The Game of Life-Chapter 862 - 861 A Good Pot

Chapter 862: Chapter 861 A Good Pot

Chapter 862 -861 A Good Pot

“Phew,” Jiang Feng took a deep breath the moment he left, feeling as if he had just finished running a marathon.

He couldn’t understand what he had just seen here, not only was he puzzled, but so were the readers, and possibly even the author who wrote this scenario couldn’t figure it out.

While in the fog, he felt possessed, relentlessly wanting to run forward, to keep running to chase after a voice, so much so that he still hadn’t caught his breath now, sitting on the sofa without a drop of sweat yet gasping constantly, as if he were truly exhausted.

“Fengfeng, what’s wrong with you? Did you just go out for a run?” Wu Minqi had only worked half a day today and returned to rest in the afternoon. She had been talking on the phone with Mrs. Wu in her room earlier and came out to see Jiang Feng looking ragged.

“I… I just ran up, I kept waiting for the elevator downstairs but it never came,” Jiang Feng blurted out an excuse.

“Then you should’ve waited a little longer, taking the elevator is definitely faster than running,” Wu Minqi said somewhat helplessly as she went to pour some water for Jiang Feng, “In this cold weather, what if you got all sweaty from running and caught a chill sitting here? Did you sweat?”

“…No.”

“Right, Fengfeng, you’d better stop by the shop tomorrow, Zhang Weiyu said the birthday present he prepared for you, the pot entrusted to his father, has arrived and he wants you to pick it up at the shop tomorrow, so you can try it out to see if it’s good or not,” Wu Minqi said.

“A pot?” Jiang Feng wore a baffled expression and took a long time to remember that there seemed to be such a thing.

His birthday was in April, and now at the end of January, the new year was nearing, Zhang Weiyu drags on for two more months and he could send gifts for two years’ birthdays at once.

“How is that pot?” Jiang Feng was actually quite looking forward to this pot, especially since Zhang Weiyu boasted so much about his dad’s handcrafted iron pots.

Zhang Weiyu’s ironing skills were high level; his dad’s skills should at least be master level.

A master level iron pot must be exceptional.

“Haven’t seen it, it arrived this morning, not at the shop, Zhang Weiyu just asked me to let you know,” Wu Minqi stated, “You must be tired from making the Swallow-wing Feast today; by the way, have you had dinner? If not, I can make you some dumplings, I made some at home this afternoon.”

“I did, I had it at Li Mansion.”

Wu Minqi nodded, “Then you should get to bed early, I’m going to apply a face mask.”

Jiang Feng watched Wu Minqi leisurely prepare to find her face mask and inexplicably thought of how she was once confused and aimless due to a vague memory of the taste of a dumpling, searching everywhere, tasting everything, yet still fruitless.

Jiang Feng remembered that Wu Minqi had not made dumplings for a long time.

“Oh, Qiqi, the taste of the dumplings from your childhood that you wanted to find, have you found it?” Jiang Feng suddenly asked.

Wu Minqi was taken aback, shaking her head, “No.”

“Are you still looking for it?”

“Of course, Fengfeng, why did you suddenly think to ask this?” Wu Minqi seemed puzzled.

“No reason, I just suddenly realized it’s been a long time since you made dumplings.”

Wu Minqi laughed, “Are you craving dumplings? If you want some, I’ll make you some tomorrow.”

“And…” Wu Minqi blinked her eyes, “Just making dumplings won’t bring back that taste, it’s all in vain. I guess I knew it was probably futile from the beginning, I just wanted to try, and after realizing it indeed was useless, of course, I stopped making them.”

“For tomorrow’s dumplings, do you want them in clear soup or spicy oil?”

Jiang Feng: “…Clear soup.”

.

After discussing with Wu Minqi what to eat the next day, Jiang Feng washed up absentmindedly, returned to his room, and tightly closed the door.

From the bottom of his heart, he felt that the memory he had just experienced was just a bunch of strange things that didn’t provide any recipes or cooking techniques, and was quite exhausting.

Running on and on.

Yet he couldn’t help but think back to the process of running through the fog.

Reflecting on the run after leaving gave a mysterious sensation.

If he had to give that incomprehensible running a grandiose description, it would probably be like the 9,999 steps that disciples climb before entering a sect in a cultivation novel.

During his run, Jiang Feng had a very mysterious feeling. He thought that at that moment, he and Jiang Chengde were a bit alike. Surrounded by fog, oblivious to the path ahead, direction, or future, unable to trust anything, the only thing to believe in was his own intuition.

Relying on intuition, running toward a direction, finding less and less, hearing fewer and fewer words, increasingly exhausted, increasingly unable to run, and finally stopping.

The only difference was perhaps that Jiang Chengde found his way out of his own fog, while Jiang Feng currently didn’t even understand why he entered the fog and stumbled out.

Although he stumbled out, he still had a small achievement.

In summary, it was quite fascinating that the story suddenly went from an urban system novel to a cultivation fantasy one.

Jiang Feng lay in bed, drowsiness sweeping over him, his eyes gradually blurring as he fell into sleep.

In his dream, he found himself trapped in a thick fog, running incessantly, running all through the night, nearly exhausting himself to death.

A nightmare!

A proper nightmare!

When Jiang Feng woke up, he felt he was developing a psychological shadow over fog, fearing that he might get PTSD whenever he recalled this memory, and he dared not look at the remaining memory fragment. The final was just around the corner, and digging into memories now could invite disaster if anything went wrong. That would just hand Chef Arno an unwarranted advantage.

Breakfast was dumplings made by Wu Minqi the day before, with a three-delight filling. The dumplings were small, each one dainty, and perfectly fitting one bite.

After eating the dumplings, Jiang Feng and Wu Minqi walked together to the Taifeng Building, leisurely strolling and chatting about the upcoming final. Wu Minqi expressed some doubts about Jiang Feng making Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup because if he went ahead with that dish, no one else could assist him, as they truly didn’t know how.

Then Jiang Feng told Wu Minqi that she could help him make porridge and also shared with her his plan to prepare several more dishes during the final, in addition to the porridge and Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup.

Wu Minqi: ?

The more they chatted, the slower they walked, which directly led to both of them being late and recorded by the impartial Mrs. Wang Xiulian for a wage deduction at the end of the month.

See, even when you are ranked sixth among famous chefs, being late to work still costs you a salary deduction.

“Feng, happy birthday!” As soon as Jiang Feng changed his clothes and entered the kitchen, he was startled by a wok held in both hands by Zhang Weiyu.

“Feng is fine, happy birthday, not so much. Are you wishing me a happy birthday for last year or for this year? Your birthday gift is so late, it could almost pass as a Valentine’s Day gift,” Jiang Feng joked as he took the wok.

Zhang Weiyu chuckled: “If you don’t mind, Feng, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Jiang Feng: ?

“gun!”

Though the birthday gift was admittedly late, it was indeed a fine wok.

This was Jiang Feng’s first encounter with a wok hand-forged by a blacksmith—it looked quite different from those sold in the market. The surface of the wok wasn’t smooth, yet it had a unique and regular beauty.

“Feng, don’t underestimate this wok because it looks ordinary, maybe even a bit ugly—my dad spent nearly four months forging it by hand. He even ruined one in the process, which is why it took so long. It’s absolutely a good wok,” Zhang Weiyu began to boast extravagantly about his dad’s craftsmanship, “The dishes cooked in this wok taste better than those made in any other wok, believe it or not?”

“Don’t believe it,” Jiang Feng was skeptical. If skills improved just by changing woks, then what would be the need for a chef?

“Don’t believe it? Fry something with it right now!”

And so, Jiang Feng actually did fry something.

He cooked a challenging dish known for testing the chef’s control over the heat—crispy fried double delights.

[An Almost Perfect Crispy Fried Double Delights]

Jiang Feng: ??

Could this be the legendary, mythical artifact from the golden legends?

So this is what it feels like when skill falls short, and equipment fills the gap?

Although the improvement wasn’t substantial, with the rating going from ‘almost perfect’ to ‘almost infinitely perfect’—the addition of ‘almost infinite’ didn’t make it ‘perfect’—but it was still astonishing.

It really was a good wok, indeed!

A very timely good wok, although it didn’t matter much, since Jiang Feng didn’t really need a wok to make Jiang’s Sea Cucumber Soup.

“How about that, Feng? It’s quite the wok, isn’t it? Everyone who has used a wok made by my dad says it’s excellent!” Zhang Weiyu said, full of pride.

Jiang Feng looked at Zhang Weiyu and suddenly thought that his high-level ironworking skill was undervalued in Taifeng Building, just being a cutter on a chopping block.

If he went back and earnestly learned ironworking from his father, imagine how much he could contribute to the culinary arts of China!

“Zhang Weiyu.”

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on ƒreewebηoveℓ.com.

“Yeah?”

“How about I fire you now, and you go back to learn ironworking from your dad?”

Zhang Weiyu: ???

Repaying kindness with ingratitude???