The Game of Life-Chapter 821 - 820 Establishing a Sect

Chapter 821: Chapter 820: Establishing a Sect

Chapter 821 -820: Establishing a Sect

On the evening of December 21st at 6 o’clock, Jiang Feng was carrying a huge, three-kilo fruit salad platter he had just made, walking downstairs to Jiang Jiankang’s place, when he bumped into Jiang Shoucheng who had just gotten off work at the hospital, still wearing a thick down jacket with the smell of disinfectant on him.

Jiang Feng glanced at Jiang Shoucheng’s down jacket, which seemed even heavier than the fruit platter he was carrying, then looked down at his own thin sweater. Even though there was no wind in the hallway, he couldn’t help but shiver.

At the same time, he felt a bit delighted.

The heating is really great!

“Cheng, just got off work?” asked Jiang Feng with a smile.

“I asked the director for leave to come home early. It was not busy today in the department,” Jiang Shoucheng knocked on the door, and urgent footsteps could be heard from inside, signaling a heavy presence – it was either Jiang Jianguo or Jiang Jiankang.

The door opened.

Sure enough, it was Jiang Jiankang.

“Son!” Jiang Jiankang exclaimed excitedly, completely overlooking his nephew standing right in front of him. He took a couple of quick steps towards Jiang Feng, took the fruit platter from his hands with concern, “It’s so cold, why are you wearing so little? Even if it’s just a few steps, you should have worn a coat. What if you catch a cold from the wind?”

Previously, when Jiang Feng went to Alan City for university, Jiang Jiankang hadn’t been this excited to see him even after half a year, maybe this is the charm of making appointments.

If it wasn’t because of the need for an appointment, Jiang Jiankang wouldn’t have known how much he wanted to see his son.

After finishing, Jiang Jiankang turned to Jiang Shoucheng: “Chengcheng, could you please take the trash by the door out with you?”

Jiang Shoucheng: ?

The door closed mercilessly, leaving Jiang Shoucheng outside with two bags of trash in his hand, while Jiang Feng was welcomed into the warm home, embracing the lovely heating once again.

There were already quite a few people inside.

Sir was still making dumplings by the coffee table, the only one doing so. Clearly, today’s dumplings were entirely his responsibility, not allowing anyone else to interfere. Mrs. Jiang was cooking dumplings in the kitchen, and Wang Xiulian, the aunt, along with Jiang Jianguo, were all gathered around the dining table cutting fruits, with a digital scale and a calculator next to the aunt, continuously tapping and calculating probably the calories.

The aunt’s diet was always serious, scientific, and precise, yet ineffective.

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Jiang Jiandang was studying Jiang Shoucheng’s textbooks by the window, with nothing else to do no Jiang Jianye and Jiang Jianshe, Aunt Four, and Jiang Weiming could only sit and watch TV on the sofa.

At this point, a meticulous reader might ask, what about Jiang Ran, who almost had no presence and was nearly erased from the Jiang family’s genealogy? After all, he and Jiang Feng were from the same cohort.

Jiang Ran had wanted to go abroad for further studies, but later decided to stay at school for postgraduate studies as he found the fish and chips in that country unpalatable. Now, he is stuck in Magic City, studying harder than ever.

Looking around the room, Jiang Feng noticed that Wu Minqi was surprisingly absent.

Today being the winter solstice, everyone was eating dumplings, but Taifeng Building was still operating as usual, with only the Jiang family members gathered. Since Wu Minqi was definitely going to be the Jiang family’s daughter-in-law, she should be included in such a tradition of eating dumplings on the winter solstice.

“Dad, isn’t Minqi coming to eat dumplings tonight?” Jiang Feng asked.

“Minqi is picking up a cake, she’ll be a bit late,” replied Jiang Jiankang cheerfully.

“A cake?” Jiang Feng was surprised. He had heard of eating dumplings on the winter solstice but never cake. Could this be the legendary fusion of East and West?

The conversation turned to this topic, and Jiang Weiming, who had been intently watching TV, chimed in. Looking helplessly at Sir, who was still making dumplings, he explained, “It’s their idea; they said it’s rare for everyone to be together on the winter solstice, so they wanted to make up for my birthday.”

Last year, when Jiang Weiming turned 99, Jiang Feng had said they would celebrate big for his 100th birthday. But when the actual 100th birthday arrived, it coincided with a busy period at Taifeng Building, and the intense rivalry in the Sino-US window competition; everyone was too occupied. Jiang Weiming didn’t want a grand celebration either. According to him, the Jiang family tradition was not to celebrate the 100th birthday but the 99th, with just a bowl of longevity noodles marking the occasion, not even a family gathering.

This year, just like last, Jiang Yong ordered a birthday cake for Jiang Weiming at the cake shop.

“Of course, we should make it up for your birthday,” said Jiang Feng with a smile, as he took a seat on the sofa. “You said we didn’t need something big, just a meal together is fine, so let’s eat the dumplings today, and consider it making up for your birthday.”

The door knocked again. Apparently, Jiang Shoucheng had finished throwing out the trash and came back; Jiang Jiankang went to open the door.

“How’s your practice going?” Suddenly, Sir asked.

“Ah, well… It’s okay, I guess,” Jiang Feng wasn’t sure how to describe his progress over the last half month. To say there was none would be impossible; his porridge was getting better, and the fruit platter was decently done.

To say there was progress would not be true; the progress bar for Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup was like it was stuck to the ground, immovable by any kicks.

“Okay? What’s okay?” Sir was clearly dissatisfied with Jiang Feng’s vague answer.

“Come on, it’s a holiday. It’s like we’re checking end-of-term grades,” Jiang Weiming chuckled. “Feng is no longer a child; he surely knows what he is doing. Besides, with his current level, even if he encounters problems, do you think the two of us could solve them?”

Sir was left speechless by this retort, forced to focus on his dumpling wrapping.

The family had many members with good appetites; they needed to make a lot of dumplings, or there wouldn’t be enough to go around.

“But Feng, Granduncle Weiming has something he wants to ask you,” said Jiang Weiming, shifting his tone from gentle parent to the annoying relative inquiring about school grades.

“Did you encounter any problems when making Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup?” Jiang Weiming looked at Jiang Feng.

His question caught Jiang Feng off guard.

Jiang Feng hadn’t expected Jiang Weiming to notice.

He had prepared a variety of dishes every day for the past half a month. Logically, no one should have noticed that he was actually focusing on mastering Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup. He had never mentioned why he suddenly secluded himself; he just said he wanted to focus on his culinary skills.

The most critical thing was that Jiang Weiming had only visited home to see him once in the past half a month, engaging with Jiang Feng for over half an hour, and their talk had all been about Jiang Weiming’s culinary experiences over the years, amounting to an exchange of experience.

“No… no significant problems,” Jiang Feng said in shock, stammering a bit and completely giving himself away.

Jiang Feng knew his problem was difficult to articulate.

If he were to tell someone that his biggest current challenge was discovering that his cooking style lacked distinctiveness, surely, no one would believe him. To outsiders, Jiang Feng’s cooking style was ever-changing and could be described as extremely stylish. Among all the master chefs nationwide, Jiang Feng’s cuisine was considered the most unique.

If Jiang Feng said that, others would undoubtedly ask him how his other dishes lacked style. If Jiang Feng honestly answered that his previous dishes were imitations, it would lead to more serious and difficult-to-explain problems.

Imitating whom?

How could he possibly imitate those masters he had never even met, who had already passed away?

Therefore, Jiang Feng chose to conceal this because he didn’t feel that telling the truth would help him gain assistance from others.

But now, Jiang Weiming had somehow noticed.

Jiang Feng looked at Jiang Weiming, whose slightly murky eyes were filled with deep affection and care, as if encouraging him, resembling a sturdy stone wall reliable and dependable.

This look seemed to have a magical power, a kind of magic that urged Jiang Feng to speak the truth and seek help from a loved elder.

Jiang Feng hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“Indeed… I’ve encountered some problems,” Jiang Feng struggled to organize his words to make it all sound less absurd.

“I feel… I’m not making my own dishes.”

Sir stopped his activities.

Jiang Feng squinted, somewhat bewildered, “I feel like I’m just copying answers from a reference sheet, lacking my own ideas, my own signature. No matter what dish, it doesn’t feel like it’s mine.”

“Those signature dishes aren’t mine, but simple dishes like stir-fried shredded potatoes or chili scrambled eggs seem to be my own. Yet what truly belongs to me isn’t spectacular. Only when making porridge do I feel different, very smooth and comfortable, not needing to think too much, just going by my own feelings.”

“These days, I’ve been thinking about how to make those dishes my own. I think I am good at knifework, but it seems knifework can’t change much. It can’t alter the flavor, can’t make it more outstanding, and sometimes it doesn’t even make it look better.”

Having said that, Jiang Feng looked at Sir and Jiang Weiming, hoping they would understand a bit.

Jiang Weiming might have understood a little, but Sir just had a blank expression on his face, as if what Jiang Feng had said was completely beyond him.

Jiang Feng didn’t receive any response for a long time.

“I’ll go pour a glass of juice,” Jiang Feng decided to use drinking juice to ease the awkwardness. He ran to the dining table to ask his aunt for juice.

Hospitably, the aunt brought out orange juice, tangerine juice, grape juice, and apple juice for Jiang Feng to pick from, and mentioned that if he didn’t mind waiting, she could make him a fresh fruit tea on the spot.

Of course, Jiang Feng didn’t mind and stationed himself by the dining table, where his aunt turned into a master of fruit tea, starting to mix one on the spot.

“What was Feng just talking about?” Sir threw the dough he had been holding for a long time onto the chopping board.

“He is searching for his own path,” Jiang Weiming said, smiling happily.

Sir: ???

Would he hear something he could understand before eating dumplings today?

Seeing that Sir didn’t understand, Jiang Weiming smiled and tried another way of explaining, “As a child, do you remember a period when your father often visited other restaurants’ chefs, stayed away for two or three days, and then locked himself in the kitchen upon returning? He often forgot about the time even past the opening hours of Taifeng Building, making Mr. Lu run to our house to find him frequently.”

Sir nodded; he certainly remembered.

That was a major turning point in Jiang Chengde’s culinary career. It was from then on that he truly absorbed the strengths of various schools and greatly promoted the Jiang Family Dishes.

“I remember that phase lasted about two or three years, and I often peeked through the kitchen window to see what dad was actually doing in there,” Sir said.

“Do you remember what he was doing?”

“Cooking, what else?” Sir didn’t understand why Jiang Weiming brought this up.

“Feng is doing the same thing he did back then.”

Sir was astonished.

It seemed incredible. He turned to look at his grandson, who was waiting to drink his fruit tea, his eyes filled with longing for the beverage, hardly seeming like someone capable of doing something so monumental.

“Are you sure?” Sir felt Jiang Weiming was overthinking it; even though Jiang Feng’s improvement over the past two years had already far exceeded his expectations and comprehension, the phrase ‘establishing a school of thought’ still seemed too far-fetched for Jiang Feng.

If Jiang Feng were really doing the same thing as Jiang Chengde back then, then he would be founding a new school.

“Wait and see,” Jiang Weiming said with a twinkle in his eye.

“I won’t be wrong.”