"Let me do it—"
A steady, magnetic voice said this.
Xingping Chuangzhen instinctively stepped back and saw his father, Xingping Cheng Yilang, placing a steaming hot clay pot on the table, his eyes suddenly widened in shock, "Dad, when did you finish cooking?!"
Xingping Cheng Yilang glanced at him.
"When Miss Feng Zhixi mentioned that she had tasted Chinese cuisine that was on the level of a three or four-star restaurant's signature dishes…"
Ugh.
With a forehead throbbing with veins, Xingping Chuangzhen complained discontentedly, "Hey, hey, hey, Dad, so you didn't have confidence in me from the start!"
"You've only just started on the path of being a chef," Xingping Cheng Yilang casually replied then pushed the hot clay pot in front of the curious Feng Zhixi and removed its lid.
Instantly, a fresh aroma wafted into the air.
Feng Zhixi's eyes widened in surprise, and Xingping Chuangzhen's gaze frozen, "This, this is soup?"