From "Artist" to "Fugitive Hero"

Late at night, in a mid-range hotel room, Chen Zisheng tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind repeatedly flashing back to the scenes of today:

His meticulously prepared "artwork" being dumped into the swill bucket, while guests praised a bowl of ordinary noodles.

This humiliation was even more unbearable than the grievances he had suffered over the years in the island country.

In fact, his days in the island country were far from as glorious as he had boasted.

What Michelin chef, what innovative cuisine, were nothing more than working odd jobs in an ordinary izakaya, occasionally making some simple dishes.

Those fancy plating skills were also secretly learned by observing others.

Chen Zisheng stood in the kitchen of the izakaya, mechanically washing dishes.

Splashes of water dotted his apron, like the bitterness of his years in the island country.

"Hey, the dishwasher!" The shop owner was shouting at him again, "The trash in the back hasn't been taken out yet!"

Every time the shop owner said this, he would put on a particularly heavy Kansai accent, as if deliberately mocking him, a foreigner.

He bowed his head and responded quietly, not daring to show any dissatisfaction.

This place was not the technical school, where he had no right to act high and mighty.

Back in the technical school, he was "Teacher Chen," "Director Chen," a "key figure" who could determine the fate of students.

At that time, any student who wanted to get into his class had to offer a red envelope of at least three thousand yuan.

Every school season, his desk drawer was always stuffed with envelopes.

"Teacher Chen, this is a little gift from my child..."

"Director Chen, please take care..."

One extra class with ten more students, three thousand per student, that's thirty thousand yuan on the side.

Not to mention the internship assignments and job recommendations that followed, which were all clearly priced.

"Damn it! Re-wash the bowl!" The shop owner's roar interrupted his memories.

A greasy bowl "smack" was thrown in front of him, "Can't you see the grease stains?"

Chen Zisheng gritted his teeth, looking at the dirty water that splashed all over him.

In this small shop in a foreign land, he couldn't even maintain his basic dignity.

Let alone cooking, even touching the cutting board depended on the shop owner's mood.

He couldn't help but think of that damn whistleblower letter: "Teacher Chen Zisheng accepted bribes during the enrollment process and took kickbacks in the internship assignment..."

Those "ungrateful" poor students, just because they couldn't afford the money, just because they didn't get good internship opportunities, dared to report him!

Now, he has become the lowestly odd job worker here, washing dishes and cleaning toilets every day, and enduring the shop owner's and other chefs' cold shoulders.

Even the plating skills he took pride in were nothing more than secretly observing other chefs' techniques when the shop owner was not paying attention, imitating them bit by bit.

But now, even these superficial imitations have become a joke.

Since the school incident was reported, he has not been able to find a decent job.

Who would want a teacher who was dismissed by the school?

He had to flee to the island country and start from the bottom as an odd job worker.

Over the years, he has no idea how many dishes and pots he has scrubbed, barely learning some superficial skills.

The next day, before the sun had climbed to the top of his head, Chen Zisheng arrived at the small shop with his four followers.

This "island country chef" was full of pride, like a leader coming for an inspection, intending to see what kind of craftsmanship could surpass his "artwork."

"Boss, I'll have a portion of twice-cooked pork and a portion of boiled fish."

His voice was not too loud or too soft, just enough for everyone in the shop to hear,

"Let me see what makes this small shop so 'famous'."

Xiao Li was coming out of the kitchen with a plate of dishes, and when he looked up and saw Chen Zisheng, he almost dropped the plate in his hand.

He quickly lowered his head to hide, but it was too late.

"Hey, isn't this Li Xiaofu?"

Chen Zisheng squinted his eyes, revealing a meaningful smile,

"I didn't expect that, the top student of the technical school, now serving dishes in such a small shop?"

The four followers didn't know what was going on, but they immediately started laughing like tape recorders that had received a signal.

"Right, he had such good grades back then, but now..."

"That's right, it's all about connections and backing..."

Xiao Li's face turned red, and the plate in his hand trembled slightly.

Just as he didn't know what to do, a loud voice suddenly rang out:

"What's wrong with serving dishes?" It was Uncle Wang,

"This kid is hardworking and motivated, much better than those who only know how to flatter!"

"That's right," Aunt Zhang also chimed in, "Xiao Li relies on his real skills!"

Other diners also chimed in, speaking up for Xiao Li in a chorus.

Chen Zisheng and his four followers were taken aback by this momentum.

He looked around and suddenly noticed several familiar faces in the shop – weren't these all the neighbors from yesterday's birthday feast?

It turned out that these people were in the tent yesterday, tormented by the fragrance wafting from the opposite shop for a whole morning.

Watching wave after wave of diners walk out of this small shop satisfied, they could only deal with those "artworks," which was a heart-wrenching experience.

Today, as early as possible, these people seemed to have made an appointment, one after another, rushing to the shop, afraid to miss this mouthful of fortune again.

"Teacher Chen,"

An aunt who praised his "artwork" at the birthday feast yesterday, was leisurely picking up a piece of twice-cooked pork with her chopsticks, her tone much more honest than yesterday,

"If you really want to see the craftsmanship of this shop, why not sit down and taste it properly? It's better than standing there making snide remarks."

This comment was more piercing than his "ninja hand roll" yesterday.

Chen Zisheng's face was as colorful as his "Mt. Fuji tofu" dish, turning from green to white.

"That's right," Uncle Wang added fuel to the fire,

"Those dishes yesterday were quite beautiful, but I don't know why, in the end, they all ended up in the swill bucket..."

Now, Chen Zisheng's face was even worse than his "wave omelette" from yesterday.

He never expected that he came to find a scene, but instead, he bumped into a noseful of ash.

As he spoke, the dishes on Chen Zisheng's side were also served by Li Xiaofu.

As soon as the dishes were put on the table, the fragrance filled the air. His men couldn't help it as soon as they smelled the smell.

The fragrance was faster than a missile, and as soon as it was on the table, it accurately bombed everyone's olfactory nerves.

Chen Zisheng's four followers, who were still posing as "we are here to pick on you," were instantly paused like someone had pressed the pause button, stunned on the spot.

"This..." The four followers stood in place, forgetting what lines they were supposed to say.

The one who had just been shouting the loudest subconsciously swallowed his saliva, his Adam's apple noticeably moving.

He had just prepared a bunch of picky words, but now all were forgotten by the fragrance.

"Isn't it just ordinary twice-cooked pork..." Another follower was still trying to hold on, but his eyes were staring at the plate, not even blinking.

The third one couldn't care about acting anymore, staring blankly at the plate of bright red twice-cooked pork, saliva almost flowing out.

He secretly wiped the corner of his mouth, fearing that others would find his loss of control.

The last one simply lowered his head, pretending to arrange the tableware, actually not daring to look up –

He was afraid that if he looked more, he would not be able to control his urge to pounce.

The four looked at each other, and the posture of picking on you had long since dissipated.

At this moment, they only had one thought in their hearts: This five hundred yuan of wages... seems a bit of a loss.

"Gurgle..." Someone's stomach growled, which was particularly clear in the quiet restaurant.

The four people immediately blushed, pretending they hadn't heard anything.

But the tempting fragrance was still wantonly floating in the air, every breath was a torment to them.

The boiled fish, with its bright red soup base and snow-white fish slices, looked much better than yesterday's "wave omelette."

The twice-cooked pork was even more bright in color, fat but not greasy, lean but not woody, making people unable to move when looking at it.

"This..." A follower subconsciously continued to swallow his saliva, the sound louder than the "cherry shrimp" that was poured away yesterday.