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

The old man's turbid tears fell onto the non-slip floor tiles.

It splashed up tiny water droplets.

Alan covered his face tightly with his rough hands, and suppressed sobs escaped from between his fingers.

This Michelin three-star kitchen is perpetually filled with the aromas of butter and French herbs.

At this moment, only the low rumble of the exhaust fan remained.

The clear broth, still emanating from the clay pot, exuded an overwhelmingly sweet and savory aroma.

Outside the half-closed brass door of the kitchen.

A French food blogger with a full beard, ranked among the top 100, is kneeling on a Persian rug.

He held the latest Leica phone in both hands.

The cold sweat on my palms made the back of the phone slippery.

The camera peered through the crack in the door, fixating intently on the incredible scene inside the kitchen.

It vanished from that broad-backed Chinese cleaver into a silver afterimage.

The white jade tofu blossoms into countless strands of hair in the clear water.

Then there's the collapse of the proud French culinary master, who knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly.

Every frame was recorded in cold, hard data.

The blogger swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with difficulty.

With trembling fingers, he clicked the upload buttons on Twitter and Reddit.

Title: Eastern Magic? The End of the French Culinary Faith!

The blue progress bar loads rapidly until it reaches 100%.

ten minutes.

This short video, bearing a specific tag, lasts only ten minutes.

It was like a bomb dropped into the deep sea.

It directly overturned the entire external network's traffic pool.

The number of views skyrocketed from 10,000 to 1 million.

Half an hour later.

The servers on YouTube and Twitter were flashing red lights, and the number of views unsurprisingly broke the ten million mark.

The comment section refreshes so fast that it's just a blur.

Inside the administration building of Le Cordon Bleu culinary school in Paris.

Several white-haired food critics sat around a long conference table.

The screen played a loop of footage of Chen Yuan cutting tofu.

"Special effects! This is absolutely despicable computer-generated content!"

Chief commentator Pierre slammed his hand on the oak table.

The brown liquid in the coffee cup spilled out, staining the cuffs of his snow-white shirt.

He pointed at the screen, spittle flying everywhere.

"Human muscle control simply couldn't cut silken tofu with that kind of precision in just one minute!"

"He's insulting physics!"

On Twitter, a dozen verified Western chefs started furiously typing away.

Lengthy analytical posts are flying out like snowflakes.

"Chinese food is only fit to be sold as fried noodles in street corners!"

"How could a tasteless, soft bean possibly beat our truffles and caviar?"

These self-important Western nobles attempted to use so-called scientific methods to condemn this Wensi Tofu as a fraud.

until.

The most authoritative geek review channel in North America released an analysis video that was slowed down frame by frame ten times.

In the video.

Chen Yuan's hand, which was holding a Chinese-style wide-backed cleaver, was zoomed in and magnified.

Even if it's slowed down tenfold.

The trajectory of the blade as it rises and falls is still as fast as that of a precision industrial-grade cutting machine.

There were no unnecessary pauses or breaks.

Each time the knife blade cuts into the tofu, it comes into contact with the cutting board at a distance of only micrometers.

There's absolutely no rough feeling of crushing food fibers.

A tech blogger's narration begins in the video.

"Gentlemen, based on our pixel-level light source analysis..."

"This video has no frame skipping or CG rendering artifacts."

"The frequency of wrist muscle bursts by this Chinese chef exceeds any known human limits."

"He's processing this tofu by cutting its molecular chains."

This technical analysis has been released.

The comments on foreign websites clamoring about the fabrication were instantly silenced.

Those famous European chefs, holding their coffees, were ready to continue their mockery.

His facial expression stiffened into a comical plaster mask.

But what truly sealed the fate of this controversy was...

It was Alan's official verified account that posted a long article ten minutes later.

There was no accompanying image, only a passage of French text.

"I have tasted the blessings of God."

"There wasn't a single impurity in that clear soup, not even a drop of oil."

"But the rich flavor of the hen and the refreshing taste of the dried scallops, as they melted on my tongue, revealed the true soul of cooking."

The last sentence of the article was written with heartbreaking intensity.

"My butter, my molecular gastronomy machine, all in the face of that magical Eastern heat control."

"It's nothing but a pile of crude animal feed."

"I lost, and I accept it wholeheartedly."

This statement of surrender is like a red-hot knife.

It has pierced straight into the heart of the entire Western culinary world.

The comment sections on foreign websites fell into a deathly silence, as if the internet cable had been unplugged.

Pierre, who had just been typing on the keyboard, froze in mid-air with his hands.

My fingertips were still trembling.

He slumped back in the leather seat, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The throne that belonged to French cuisine, so high and mighty, collapsed at this moment.

In stark contrast to the deathly silence on the external internet.

Domestic social media platforms have now become a boiling volcano.

Weibo and Bilibili's servers crashed three times in a row.

The programmers, with dark circles under their eyes, frantically added ice to the server room to cool it down.

The screen was filled with a dense barrage of comments.

The video obscured Chen Yuan's cold and blurry profile.

"What is a dimensional reduction attack? This is a dimensional reduction attack!"

"A 200-yuan kitchen knife shattered your slow cooker worth tens of thousands of euros!"

"Chairman Chen is awesome! This isn't cooking, it's clearly performing surgery on a foreigner!"

In the university dormitory, the boys were banging on the table and shouting wildly.

On the subway, commuters wearing headphones stared at their screens, their lips curling into wide smiles.

The sound of keyboards being tapped echoed in countless corners of cities.

The pride that belongs to the East in my chest was burning hot, almost boiling.

"You'll see how I used to look down on Chinese food! A bowl of clear soup will teach you a lesson!"

"The president of Star Ventures, the god of the dark web, and now he's even got the title of culinary god!"

"I declare that Chinese cuisine is the best in the world! No arguments allowed!"

Paris, Star Ventures Overseas Intelligence Division.

The core monitoring center is located on three underground floors.

A cold, bluish light shone on the floor, and the air was filled with the smell of ozone from computer case cooling.

A curved screen covering an entire wall was flashing red and blue radar dots wildly.

Xiao Liu was wearing that unchanging blue and white school uniform.

He sat cross-legged on the large gaming chair.

He was holding an open bag of tomato-flavored potato chips, crunching away happily.

On the screen, the data stream about Chef Chen Yuan's videos is still exponentially increasing.

"Boss's crossover attempt to show off has really exposed those foreigners' true colors."

Xiao Liu licked the potato chip crumbs off his fingers.

His chubby face was full of schadenfreude.

"Beep beep beep—"

A piercing airspace control alarm suddenly blared in the computer room.

A red warning light spun overhead, illuminating Xiao Liu's thick black-rimmed glasses.

Xiao Liu stopped chewing.

I threw the bag of potato chips on the table.

My ten fingers tapped rapidly on the mechanical keyboard a few times.

The European Aviation Safety Agency's real-time flight radar chart was brought up.

on the screen.

The dense network of private jet routes resembles a swarm of bees that have smelled blood.

From London, Rome, Madrid, Berlin...

The trajectory of the attack, which unfolds in a fan shape, comes from all directions.

They are frantically converging on Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport and the surrounding small private helipads!

The green dots on the radar screen were crammed together in a tangled mess.

Xiao Liu swallowed a piece of potato chip that hadn't been chewed properly.

The rough debris scraped across my throat, bringing a dry, stinging sensation.

He didn't even have time to drink water.

The pupils behind the black-rimmed glasses suddenly contracted to the size of a pinhead.

Those flight codes are all the private cars of top European tycoons and Michelin-starred chefs!

These are the old guys who are usually so arrogant.

They chartered a plane overnight, not even caring about air traffic control fees.

They pounced on Paris like mad dogs!

Xiao Liu grabbed the encrypted communication microphone from the table.

As the video went viral, Xiao Liu, the overseas intelligence director of Xingchen Venture Capital, swallowed hard as he watched the servers constantly alarming: "Brother Yuan, the entire European food industry has gone crazy! They're chartering planes to Paris!"