Nie Guotao wasn’t exactly fat, but he definitely wasn’t skinny either.
Add to that the momentum of a full-force charge—most people wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
Yet a slender, fair hand—clearly a girl’s—managed to yank him straight back.
Even Nie Chen and the server were stunned, not to mention Nie Guotao himself.
“You…”
What met his gaze was a very young face, with a pair of smiling, peach blossom eyes looking at him gently as she asked, “Sir, what are you doing?”
Nie Guotao’s arm was still being held. He looked a bit lost and flustered, stammering, “I just wanted to see the kitchen…”
Nie Chen was completely shocked. Just a moment ago, his grandpa had been righteously stubborn. Now he sounded like a scared kitten?
He glanced at the girl again, curiosity piqued.
At that moment, three exceptionally handsome, imposing men appeared behind the girl. They didn’t say a word, but the bodyguard vibe was strong.
Jiang Fuyue let go of the old man’s arm, her smile unwavering. “Every restaurant’s kitchen is off-limits to guests. See, we’ve even posted signs.”
Nie Guotao suddenly felt sheepish. “I saw…”
Jiang Fuyue paused for a moment, then asked, “Why do you want to go in the kitchen, sir? Can you tell me the reason?”
“You the owner here?”
Jiang Fuyue replied, “I’m the owner’s daughter.”
“Ah, even better. Young lady, help me talk to your folks. I don’t mean any harm. I just want to see what ingredients are in the Phoenix Taking Flight dish. I’ve been trying to figure it out but can’t.”
Trying to figure it out, huh…
Jiang Fuyue raised an eyebrow. This old man clearly wasn’t just some average diner.
“No need to enter the kitchen. I can tell you right now.”
“Huh?” Nie Guotao blinked. “You’re the chef?”
“No.”
“Then how can you tell me?”
“I remember how the dish is made.”
The old man shook his head. “That’s not good enough. You might remember the general idea, but ingredients—especially the smaller seasonings—are tricky. Even people with good memories can’t get them all. Don’t try to fool me just ’cause I’m old.”
Miss one thing and the flavor’s off.
Like they say: A millimeter of error leads to a mile of difference.
Jiang Fuyue nodded. “You’re absolutely right. But I remember everything clearly—not just the seasonings, but the steps, the timing, the flame intensity, and the exact amounts of each ingredient.”
Nie Guotao was skeptical. “If you remember so clearly, why say you’re not the chef?”
“Do you have to be a chef to remember something?” Jiang Fuyue countered. “I only needed to see it once.”
Nie Guotao laughed. “You’re young, but you sure know how to brag. You think you’ve got photographic memory?”
Jiang Fuyue thought for a moment. “In most cases, yes.”
“?”
Nie Chen raised his brows. His expression clearly said: Are you kidding me?
But Xie Dingyuan, Ling Qingzhou, and Yi Hansheng weren’t surprised at all.
Whether it was the current Jiang Fuyue or her past self—Lou Mingyue—this was nothing new for her.
“Little girl, talk big and it’ll come back to bite you.”
Jiang Fuyue smiled. “Why don’t you first tell me which seasonings you did taste? I’ll point out what’s missing, and you’ll see if I’m right—after all, the taste doesn’t lie.”
Nie Guotao gave her a strange look. “You serious?”
Jiang Fuyue nodded.
“Other than pork tripe and chicken gizzards—the main ingredients—I tasted white pepper, cilantro, scallions, Sichuan peppercorns, yellow cooking wine, soy sauce, salt, and MSG.”
Jiang Fuyue nodded. “Close. But you got one wrong and missed one.”
“Wrong?!” The old man’s eyes widened. “I’ll accept I missed one—couldn’t taste it—but wrong? No way! Which one?!”
Nie Chen looked at her too. His list had matched his grandfather’s exactly.
If the old man was wrong, that meant he was too.
Jiang Fuyue said, “There was no MSG in the soup. Instead, pomelo pulp was simmered in the broth used to cook the pork tripe for 15 minutes, then added in a specific ratio to the soup. It works as a flavor enhancer and adds a refreshing aroma to balance out the richness of the pork.”
“Pomelo pulp?” Nie Guotao smacked his lips, recalling that hint of unique fragrance. “So it was pomelo?”
Nie Chen was also thinking about it. That flavor…
Now that she mentioned it—yeah, that was it! He’d guessed orange peel, maybe even tangerine peel—but never pomelo.
Nie Guotao quickly nodded in realization. “Yes, yes, it’s pomelo! Girl, you’re amazing!”
Jiang Fuyue smiled. “So, no need to go into the kitchen now, right?”
“Nope, nope!” The old man scratched his nose, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry for the trouble. I didn’t mean to make a fuss—I just couldn’t help myself…”
“Well,” Jiang Fuyue said, “people tend to get a little obsessive about things they love.”
“Exactly! I just love good food, and I had to figure out that flavor.”
Not far away, Zhang Yuan had witnessed the entire thing and grew more certain: This old man had to be the famous gourmet—Nie Guotao.
She started wondering—should she go over and ask for an interview?
