage-like chorus of cheers erupted on the stage.

Chen Yuan stood behind the chopping board.

A black haute couture suit jacket was casually draped over his arm.

His deep eyes swept coldly over the group of foreign chefs kneeling on the ground, their eyes filled with greed and fanaticism.

There wasn't the slightest ripple in his eyes.

There was no ecstatic joy of triumph.

There was no pride in being admired by thousands.

It was as if these chefs, who commanded respect in Europe, were just a group of ordinary street vendors haggling over prices at a market.

He slowly rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, revealing a section of firm, well-defined forearm muscles.

I took out two wet wipes from the disinfection box next to me.

He slowly and deliberately wiped the moisture off his fingers.

"One hundred million euros?"

Chen Yuan's indifferent voice rang out on the stage.

It wasn't large, but it clearly drowned out all the noise.

A faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"What you take pride in and what you honor are, in my eyes."

"It's not even worth as much as a single scallion."

The chefs kneeling on the ground froze, a hint of fear flashing in their eyes.

They clearly underestimated the pride of this young Chinese man.

"The culinary heritage of China spanning five thousand years."

Chen Yuan crumpled the wet wipe he had used to dry his hands into a ball.

"It's about controlling the heat, maintaining a good mindset, and having the utmost respect for the ingredients."

"You people who are used to using butter and cheese to mask the natural flavor of ingredients."

"Even if I kneel here and learn for the rest of my life."

"I can't learn the soul of that soup either."

These words ruthlessly tore away the last fig leaf from the Western culinary world.

They trampled their pride into the mud.

Several hot-tempered young French sous chefs, their faces flushed red, were about to stand up and retort.

But he was pinned to the ground by his own chef and didn't dare to utter a sound.

Chen Yuan was too lazy to waste his breath.

His purpose in coming to Paris was simply to obtain the "Dragon Scale" and, incidentally, to shatter the arrogance of these people.

The goal has now been achieved.

He didn't want to stay in this place filled with the smell of cheap perfume for even a second longer.

He pulled the specially made encrypted phone out of his pocket.

The screen lights up.

The cold, bluish light shone on his sharply defined jawline.

It's 10:30 p.m. Paris time.

In Jianghai City, it should be 4:30 in the morning.

That socially awkward kitten who's afraid of the dark.

Without him by her side, she would definitely have wrapped herself up like a tightly sealed silkworm coil again.

Or perhaps you're hugging that Pikachu plushie, staring longingly at the bedroom door.

Just thinking about that scene...

A layer of warmth instantly spread across Chen Yuan's cold and hard brows.

My heart felt as if it had been gently touched by a soft feather.

I am eager to go home.

Eagle, accompanied by two bodyguards in black, had already silently appeared at the edge of the stage.

"Mr. Chen, the flight route has been approved and we can take off at any time."

The eagle bowed slightly, its voice low and deep.

Chen Yuan nodded.

They ignored the chefs who were still pleading on the ground.

They didn't even take the black leather case filled with top-quality ingredients.

I strode forward and headed straight for the theater's VIP exit.

An unwilling French chef crawled two steps on his knees, trying to grab Chen Yuan's trouser leg.

"Mr. Chen! Please reconsider..."

Chen Yuan paused in his steps.

His dark eyes glanced at the outstretched hand.

Chen Yuan casually tossed the wet wipes he'd used to clean his hands into the trash can, not even glancing at the chefs kneeling on the ground: "Don't block the way, my wife's still waiting for me at home to make a midnight snack."