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

[Scene: Open kitchen in a luxury suite in downtown Paris]

"Click. Click."

The sharp alloy blades rotate in reverse at high speed, producing a cold, hard mechanical clicking sound.

The parchment documents, stamped with the personal seals of the five presidents, crumbled instantly under the blade.

It turned into thin, worthless scraps of paper.

It floated down into the waste bin at the bottom of the paper shredder.

The dark red sealing wax stamp was printed on it.

Those golden emblems symbolizing European national mineral rights and special permission for duty-free ports.

Under the relentless crushing of the gears, not even a complete letter was left.

Wang Kai covered that chubby face tightly with both hands.

Short, stubby fingers dug into the hair, which was covered in hairspray, and pulled hard.

The pant legs of the suit jacket swayed violently on the expensive Persian carpet.

His 200-pound body slid down the edge of the bar and slowly collapsed onto the floor.

"Gone...all gone..."

The fat man peered through his fingers at the pile of colorful scraps of paper with despair.

A hissing sound came from his throat.

"Those are mining rights for half of Europe!"

A wave of acid reflux surged in his stomach.

He suddenly felt a darkness before his eyes, and in the suite with a constant temperature of 24 degrees Celsius, he was drenched in sweat.

Sticky, cold sweat completely soaked the back of the haute couture shirt.

Clinging tightly to his spine, the cold wind made his entire body of fat tremble.

"Brother Yuan..."

Wang Kai lay on the ground, his voice cracking, filled with barely concealed sobs.

"Those were pledges of allegiance personally delivered by special envoys from several presidents!"

"Even if you don't like it, we can easily resell it to those old foxes on Wall Street and get tens of billions of dollars in cash flow!"

In the open kitchen, the light from the incandescent bulbs is soft and bright.

Chen Yuan stood with his back to him in front of the large marble kitchen counter.

A clean-cut, pure black handmade shirt, with the cuffs neatly rolled up above the elbows.

It reveals strong, smooth, and explosive forearm muscle lines.

He wore an old, faded apron around his waist.

A large, well-defined hand was holding a silver boning knife that was only the size of a palm.

The blade flashed a cold, eerie blue light under the lamplight.

"Shut up."

Chen Yuan's voice was flat and even, without any inflection.

He didn't even turn his head.

"Say one more word and I'll stuff you and that pile of waste paper into the shredder."

A cold warning, without any raised voice or reprimand.

Yet it carried an absolute sense of oppression forged from the dark web of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Wang Kai's cries were instantly choked up.

He covered his mouth tightly, not daring to even burp.

Chen Yuan's gaze was fixed intently on the top-quality black pork ribs on the cutting board.

The silver knife in his hand was like a nimble snake.

It moves precisely through the gaps between bones and flesh.

A thin wisp of white fascia was lifted by the tip of the knife and cleanly peeled off.

"Wanzhou doesn't like eating meat with tendons, because it gets stuck in her teeth."

He muttered to himself.

The blade tapped softly on the solid wood cutting board.

The ribs were cut into small pieces that were exactly the same size and the length was accurate to 2.5 centimeters.

In the corner of the suite.

The old butler, Uncle Fu, was dressed in a smart tailcoat, with his hands folded in front of him.

He stood ramrod straight, his breathing extremely shallow.

Those cloudy yet sharp old eyes didn't even glance at the collapsed fat man on the ground.

He didn't even look at the priceless presidential invitations in the trash can.

Uncle Fu's attention was completely fixed on the actions of the man in front of the stove.

He served three generations of the Shen family patriarchs in his lifetime.

I've met so many Michelin three-star chefs and state banquet masters that I can't count them on two hands.

But those so-called masters are no match for this man.

It's like a kindergarten apprentice who has just learned to hold a kitchen knife.

"Smack."

The gas stove switch was pressed.

A dark blue flame suddenly leaped up, greedily licking the bottom of the flat-bottomed black iron pan.

Chen Yuan slid a small spoonful of pre-cooked pork fat into the pot.

Oils melt rapidly at high temperatures.

A fine, transparent oily sheen appeared on the surface.

Add a few crushed pieces of ginger and scallion segments to the pot.

"Sizzle—"

A pleasant popping sound filled the kitchen, and the rich aroma of scallions and ginger instantly exploded in the air.

Chen Yuan picked up the white porcelain plate filled with spare ribs with his left hand.

His wrist tilted slightly.

Dozens of pork ribs fell into the boiling hot oil with perfect precision, like a mini meteor shower.

The temperature inside the pot was extremely high.

The moment the ribs come into contact with the hot oil, their surface tightens rapidly.

It locks in all the sweet and savory juices inside.

Chen Yuan gripped the handle of the heavy black iron pot, which weighed over ten kilograms, with his right hand.

What happened next.

This caused Uncle Fu, who was standing not far away, to gasp in shock.

Even breathing stopped completely.

Chen Yuan's right arm muscles bulged instantly, stretching the fabric of his shirt taut.

A sudden burst of force from the wrist.

Without using a spatula, he relied entirely on the strength of his wrist to toss the heavy iron pot.

fast.

It's almost reached a point where it defies common sense.

Uncle Fu felt a blur before his eyes.

Chen Yuan's wrist and the iron pot completely turned into a blurry black afterimage in mid-air!

"Whoosh—whoosh—!"

The iron pot was rubbed against the blue flames at a high frequency, creating a rapid whooshing sound.

The ribs in the pot were subjected to terrifying centrifugal force.

Tumbling and leaping in mid-air.

Every toss and drop is accompanied by absolute precision.

Not a single rib bumped into each other.

Not a single drop of scalding hot oil splashed out of the pan.

Chen Yuan's left hand had somehow picked up the spice jar.

Rock sugar, aged vinegar, and a little light soy sauce.

Following the rolling ribs, as if calculated from a bullet trajectory, they fell into the pot in a leisurely manner.

The pungent, sweet and sour smell forcefully dispelled the coolness in the air.

The high temperature caused the rock sugar to melt quickly.

It turns into a thick, amber-colored syrup.

Chen Yuan's speed in flipping the wok increased dramatically once again.

With a loud "boom," the flames surged upwards from the edge of the pot.

The bright yellow flames instantly enveloped the ribs in mid-air.

This is an extremely dangerous fire control technique.

But in Chen Yuan's hands, that ball of flame was like a tamed wild beast.

I only dared to linger on the rib skin for a fraction of a second to force out the excess oil.

Just as the ribs fell and were tossed up again.

Uncle Fu's pupils contracted violently to the size of pinpoints.

What did he see?

The thick syrup at the bottom of the pot, just as the ribs were lifted into the air.

Countless thin, thread-like strands of sugar were stretched out.

Those crystal-clear amber-colored threads intertwined in mid-air to form a perfect net.

It was evenly and thoroughly coated on the surface of every piece of pork rib.

Under the cold white light of the operating room lamp overhead.

The sugar strands refracted a dazzling halo of light.

It's like dressing the ribs in a luminous amber armor.

The most terrifying thing is.

During this high-frequency tumbling and syrup stringing process...

On the marble countertop of the kitchen sink and on the metal edge of the gas stove.

Clean and tidy.

Not even a microgram of sugar syrup droplet fell.

All the juice, all the calories.

Everything was tightly sealed inside that constantly shaking black iron pot.

"rise."

Chen Yuan let out a low shout, his voice without a trace of panting from the strenuous exercise.

The afterimage of the wrist suddenly stopped.

The iron pot drew a sharp arc in mid-air.

The pork ribs in the pot were piping hot and had a sweet and sour aroma.

It slid down the edge of the pot.

"Clang, clang, clang."

The ribs were placed into a long, shallow white porcelain dish that had been prepared on the side.

Uncle Fu stared intently at the plate.

My feet felt like they were rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch.

The ribs on the plate weren't just piled up randomly.

The orientation and angle of each piece of rib.

They are exactly the same!

The spacing between the ribs looked as if it had been measured with millimeter-level calipers.

Exactly.

The amber-colored sugar coating shimmered under the light.

The edge of the white porcelain plate was so clean that not a single drop of extra sauce had been spilled on it.

This is hardly a dish.

This is clearly a masterpiece of art forcibly pieced together using physics and violent aesthetics!

The only sound in the kitchen was the low hum of the range hood.

The overwhelmingly strong aroma of sweet and sour sauce seeped through the crack in the door and headed straight for the master bedroom.

Wang Kai sat on the ground, completely dumbfounded.

He rubbed his rumbling stomach and glanced at the billions of dollars in the shredder.

Suddenly, I realized that those tattered pieces of paper were not as substantial as this plate of pork ribs.

Chen Yuan took off the old apron from his waist.

He casually draped his chair over the kitchen counter on a high stool.

He pulled out two disinfectant wipes and slowly wiped the heat off his long, slender knuckles.

His movements were as elegant as a nobleman who had just completed a perfect symphony conducting performance.

Uncle Fu stood two meters away from the dining table.

His cloudy old eyes were filled with extreme shock and disbelief.

Sweat streamed down his forehead, cutting into his deep wrinkles and stinging his eyes.

With trembling hands, he pulled the pure white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tuxedo.

He hastily wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

His gaze remained fixed on the gleaming white porcelain plate, as if his soul had been emptied.

Uncle Fu trembled as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Looking at the plate of ribs that shone like a work of art, he muttered to himself, "Young Master's wok-tossing technique and fire control... have completely surpassed the limits of human physics, haven't they?"