Chief Bird grinned, took the full glass, and downed it in one go. Feng Jun clapped enthusiastically in response, then placed his hand on the pot lid.

"A happy fish swims in the stream; on our table, it’s a joyful theme. May you be like a fish in water, successful in career and family."

After reciting the blessing, Feng Jun lifted the lid of the pot.

A cloud of white steam billowed out from the iron pot, followed by a thick, savory aroma that filled the air. The rich, mellow scent instantly permeated the dining hall.

’This aroma!’

Feng Mountain looked toward the iron pot, his eyes filled with pleasant surprise.

The stew bubbled in the pot. Three freshwater cod were simmered to perfection, exuding a tempting fragrance. Chunks of potato, cooked until they were nearly melting, peeked through the thick broth, which was garnished with vibrant green cilantro and scallions.

A ring of flatbreads lined the edge of the pot, releasing a faint wheaty scent. Their golden-brown color was enough to make one’s mouth water.

Iron Pot Stewed Cod.

’Well, what do you know!’

’I didn’t think the little chatterbox had a trick like this up his sleeve.’

"Did you secretly learn this from Lin Family Restaurant?"

Feng Jun hurriedly shook his head.

"No way. Back in my neck of the woods, everyone knows how to make iron pot stew. You just flash-fry the fish, add water, pour in soy sauce and seasonings, and let it all stew. Then you stick a ring of cornbread to the side. I even bought this iron pot with my own money."

"It’s mainly because the fish from the river by the camp is so good. I didn’t expect to find catfish here. This kind of fish is really expensive back home, and you’re not even allowed to catch them anymore."

"As the saying goes, ’Catfish with flatbread, it’s a dish to die for.’"

"Okay, stop talking, or the fish will turn to mush." Feng Mountain quickly raised a hand to stop Feng Jun, then suddenly realized his own accent was inexplicably starting to sound like Feng Jun’s. He rolled his eyes in resignation. "Is there enough for everyone else?"

"Yep, I made a huge pot!" Feng Jun grinned, revealing a mouthful of pearly whites.

At that moment, Chief Bird pulled out his wallet, took out a 20 US Dollar bill, and handed it to Feng Jun. "Here, son. Take this. It’s a reward for your little performance."

However, Feng Jun didn’t immediately reach out for it. Instead, he turned to look at Feng Mountain, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

He seemed to be seeking Feng Mountain’s approval, wanting to accept the money but not daring to. He looked like a child caught in a dilemma.

’This kid is usually so sharp,’ Feng Mountain thought. ’Why’s he getting all flustered at a time like this?’

"You silly kid, what are you looking at me for? Take the tip!" Feng Mountain said, his lips curling into an amused, scolding smile. He then explained to Chief Bird, "The boy is used to how things were at Lin Family Restaurant. He’s still a little timid here."

Feng Jun quickly took the bill, a brilliant smile breaking out on his face.

Clutching the 20 US Dollar bill, he said "thank you" to Chief Bird.

Then, he turned and ran excitedly toward the other staff, his steps as light and springy as a joyful fawn.

He couldn’t wait to show off his tip to his coworkers.

Meanwhile, Feng Mountain picked up his chopsticks and selected a piece of cod.

The flesh of the cod was pearly white and tender, coated in the thick sauce and exuding a tempting aroma.

"Have a taste. This is a famous dish from my home country, China. It’s called Iron Pot Stewed Fish."

"It smells amazing, my friend." Chief Bird eagerly put down his fork and, looking the part, picked up a pair of chopsticks, ready to properly savor this specialty dish from China.

Unfortunately, his movements were a bit clumsy. The chopsticks in his hand didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

He tried several times to pick up a piece of fish, but failed each time, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face.

Seeing Chief Bird’s struggle, Feng Mountain let out a good-natured laugh to ease the man’s embarrassment. "It’s fine to use a fork. Don’t worry about it."

"Fuck, I hate using forks. Chopsticks are the ancient tradition," Chief Bird said, disgruntledly putting down the chopsticks and picking up a spoon instead.

He scooped a piece of fish from the iron pot. The morsel, coated in the rich sauce, quivered slightly in the bowl of the spoon.

Chief Bird gazed at the piece of fish for a moment, as if admiring a work of art, before popping it into his mouth without hesitation.

Instantly, the savory flavor of the sauce, rich and mellow, exploded in his mouth.

The fish was so tender and smooth it seemed to melt on his tongue with the slightest pressure.

The wonderful texture and unique flavor made Chief Bird’s eyes light up, and a look of deep satisfaction spread across his face.

"My friend, this is absolutely delicious. None of the Chinese food I’ve ever had before is even one percent as good as this."

"But of course. This is the only place you can taste authentic Chinese food, not that Americanized sweet-and-sour stuff."

A proud smile played on Feng Mountain’s lips as he watched Chief Bird devour the stewed fish.

’I’ll have Su Ziweng find a few more authentic Chinese chefs later.’

’It’s time to show these clueless foreigners what real Chinese cuisine is all about.’

...

After lunch, Chief Bird, patting a belly stuffed to the brim, took a tour of the camp with Feng Mountain.

The brief period of sunlight bathed the camp, draping everything in a warm, golden glow.

Chief Bird’s eyes showed his appreciation for the camp’s construction and layout.

However, he was still skeptical about the tourism project Feng Mountain had proposed.

Even if the Crown Territory had this stretch of mossy tundra, once the Far North Tundra entered its polar night, it had little potential for tourism aside from viewing the aurora.

But given Feng Mountain’s generous hospitality, Chief Bird didn’t voice his doubts.

"My friend, is there anything I can help you with?"

Feng Mountain smiled. "The Chinese tourists in my tour groups will probably visit Fairbanks. If it’s convenient, I’d appreciate it if you could show them a bit of kindness, within the scope of your duties. You know how it is—sometimes Chinese people don’t fully understand local customs and might do some foolish things. I’m just hoping you can go easy on them."

Some things are better left unsaid; spelling them out only causes hurt feelings.

A subtle hint was enough.

As the head of security for Fairbanks City, Chief Bird understood some things very clearly.

Racial discrimination was everywhere.