Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The kitchen of a county-run restaurant.

The atmosphere at this moment was even more explosive than a pressure cooker.

"Snapped!"

The restaurant manager rushed into the kitchen like a rabbit being chased by a ghost, slamming the tray in his hand onto the cutting board, his face as white as a sheet.

"Chef Liu! Stop dawdling! Boss Jin is angry!"

The manager, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, cried out in a tearful voice, "The 'Chicken Stew with Mushrooms' dish we just served, Boss Jin took one bite and threw down his chopsticks! He said the chicken was as tough as wood chips, and that we were feeding pigs! He also said... if we can't come up with a decent game dish for the main course, this mountain produce deal is off, and he's taking the train back to Guangzhou tomorrow!"

"What? You threw your chopsticks?"

Head chef Liu Changchun's legs were shaking so badly that he could barely hold his spoon.

This Jin Wanfu boss is a god of wealth that the county's foreign trade bureau went to great lengths to invite.

If he offends people and they leave, he might as well quit his job as head chef and go home to farm.

"What did I say again?"

Ma San, the sous chef next to him, was leaning against the wall eating sunflower seeds. Hearing this, he sneered with schadenfreude.

"Old Liu, those southern barbarians are hard to please. I think you shouldn't wait for that hunter surnamed Zhao anymore; that kid is definitely just a freeloader. He's probably frozen stiff in the snow by now."

Ma San pointed to the frozen chicken on the cutting board, which was half-thawed and had a pale skin, and said in a sarcastic tone:

"Hurry up, fry this frozen chicken, add lots of chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns to cover up the fishy smell, and call it 'Spicy Snow Chicken.' Serve the dish up first, we'll see if we can fool them at least one round. It's better than letting them sit there doing nothing, right?"

Liu Changchun looked at the lifeless, frozen chicken with despair in his eyes.

He knew that Boss Jin, a discerning diner, had a palate more discerning than a cat. Serving this up wouldn't be fooling him; it would be insulting his intelligence.

"It's over...it's completely over this time..." Liu Changchun slumped into a chair, his eyes vacant.

"Clang—clang—clang!"

The bell rang. There were only ten minutes left until the final serving time.

Ma San walked over smugly, picked up a kitchen knife, and said, "Alright, Lao Liu, I'm the one who has to save the day in this crucial moment. I'll cook this dish, and I'll take the blame if anything goes wrong..."

"Bang--!!"

The heavy wooden door to the kitchen was suddenly kicked open from the outside!

A fierce wind, carrying snowflakes, swept in like a white dragon, making the flames in the stove roar.

"Who said we were going to try to fool our honored guests with a diseased chicken?"

A cold voice pierced through the wind and snow, exploding in everyone's ears.

Zhao Shanhe stood at the doorway, covered in snow, like an iron tower. Behind him followed Song Weiguo, panting but beaming with joy.

"Brother Zhao... Brother Zhao?!"

Liu Changchun seemed to have seen Guanyin Bodhisattva, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, and suddenly jumped up from his chair.

Ma San's expression changed, and the cleaver in his hand froze in mid-air: "How did you get in? This is the back kitchen, a restricted area..."

Zhao Shanhe completely ignored Ma San.

He strode up to the cutting board, glanced at the pale, frozen chicken, his eyes full of disdain.

"This kind of garbage doesn't deserve to be served! If that Boss Jin eats this stuff, you'll make our county lose all face."

After saying that, Zhao Shanhe untied the burlap sack that was still moving on his back, and with a wave of his hand, dumped it directly onto the chopping board.

"Splash—"

It was accompanied by a crisp flapping sound.

Four glossy, spirited pheasants fluttered their wings on the cutting board, their bright red eyelids and grayish-brown markings breathtakingly beautiful under the light.

And that unique "clucking" sound instantly brings the entire kitchen to life.

"This...this..."

Ma San, who had been shouting just moments before, nearly popped his eyes out and opened his mouth wide enough to fit an egg.

"Live?! All of them are live flying dragons?!"

Liu Changchun was trembling with excitement. His hands shook as he touched the warm body of the bird, tears welling in his eyes. "This quality...this vitality...this is top-notch! Even before the heavy snow blocked the mountains, I had never seen such a fine flying dragon!"

Zhao Shanhe remained calm, as if he had only done a trivial matter.

"Master Liu, these birds aren't quite dead yet; they're at their most vibrant. Put them in the pot now, no need for any seasoning, the broth will be incredibly delicious. Didn't Boss Jin complain that the chicken was too dry? Let him try this."

"Yes! Yes! Absolutely right!" Liu Changchun roared. "Quick! Get the pot ready! Boil the water! I want to do it myself!"

However, Zhao Shanhe did not stop.

Looking at the busy crowd, he suddenly pulled out the tightly wrapped hood of a military overcoat from the bottom of the sack.

"Master Liu, don't rush. Although the Flying Dragon Soup is delicious, it's not enough to intimidate that Boss Jin."

Zhao Shanhe opened his hat.

A strong, earthy smell filled the air.

Upon seeing this, Ma San immediately covered his nose and exclaimed in disgust, "My goodness! What is this? A bunch of toads? Zhao, are you deliberately trying to disgust people? Take it away right now! Don't spoil the taste of the Flying Dragon Soup!"

"Shut up!"

This time, it wasn't Zhao Shanhe who spoke, but Liu Changchun.

As the head chef, he stared at the pile of dark, slightly wriggling things, his eyes flashing with a sharp light.

Zhao Shanhe sneered, picked up a small knife, skillfully sliced ​​open the belly of a forest frog, and picked out the crystal-clear, creamy snow frog oil inside.

He raised the tip of the knife and waved it in the light.

"Sophie Ma, you call this a toad?"

"That Mr. Jin is from Hong Kong, right? People from Guangdong are very particular about 'nutritional supplements.' In their eyes, this stuff is called 'soft gold,' a tribute for the emperor!"

"Why would he travel all this way to this remote and impoverished place? Isn't it just for this bit of unspoiled, authentic wild game?"

Zhao Shanhe's voice wasn't loud, but every word was precious, leaving the kitchen helpers and apprentices around him stunned.

"Flying dragon soup is 'fresh,' but this 'stewed snow frog' is 'nourishing' and 'luxurious'!"

"As long as this dish is served and they tell him it's made from live snow frogs just dug out of an ice hole, I guarantee that Boss Jin won't leave; he'll give us a thumbs up!"

"Absolutely amazing... Absolutely amazing..."

Liu Changchun held the snow frog as if it were a family heirloom, his eyes filled with awe as he looked at Zhao Shanhe: "Brother Zhao, you not only know how to hunt, but you also understand people's hearts! I, Liu Changchun, am truly impressed!"

The crisis was averted, and it even became a great achievement.

The kitchen was bustling with activity, but Ma San slunk away in a corner, not daring to utter a single word.

Zhao Shanhe patted the dirt off his hands and stopped Song Weiguo, who was about to go ahead to report the good news.

"Section Chief Song, let's skip the formalities. Let's stick to the usual rules."

Zhao Shanhe pointed to the things on the cutting board, his tone leaving no room for doubt, carrying the assertive air of a man in charge:

"I don't want any letters of commendation or banners. Those things can't fill your stomach."

"I want to exchange this pile of stuff for 50 jin of premium high-gluten flour, 10 jin of pork belly, two barrels of soybean oil, and two cans of malted milk powder."

At this point, Zhao Shanhe paused, his gaze softening as he recalled Lin Xiu still wearing patched old clothes at home:

"Give me a few more feet of red Dacron floral fabric; I need to make a new dress for my wife. And two pounds of White Rabbit milk candy for my daughter."

Normally, anyone who dares to ask such an exorbitant price from a state-run restaurant would have been kicked out long ago.

But at this moment, Song Weiguo didn't even hit Ben'er; he simply waved his hand, displaying boundless heroism:

"Here you go! Double the amount!"

"Old Wang! Go to the storeroom! Bring out the best flour and the best meat! Don't be stingy! Give Brother Zhao as much as he wants! Put it all on my tab!"

A few minutes later.

Bags of premium white flour printed with the red national emblem, pieces of juicy pork, colorful candies and fabrics were piled up like small mountains in front of Zhao Shanhe.

Looking at these invaluable resources in this era, Zhao Shanhe finally managed a genuine smile.

Hong Kong businessman, chef—they're all just fleeting clouds.

Making sure his wife and children are well-fed and clothed, and that they can hold their heads high, is the greatest dignity he can have in this second life.

"Thanks, Brother Song. Help me load it into the car; my wife and kids are waiting for me to come home for the New Year!"