Tofu Can Also Outdo the Imperial Chef

"Oh, Boss Liu," Aunt Wang, who sold buns, quickly greeted him, "You must be exhausted these two days? Your face has become thinner." Her words were sincere, as if Liu Yang had directly slimmed down from the youth group to the elderly group.

Liu Yang smiled and waved his hand, looking relaxed and carefree, and his empty-handed appearance made the neighbors shake their heads.

"This kid," Old Wang, who sold fruits, sighed, "must be pretending to be strong. Look at the contestants, who doesn't carry several boxes?"

"That's right," Old Li from the barbershop also chimed in, "such a big competition, without a handy kitchen tool, isn't this just for fun?"

A taxi slowly stopped in front of the shop, and Liu Yang's light steps when he got in were like going on an outing, not participating in a national-level chef competition.

This scene made the neighbors anxious, as if they were the ones going to the competition.

"This..." The clothing store owner looked at the receding back of the taxi, wanting to say something but stopped, "He might have been exhausted these two days, and his mind is not clear today?"

It was Old Wang who suddenly remembered something and said mysteriously, "Have you noticed that although Boss Liu has been busy these two days, he is not at all flustered. His movements, his demeanor, are like he has rehearsed hundreds of times."

This made everyone thoughtful.

Indeed, although the shop was bustling with people these two days, every movement of Liu Yang was smooth and natural, as if he was demonstrating a carefully choreographed dance.

"Forget it," in the end, it was still Aunt Wang who broke the silence, "his dishes are really delicious. You didn't see those rich people yesterday, they all said they wanted to call Michelin after eating."

The neighbors laughed together, but they were secretly worried for this young man in their hearts.

After all, in their eyes, a chef who didn't even bring a decent tool to compete with those top chefs seemed like he was just going to deliver food.

When Liu Yang's taxi stopped at the competition venue, he suddenly found that his "shabby" appearance was no longer so conspicuous.

The scene in front of him was like a "frugality talent show". The chefs who were showing off their luxury cars the other day all seemed to have agreed to play "return to simplicity" today.

A Hongqi sedan was parked quietly at the entrance, and the person who got out of the car was Zhao Ming, who had been driving a Porsche ostentatiously the other day.

His appearance today was like a farmer going to the market. If it weren't for his polished leather shoes that revealed his identity, he would hardly be recognized as the same person.

What's more amazing is Xiao Yuan Shan, who actually came in a minivan. The Mercedes that was showing off in the parking lot yesterday was nowhere to be seen today.

His two assistants were carefully moving the equipment from the car, as if they were handling some fragile national treasures.

"What's going on?" Xiao Li looked puzzled, "Why do they all seem like different people?"

Liu Yang, looking at this sudden "simplicity movement," couldn't help but laugh.

These chefs, who usually walked with the wind, were all interpreting "low-key is beautiful" today, and the style changed faster than Sichuan opera face changing.

In the parking lot, various domestic cars were lined up. The contestants who were comparing who had more expensive cars yesterday seemed to be comparing who was more down-to-earth today.

Some people even took a taxi directly. When they saw Liu Yang's taxi, they gave a look of "fellow sufferers."

"It seems that day gave them a lesson," Liu Yang got out of the car with a smile, "finally understood what 'inner beauty' is."

Xiao Li followed behind, looking at the deliberately created grassroots image of these chefs, and suddenly felt that his boss was the most natural one---

He has always been like this, and never thought of pretending to be anything.

This sudden "return to simplicity" competition enveloped the entire competition site in an eerie atmosphere.

The journalists with cameras didn't know which angle to shoot from to show the true face of these "commoner chefs."

"Let's welcome the exclusive sponsor of this competition—Mr. Lin Zhiming, the chairman of Longhu Group!"

The host's voice was like an overly enthusiastic alarm clock, jolting everyone's attention awake. But to be honest, hardly anyone was actually listening to what she was saying. Almost everyone's eyes kept drifting towards Area D, where Liu Yang, with empty hands and not even a plastic bag in tow, was leisurely examining the bottles of condiments on his workstation, as if he were strolling through a morning market picking out cabbages.

At the judges' table, the expressions of the five judges were more colorful than the dishes they tasted. "This guy is showing up empty-handed again," Hu Jing said with a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "I wonder what kind of surprise he has in store for us today."

"Do you think he's going to pull out some dark cuisine again?" Wang Shufang whispered. "I heard he's been giving his customers quite a scare these past few days."

Dean Li Deming shook his head. "I'm more worried that this time he might go too far and we'll all end up in the hospital."

Meanwhile, the Douyin live broadcast room had completely exploded. The chat messages were like popcorn kernels in a hot pan, popping and crackling non-stop:

"Whoa! My dried bamboo shoot god is here again!"

"Still showing up empty-handed? That's hardcore!"

"Don't panic, everyone. This is the composure of an artist!"

"I'll bet five cents that he's going to pull off something big today!"

"Hilarious, look at the other contestants' expressions, like they're looking at a lunatic."

"Is this guy into something special? Why does he always look like he's heading to a country fair?"

"Today, anyone who dares to say my god is a shill, I'll eat two pounds of dried bamboo shoots live on air!"

People in the live broadcast room even started betting on what dish Liu Yang would make today:

"I bet it's Hell Ramen!"

"Maybe it's Asura Curry!"

"What if it's Dark Fried Rice?"

"You amateurs, I bet it's Midnight Steamed Dumplings!"

At the judges' table, Chen Mingyuan couldn't help but ask, "Teacher Hu, do you think he'll really make a dish from your book today?"

Hu Jing smiled but didn't speak, though a glint of anticipation flashed in his eyes. His much-maligned book, "Infinite Possibilities of Flavor Exploration," had unexpectedly been brought up in this context. If this guy could actually bring those "dark recipes" to life, it would be a huge joke.

Xiao Li, standing behind Liu Yang, watched as his boss still looked as calm and composed as ever, and his heart was pounding. All the other contestants were nervously preparing, but his boss seemed like he was there to oversee the work.

"Boss..." Xiao Li hesitated.

"Don't worry," Liu Yang's gaze remained fixed on the bottle of light soy sauce. "The real show is just about to begin."

Somehow, this statement got out, and the live broadcast room's chat messages immediately exploded even more:

"This teaser is so suspenseful!"

"The king of dried bamboo shoots is about to show his power!"

"Don't rush, everyone. Let me first stock up on some heat-clearing medicine..."

At this moment, the countdown numbers began to flash on the big screen. Nineteen contestants were bustling around like wound-up toys, but Liu Yang was leisurely taking stock of the ingredients provided by the organizers, as if he were strolling through a vegetable market.

"Minced garlic, shredded ginger, chopped green onions..." he muttered softly. "Oh, and there's also pork slices and tofu."

These most ordinary ingredients seemed to hold some unknown secrets in his eyes. The condiment rack was equally ordinary: light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, cooking wine, even the bottles were the most common kind. If the chefs who brought their exorbitantly priced condiments saw this, they might be heartbroken.

Suddenly, Liu Yang's gaze stopped on a bottle of chili sauce.

"It's this one," Liu Yang's lips curled into a meaningful smile. "Today, I'll make 'Hell Mapo Tofu.'"

Xiao Li almost had a heart attack upon hearing the name: "Boss, are you serious? This is the most sinister dish in Hu Jing's book!"

Indeed, this dish was notorious in "Infinite Possibilities of Flavor Exploration." When Hu Jing wrote this recipe, he must have been really drunk—using seven different types of chili peppers, plus Sichuan peppercorns, sesame seeds, star anise, and a specially made dark sauce. It was less like cooking and more like manufacturing a biochemical weapon.

But Liu Yang was clearly determined to pull this off. The system in his mind had already started running frantically:

"Tofu cut into 1.5-centimeter cubes"

"Chili ratio: 45% Pixian broad bean paste, 15% seven-flavor chili..."

"Heat control: high heat for 2 seconds at the beginning, medium heat for stir-frying for 12 seconds..."

"Boss," he couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you afraid you'll..." He wanted to say "poison" the judges, but thought the word was too ominous and swallowed it back.

Liu Yang smiled but didn't speak, just focusing on the condiments in his hand. In his view, these ordinary ingredients were like keys; as long as they were used correctly, they could unlock the door to deliciousness.

At this moment, the chat messages in the Douyin live broadcast room exploded again:

"Uh-oh, uh-oh, look at his expression, he's about to do something!"

"Don't panic, everyone. Let me first stock up on some milk..."

"I feel like the judges are going to suffer today..."

Now the sounds of pots, pans, and utensils were clashing. At this moment, with the host's "begin," the big screen split into 20 small scenes, each live broadcasting the 20 contestants cooking. In an instant, the entire venue turned into twenty mini theaters, each screen playing out a drama of "masters dueling."

Xiao Yuan Shan was making "Harmony of Dragon and Phoenix"—this imperial secret recipe was not made with ordinary ingredients. Golden duck tongues and wild pufferfish, each slice had to be as thin as cicada wings, and in his hands, it seemed like a precise surgery. The precision of his knife skills was so accurate that even a microscope would be envious.

On the left, Zhao Ming was working on "Forbidden City Flowing Gold," using wild ginseng and snow frog that had been aged for decades. His knife tip danced along the ginseng tendrils, as if playing a meticulously arranged symphony, with every cut being just right, as if a millimeter off would be a desecration of the ingredients.

"Phoenix Perching on the Parasol Tree," "Who's Flute in the Jade Pavilion," "Golden House Hiding Beauty"... These dizzying dish names were all invaluable imperial secrets. The contestants were all pulling out all the stops, their seriousness as if they were deciphering some ancient code.

Interestingly, although the contestants were busy as if they were in a war, their eyes kept drifting towards Area D. Among the twenty screens, Liu Yang's was particularly eye-catching—only to see him leisurely tying his apron.

"What's he doing?" A contestant, while cutting scallops, couldn't help but steal a glance. "Is he going to pull out some dark cuisine again?"

Liu Yang began to add condiments to the pot, his casual demeanor was as if he were demonstrating "how to clear out the condiment rack in the fastest way." Star anise, Sichuan peppercorns, and chili peppers all went in, the scene was less like cooking and more like he was having a showdown with the condiment rack.

The Douyin live broadcast room had already exploded:

"My goodness! Is he cooking or wreaking havoc on society?"

"Judging by this, the judges might have to be hospitalized today..."

"Call an ambulance! No, a fire truck!"

"Is that it?" someone couldn't help but mutter, "Can this even be called innovative cuisine?"

Finally, he gently placed the tofu into the pot, his movements as gentle as if he were handling some fragile item. This series of actions was smooth and fluid, yet there was an indescribable sense of incongruity.

The chat messages in the Douyin live broadcast room had gone wild:

"Is he cooking or square dancing?"

"Watching him add condiments, I feel like my tongue is already sounding the alarm..."

"Don't rush, everyone. Let me call 911 first..."

At the judges' table, Hu Jing suddenly sat up straight. He recognized the recipe; this was the most sinister "Hell Mapo Tofu" from his book, wasn't it?