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

Rough laughter mingled with the crunching sound of military dogs tearing bones.

It drifts away in the morning breeze of the Italian castle.

Shen Wanzhou leaned on the carved stone railing of the second-floor balcony.

Watching those huskies fighting tooth and nail over a piece of bat wing.

My back, which had been tense all night, finally relaxed completely.

What vampires? What medieval curses?

In front of her man who could turn demons and monsters into dog food with a frying pan.

It's not even a joke.

She turned her head and looked at Chen Yuan, who was slowly drinking warm water in the room.

Her peach blossom eyes curved into two beautiful crescent moons, and her eyes were filled with a sweetness that could drown you.

Time flies like the waves pushed by a cruise ship.

The "Wanzhou" has sailed out of the azure waters of the Mediterranean.

After passing through the Strait of Malacca, it docked at the port of Tokyo, Japan.

noon.

Ginza, Tokyo, is a bustling commercial district.

Sunlight streamed through the towering glass curtain wall, illuminating the clean and tidy asphalt road.

This is the most extravagant place in all of Asia.

It is also a culinary mecca for gourmets from all over the world.

A shop hidden in a deep alley, with a simple and unassuming wooden facade.

Hanging there is an old wooden sign with the words "Jiro" written on it.

This is a century-old restaurant opened by Japan's recognized "Sushi God".

They only accept ten guests a day, and reservations are booked up to three years in advance.

Chen Yuan was wearing a white casual shirt, with the sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms.

He held Shen Wanzhou's hand with one hand and pushed the double stroller with the other.

The two little ones were perched on the edge of the stroller, looking around curiously.

"Sir, I'm sorry, our restaurant does not accept customers without an appointment."

A young apprentice dressed in a kimono stood in front of the wooden sliding door.

His gaze swept over the Asian faces of Chen Yuan's family of four, and a hint of undisguised arrogance flashed in his eyes.

"Moreover, this is a place to appreciate top-notch art."

"Chinese tourists who bring children or do not know the rules are not welcome."

"This would undermine the chef's 'craftsmanship' in making sushi."

These words sound polite.

In reality, every word and sentence revealed a deep-seated contempt and xenophobia.

Shen Wanzhou's smile froze slightly.

Although she didn't understand Japanese, she could still sense the strong malice in the other person's gesture, which resembled swatting away flies.

She instinctively gripped Chen Yuan's hand, her fingertips slightly cold.

"Let's go, Chen Yuan, I'm not eating."

She bit her lower lip, not wanting to cause trouble in a foreign land.

Chen Yuan did not move.

His dark eyes swept coldly over the arrogant apprentice.

I looked again at the century-old signboard hanging above the door.

A layer of unyielding, chilling frost surged within his abyss-like pupils.

How dare you criticize his wife and children to his face?

How dare they use that bullshit "craftsmanship" to belittle Chinese people?

"eagle."

Chen Yuan turned his head away, his voice low and flat.

"Buy that Japanese restaurant across the street."

"Immediately, right now."

The eagle, standing a meter away, received the instruction without a word.

They directly dialed the dedicated line of Xingchen Venture Capital's overseas department.

Less than ten minutes.

Across the street is a high-end seafood restaurant that is three times the size of "Jiro".

Sweating profusely, the boss, holding a purchase contract worth ten times the original price, thanked everyone profusely and scurried out the door.

Chen Yuan led Shen Wanzhou into the restaurant across the street.

Half an hour later.

A deafening burst of heavy metal rock music suddenly erupted from the restaurant across the street.

Several bodyguards in black set up a huge open-air food counter on the street.

They even hung up a huge banner with red background and white lettering.

The sign above, written in Japanese, reads: "Challenge the God of Sushi, or we'll smash your signboard!"

This is a simple and crude way of challenging the competition.

It instantly caused a sensation on the streets of Ginza.

Countless media outlets and passersby swarmed around like sharks smelling fish.

The wooden door of the old "Jiro" shop was rudely pushed open.

A seventy-year-old man with a full head of silver hair and a withered face, wearing a snow-white chef's uniform.

He came out with seven or eight apprentices, his face full of anger.

This is Jiro Ono, the "God of Sushi" who has been elevated to a divine status.

"Chinese people, you are insulting a sacred art!"

Ono Jiro pointed at Chen Yuan across the street, his beard trembling with anger.

"Your crude methods of using heavy oil and salt to mask the original flavor of ingredients."

"They have absolutely no idea what it means to have reverence for top-quality ingredients!"

Chen Yuan stood in front of the outdoor cooking counter.

She was wearing that familiar black cotton apron.

He leaned on the marble countertop with one hand, his cold, sharp gaze fixed on the old man opposite him.

"Art?"

Chen Yuan scoffed coldly, a cruel mockery curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Putting slices of raw meat on a rice ball, does that even deserve to be called art?"

"Today I'll use your most prized sushi."

"Let me teach you what true culinary skill really means."

Jiro Ono was thoroughly enraged by these arrogant remarks.

"Arrogant! Bring me my knife and ingredients!"

He shouted loudly.

The apprentices immediately brought over a temperature-controlled safe.

Upon opening the box, one finds a top-quality wild bluefin tuna belly from Oma, valued at one million yen.

The snow-white fat texture is as beautiful as marble.

Ono Jiro took out the precious willow blade that had been with him for fifty years.

The blade flashed.

The fish fillets, as thin as cicada wings, were cut perfectly.

He dipped his hands in a special vinegar solution.

Grab a handful of rice cooked in vinegar at a temperature controlled at 36.5 degrees Celsius.

Fingers flipped and turned rapidly, like butterflies flitting among flowers.

Pinch, press, and shape.

Less than ten seconds.

A perfectly translucent, top-quality tuna sushi, with the fish and rice perfectly combined, rests steadily on a black lacquer plate.

Please enjoy.

Jiro Ono arrogantly raised his chin.

Several top Japanese food critics, invited by the media, eagerly stepped forward.

Pick up the sushi and put it in your mouth.

"Sparashi! The melt-in-your-mouth aroma of fat, and the layered texture of the rice breaking down in your mouth!"

"This is simply a masterpiece from God!"

Praises rose and fell, and the surrounding Japanese audience also joined in with a proud cheer.

In their view, this young Chinese man had already brought shame upon himself.

Chen Yuan ignored the noisy voices.

He turned around.

They didn't take any expensive seafood ingredients.

He simply took out a piece of the most ordinary roasted nori, which comes in a large bag for 100 yen at the local supermarket, from the food storage container next to him.

And a bowl of freshly steamed plain white rice, without even any sushi vinegar mixed in.

"He actually used that as a comparison? Isn't that insane?"

"Without seafood and without seasoning, how can we possibly win!"

An incredulous gasp erupted from the crowd.

Ono Jiro sneered repeatedly, as if he could already see his opponent kneeling and begging for mercy.

Chen Yuan did not use his knife.

He didn't even get wet.

With his large, well-defined hands, he grabbed a handful of warm white rice.

His deep black eyes instantly focused with an absolutely focused, cold light.

Put your hands together.

This is not ordinary kneading.

The moment Chen Yuan's wrist and knuckles came into contact with the rice.

It erupted with an extremely high frequency of vibration that was imperceptible to the naked eye.

This "hidden strength" originates from the ancient Chinese martial arts of internal martial arts.

He applied it perfectly to this small ball of rice.

The subtle energy penetrates the skin and acts directly on the surface of each grain of rice.

Excess moisture between the rice grains is squeezed out instantly.

The air was precisely trapped within the gaps between the rice grains.

This is a reorganization of the physical structure at its limit.

Make this ball of rice disappear in just three seconds.

It achieves a golden ratio of tension that even the most precise machines cannot simulate.

Chen Yuan picked up the piece of roasted seaweed.

It wasn't heated with fire, but rather the high temperature generated by rubbing the palm of my hand with subtle force.

It was transferred to the surface of the seaweed remotely.

The aroma of the seaweed was instantly and fully released, and the umami flavor of the nori filled the air.

He wrapped it up with one hand.

The ball of white rice was tightly wrapped inside the seaweed.

There were no garnishes, no side dishes.

It's just a very simple seaweed rice ball.

"Try it."

Chen Yuan placed the rice ball in a rough porcelain plate.

He casually pushed it in front of Ono Jiro and the other gourmets.

His tone was so flat it was as if he were giving alms.

Jiro Ono stared at the dark, round rice ball, his eyes filled with humiliated anger.

But he still picked up his chopsticks and took the rice ball.

Put it in your mouth.

Prepare to use the most vicious language to thoroughly criticize this Chinese person's work.

however.

With his teeth, he cut through the thin, paper-like layer of seaweed.

The moment it comes into contact with the rice grains inside.

Ono Jiro's cloudy eyes suddenly widened to their limit.

The eyeballs were almost bulging out of their sockets.

There is no seafood.

There are no complicated seasonings.

But it's precisely in that layer of seaweed's fresh aroma that...

The clump of rice on my tongue actually gave off a feeling of breathing, as if it were alive.

Every grain of rice is savored in the moment of chewing.

With absolute, perfect force, it disintegrates one piece at a time in the mouth.

The sweetness inside the rice grains and the richness of the starch.

It blends the natural ocean flavor brought out by the extreme temperature of seaweed.

It transformed into a thunderbolt that struck straight to the soul.

It struck his tongue, which he had been so proud of for fifty years, hard.

This is a divine feat that transcends the ingredients themselves, relying purely on human skill to achieve a state of mastery over the physical structure.

Compared to this rice ball.

His sushi was flavored with the fat of top-quality tuna.

They're like vulgar nouveau riche built on a foundation of money.

Without ingredients, he is nothing.

The man before me could conjure up unparalleled delicacies from just a handful of dirt.

Jiro Ono felt as if the bones in his legs had been instantly emptied.

His whole body began to tremble violently uncontrollably.

Large beads of cold sweat splattered from his forehead onto the instep of his feet.

Clang!

The precious willow blade kitchen knife, which he regarded as his life, slipped from his limp fingers.

It crashed heavily onto the stone pavement.

The sushi master took a bite of the seemingly ordinary seaweed rice ball, his knees buckled, and the expensive chef's knife clattered to the ground: "This...this is impossible! The rice grains seem to have come alive!"