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

The metal blade struck the cobblestone street of Ginza and bounced twice.

The crisp sound it emitted was amplified infinitely in the deathly still air.

Ono Jiro's weathered face, etched with the pride of a century-old business, was now deathly pale.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, running down his deep, wrinkled brow, and landed one drop at a time on his black wooden clogs.

He is proud of his "craftsman spirit".

His sushi-making technique took him fifty years to master.

In front of this white rice casually shaped by a young Chinese man.

It's so fragile, it's not even as fragile as a piece of toilet paper.

The Japanese diners and food critics around him who had been pointing fingers at Chen Yuan and waiting to see him make a fool of himself.

Seeing Jiro Ono's broken state, as if his soul had left his body...

They were all stunned.

"What's going on? Why is Master Ono kneeling down?"

"Was that dark, mushy lump of rice mixed with some kind of hallucinogen?"

A top Japanese food critic who wears a suit and sports a mustache.

Undeterred, he squeezed his way out of the crowd.

He walked up to Chen Yuan's kitchen counter and used two fingers.

I carefully picked up a piece of the remaining seaweed rice ball.

I brought it close to my nose and smelled it.

There is no pungent chemical additive smell, only a pure and exquisite rice fragrance.

It contains a faint sea breeze scent that is enhanced by the high temperature of the seaweed.

He put the rice ball into his mouth with some skepticism.

The moment the teeth close.

"Click."

The outer skin of the seaweed made a crisp cracking sound.

Followed by.

His eyes widened suddenly, and his pupils trembled violently in their sockets.

The heat trapped inside the rice.

It exploded in my mouth.

Each grain of rice is not stuck together, but remains an independent and complete entity.

You can even feel the amazing elasticity of the rice grains bouncing on your tongue.

Chew it down.

The sweetness of the rice and the freshness of the seaweed, enhanced by the saliva in the mouth.

They intertwined to form a symphony that strikes straight to the soul.

This flavor bypassed his taste buds and struck his brain hard.

"Waaah..."

The critic, known for his sharp tongue, let out an uncontrollable sob.

His eyes instantly turned red, and two streams of hot tears rolled down his cheeks without warning.

He covered his face with his hands, looking as if all his bones had been removed.

I slid down the edge of the counter and slowly sat on the floor.

"What, then, all those fancy meals I've eaten in my life... are they even worth...?"

He cried and mumbled incoherently.

It's astonishing to see even the most demanding critics crumble.

The remaining diners could no longer contain themselves.

Like a pack of hungry wolves that have smelled blood, they swarmed toward the cooking station.

In just a few seconds.

The remaining seaweed rice balls were snatched up so quickly that not a single crumb was left.

"My God! The temperature of this rice! The crispness of this seaweed!"

"It's so delicious! I feel like my soul is being elevated!"

"This is real gourmet food! The tuna belly we used to eat was practically tasteless!"

The people who were just laughing at Chen Yuan.

At this moment, they all closed their eyes without any regard for appearances, immersed in that pure deliciousness.

Some people even licked their fingers reluctantly after finishing their meal.

Ono Jiro knelt on the ground.

He watched as his usually aloof and arrogant customers went into a frenzy over a bowl of white rice.

His last line of defense collapsed completely.

He knelt on the ground with both hands and slammed his head heavily against the bluestone slab.

"Mr. Chen... I give up."

Ono Jiro's voice was hoarse and broken, carrying a sense of despair and humiliation after his beliefs were shattered.

"Your understanding of ingredients and your control over physical temperature have reached a divine level."

He raised his head, his face streaked with tears, filled with fervent pleading.

"Please take me as your apprentice! Even if it means washing dishes in your kitchen for the rest of my life!"

"If I could learn this technique for controlling the activity of rice grains, I, Jiro Ono, would die without regrets!"

These words.

The video was broadcast live on the mobile phones of bystanders at the scene and instantly spread throughout the Japanese internet.

It even topped the trending food search lists in various Asian countries.

At this moment, the golden signboard of "Jiro's Old Shop" was completely crushed on the streets of Ginza.

And the Chinese man who created all of this.

But there was not a trace of flattery or joy.

Chen Yuan had one hand in the pocket of his casual trousers.

With her other hand, she slowly and deliberately untied the black apron from her waist.

I just tossed it on the counter.

His deep black eyes looked down at Ono Jiro kneeling at his feet.

There was no mockery in his eyes.

There is only one kind of absolute arrogance, rooted in five thousand years of cultural heritage and etched into one's very bones.

"Taking on apprentices?"

Chen Yuan's voice was deep and steady, and it sounded particularly clear in the noisy street.

It possesses an undeniable penetrating power.

"You can't learn it, and even all the chefs of your entire Yamato race combined couldn't learn it."

Ono Jiro shuddered, his face turning even paler.

"Why? I'm willing to pay any price as long as you're willing to teach me!"

Chen Yuan looked at him coldly.

"Because your cooking is fundamentally flawed."

"You consider eating raw seafood to be the highest form of craftsmanship."

"They thought that using expensive ingredients and knife skills that hadn't changed in decades could cover up their lack of cooking techniques."

Chen Yuan's gaze swept over the diners who were still immersed in the delicious food.

The contempt in his tone was undisguised.

"The essence of Chinese cuisine is built upon thousands of years of evolution of 'fire' and 'cauldron'."

"It's just a piece of ordinary tofu, but it has the texture of meat."

"It's a bunch of green vegetables that brings out the sweetness of the seafood."

"Turning the ordinary into the extraordinary is the true essence of cooking."

"You guys are just relying on God's gifts to make a living, using your skills to perform these kinds of tricks."

"In the face of true Chinese culinary skills, I'm not even qualified to be an entry-level chef."

Every word is piercing to the heart.

Not only did they criticize Jiro Ono mercilessly.

It has ripped away the "high-end filter" that Japanese cuisine is so proud of, leaving not even a shred of its underwear.

The Japanese diners around him found these words jarring.

But the lingering deliciousness of that seaweed rice ball in their mouths left them speechless, unable to utter a single word of rebuttal.

They could only lower their heads, their faces full of shame.

Chen Yuan ignored the old man on the ground.

He turned around.

He strode over to Shen Wanzhou, who had been hiding under a parasol, silently watching the show.

Shen Wanzhou is wearing a light-colored, modified cheongsam today.

It accentuated her slender figure and made her look gentle and charming.

Her bright, sparkling eyes looked at the man walking towards her.

The admiration and pride in his eyes were almost overflowing.

Chen Yuan extended his large, well-defined hand.

He naturally took her soft, white hand in his.

A warm palm instantly enveloped her fingertips.

"Let's go, the air here is all dirty from that fishy smell."

Chen Yuan's voice softened a few degrees, carrying a hint of indulgence reserved only for her.

"Back at the hotel, I'll make you some light porridge to soothe your stomach."

Shen Wanzhou nodded obediently, a beautiful smile curving her lips.

Her dimples sank deep into her cheeks.

Eagle, accompanied by several bodyguards, quickly cleared the way ahead.

Pushing a stroller containing twins.

The group was under the awe-inspiring gazes of countless media outlets and diners.

They slowly walked toward the armored convoy parked at the street corner.

All that remains on this bustling street is that tall, arrogant black figure.

Chen Yuan, holding Shen Wanzhou's hand, left the kneeling Japanese chef with a cold and arrogant back view: "Remember, Chinese cuisine is the best in the world, and no arguments will be accepted."