The Four-Flavored Map of China

In the culinary world, eccentric geniuses are never in short supply.

Some young chefs, with unconventional methods, manage to outshine veterans and become overnight sensations. But despite the glamour, industry statistics remain harsh—most restaurants don't survive past 1.5 years. For every success, countless more quietly disappear.

Joichiro Yukihira, seasoned by decades of experience, had seen it all.

Still, he found himself surprised.

"I didn't expect the tavern's owner—the one who came up with the 'order anything' rule—to be so young," he remarked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Zane chuckled. "What, were you expecting an old man with a scar and a cigar behind the counter?"

"Something like that, yeah," Joichiro admitted sheepishly. "I'm new here, so how about a recommendation?"

"I suggest the Tai Continent Map. It's the most elaborate dish I can make with the ingredients I have today."

"…Tai Continent Map?" Joichiro echoed, puzzled. He had traveled the world, cooked in every corner of it, and yet this was a name he had never heard.

Still, his curiosity was piqued. "Alright. I'll go with the chef's recommendation."

"Coming right up." Zane turned back toward the kitchen.

…

Under the kitchen lights, Zane's knife gleamed, its edge cold and sharp. With calm precision, he began working on a fresh tai—a red sea bream prized in Japanese cuisine.

His hands moved with purpose: removing the head, gutting and cleaning the fish, filleting it along the bone with perfect cuts.

"Sanmai oroshi, huh?" Isami Aldini murmured. "Looks like he's prepping sashimi."

"Maybe sushi," Joichiro added, watching closely. "His knife work's solid. Very clean."

But the dish wasn't nearly that simple.

Zane coated the fillets in starch, rolled them tightly with the fish skin facing out, then dipped them in a fluffy egg-white batter. He deep-fried them until golden, then cranked the heat to crisp the exterior.

Next, he stir-fried Sichuan peppercorns and dried chilis until fragrant, fished them out, and added fresh ginger, garlic slices, and scallions to infuse the oil. A rich sauce followed.

"Sichuan crispy fish?" Isami guessed, eyes lighting up.

"No… tempura doesn't use spices like that," Joichiro corrected, his intrigue growing. "It's definitely Sichuan-style. But why use tai for such a rustic dish?"

Zane wasn't done.

He baked the fish briefly in a 200°C oven, soft-steamed duck pancakes, and cut them into perfect triangles. Then, he wrapped slices of baked fish fillet with sweet sauce and scallion strips, just like Beijing roast duck.

"Sichuan to Beijing… What's he doing?" Joichiro muttered, eyes narrowing.

But the fusion continued.

Zane chopped bell peppers, mixed them with fish belly, oyster sauce, and assorted vegetables in classic Cantonese style. Then, using the remaining fish tail, he wrapped small portions of crab roe with a hint of ginger juice—delicate, minimalist, and unmistakably Shanghai.

"He's… He's using a single tai fish to represent the four major Chinese cuisines?" Joichiro gasped. "This isn't just a dish… it's an artistic statement!"

"Unreal," Rindo whispered, already feeling like her earlier Lion's Head dish had been eclipsed.

…

"Sonoka, I need your help."

Zane passed her a pair of scissors and motioned to the dish, now wrapped in thread to hold its shape.

"When I count to three, we cut together. Got it?"

Sonoka nodded. Though nervous, her heart thudded with anticipation. She saw it again—the faint shimmer of golden light, just like the glow from Zane's previous culinary masterpieces.

Another glowing dish?

"Okay… One, two, three!"

With a synchronized snip, the threads fell away—and the dish unfolded like a flower in bloom.

A soft glow radiated from the plate.

A vivid map emerged.

Beijing in the north: salted and baked tai wrapped in duck pancakes.

Sichuan in the west: fried fillets drenched in spicy oil.

Shanghai in the east: fish tail medallions paired with crab roe.

Cantonese cuisine in the south: stir-fried belly with crisp vegetables and sauce.

Joichiro's breath caught in his throat.

"A dish this elaborate… it could rival the Manchu Han Imperial Feast."

…

"Let's eat while it's hot," Zane said simply, placing the plate in front of him.

Joichiro took a bite.

In his mind, an image of the Great Wall unfurled across misty mountains. A grand, solemn melody echoed—deep, ancient, and unshakably proud.

He lowered his chopsticks, stunned.

This wasn't just a dish.

It was a cultural monument.