Chapter 39: The Art of Taste

Thomas and his friends went to a Japanese restaurant, and when he came back, he couldn't stop raving. "Those Japanese dumplings are heavenly! Nothing on earth can compare to them!"

Qu Dani shot him a disdainful glance. "You idiot. Heavenly? Really?"

Qin Li chimed in with a smirk, "Dumplings were originally from China. The Japanese just took them, modified them, and called it their own. If you want real dumplings, you've got to try authentic Chinese ones."

Thomas's eyes lit up. "Do you know how to make them?"

Qin Li shrugged. "Pretty much every Chinese person does. It's just in our DNA."

She wasn't exaggerating. In China, north to south, almost every family makes dumplings, each with their own traditions and fillings.

Thomas blinked at her with puppy-dog eyes, clutching her hand as he pleaded. "Then when can you make some for me?"

The intensity of his gaze made Qin Li's spine tingle. She yanked her hand away and snapped, "Not today."

"Then when?" Thomas pressed.

Qin Li waved him off. "Depends on my mood."

Thomas wasn't giving up. "Why not today?"

"Because I'd have to roll the dough."

Thomas grabbed Schrödinger, their resident cat, and used its paw to nudge Qin Li. "Then roll it!"

Qin Li shook her head.

Thomas glared at her like a sulky child.

His aura of grievance was so overwhelming that even Schrödinger, the stress-proof feline, couldn't handle it. With a pitiful meow, the cat leaped from his arms and bolted.

Unable to withstand his sulking any longer, Qin Li sighed. "Fine. No dumplings today, but I'll make some wontons."

"Wontons? What's that?" Thomas asked, curious.

"They're similar to dumplings," Qin Li replied, too tired to explain further.

"Do you pan-fry them too?" Thomas asked eagerly.

"No."

"Then how do you eat them?"

"In soup."

Thomas banged the table dramatically. "No way! I want pan-fried dumplings!"

Qu Dani walked over with a cup of coffee and smacked the back of his head. "You're getting spoiled, you know that? Beggars can't be choosers."

Thomas shook her hand off and said seriously, "But Japanese pan-fried dumplings are really good!"

Qu Dani rolled her eyes. "Well, let me tell you something. Chinese wontons, especially the ones Qin Li makes, are even better."

"I don't like soup," Thomas declared, tilting his chin defiantly.

Qin Li shrugged. "Then don't eat. There's leftover pizza from yesterday's delivery in the fridge. Heat it up yourself."

Thomas huffed and stalked off.

Qu Dani leaned closer to Qin Li. "Why do you even bother with that stubborn guy?"

Qin Li had always loved wontons, especially when they were served in chicken broth. The aroma was comforting, and the flavor was unbeatable. Luckily, wontons weren't as labor-intensive as dumplings. She bought pre-made wonton wrappers from the Asian market. These were smaller than regular dumpling wrappers, making them perfect for mini wontons.

For Chinese people, food is everything. Waking up early to prepare a steaming bowl of wonton soup was a small price to pay for culinary satisfaction.

Qin Li washed a whole chicken and set it in a pot to simmer into a rich broth. Then she started preparing the filling. She minced pork belly—just the right ratio of fat to lean meat—and added some chopped shrimp for extra flavor. She seasoned it carefully, her movements precise and confident.

By late morning, the chicken broth was ready, its enticing aroma wafting through the house and making everyone hungry.

The show director wandered in, drawn by the smell. "You know, we should scrap this dating show and turn it into a food program instead."

The assistants nearby nodded in agreement, their mouths watering.

Even Schrödinger returned, wide-eyed and meowing at the pot of soup. Qin Li tore off a piece of chicken breast and handed it to the cat. It gobbled it up in one bite, then stared at her expectantly.

Thomas's voice rang out, full of disapproval. "Ever since you came here, Schrödinger's refused to eat his fancy cat food. What's going to happen when you leave?"

Qin Li began wrapping the wontons. She expertly scooped a bit of filling with chopsticks, placed it on a wrapper, folded it, and pinched it into a neat bundle—all in one fluid motion.

Thomas was awestruck. "How did you do that? Teach me!"

Qin Li demonstrated slowly, but even though Thomas's eyes were glued to her hands, he couldn't grasp how she worked so quickly. Each wonton she wrapped took no more than two seconds, from start to finish.

"Slow down!" he complained.

Seeing his enthusiasm, Qin Li humored him and slowed her movements. He watched closely, but her hands seemed to move with a rhythm and logic he couldn't decipher. He tried to replicate it, but the wonton wrappers just wouldn't behave the same way for him.

"Ugh!" Thomas huffed, frustrated. "How can something so simple be so hard?"

Qin Li noticed his scrunched-up expression and worried he might lose his mind over wontons. "That's good enough," she offered as consolation.

But Thomas shook his head resolutely. "No, I want mine to look exactly like yours."

Qin Li sighed. "Why are you so stubborn?"

Thomas set his jaw. "I'll figure it out. Just watch me."

Five minutes later, Qin Li glanced over to find Thomas still struggling, his cheeks flushed red with effort. Most people would have given up by now, but he refused to admit defeat. He kept trying, determined to replicate her perfectly folded wontons. Watching him, Qin Li couldn't help but think of Yan Sen. That time with the milking lesson, he'd been just as stubborn, teaching her over and over without complaint. Truly, they were brothers—equally obstinate in their own peculiar ways.

What seemed like a simple task—folding wontons—was deceptively tricky. Thomas, who prided himself on his intellect, found himself utterly baffled. His confidence as a physics PhD student took a severe blow. Sweat beading on his forehead, he finally slammed the chopsticks onto the table in frustration and stormed out of the room, clutching his face.

Just as he reached the doorway, he bumped into Yan Sen, who had just walked in. "What's with him?" Yan Sen asked.

Qin Li shrugged. "He couldn't figure out how to fold wontons. Devastated him."

"Wontons today?" Yan Sen's eyes lit up. He'd just returned from working outside and, without even washing his hands, reached out to grab some.

Qin Li smacked his hand with her chopsticks. "Wash your hands."

"I already did," he said dismissively.

Qin Li raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Did you use soap?"

Yan Sen feigned surprise. "Soap? You're supposed to use soap?"

Qin Li gaped at him, her mouth slightly open. Was she dealing with an alien? Washing hands without soap didn't count!

Seeing her incredulous expression, Yan Sen chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. "Relax. I used soap."

Realizing he was teasing her, Qin Li rolled her eyes. Still, his fingernails were grimy, and under her strict supervision, she made him scrub his hands again. Only when his nails were spotless did she let him off the hook.

"Nails that dirty mean your hands aren't clean," she scolded.

Unfazed, Yan Sen replied, "It's not like I'm eating with my hands."

Qin Li sighed. If he managed to avoid hepatitis, it'd be a miracle.

Yan Sen picked up one of her neatly folded wontons, marveling at its plump shape, and began tossing it in his hand like a toy.

"It's food, not a toy," Qin Li scolded.

"Is it?" he said with a mischievous grin, pretending to toss the raw wonton into his mouth.

"Don't eat it! It's raw!" Qin Li shouted in alarm.

Yan Sen opened his hand to reveal the wonton, untouched. He hadn't eaten it—just faked her out. Realizing she'd been tricked again, Qin Li groaned, three metaphorical black lines forming on her face.

These brothers! Between their antics, they were going to drive her mad.

Seeing her exasperated expression, Yan Sen tapped her nose playfully. "Are you mad?"

The light brush of his fingertip sent an electric jolt through her. Qin Li's face flushed crimson, her heart racing. She turned her head away, holding her nose as if to hide her reaction. "No," she denied stiffly.

Finding the process amusing, Yan Sen grabbed some chopsticks and tried folding a wonton himself. To Qin Li's surprise, his first attempt was perfect, identical to hers.

Thomas would cry if he saw this.

"How long until we eat?" Yan Sen asked.

"When I finish folding these," Qin Li replied.

Yan Sen rubbed his stomach. "I'm starving."

"Be patient," Qin Li said.

Grinning, he reached for the ladle. "Just give me a little appetizer."

Qin Li smacked his hand away. "No way. There's only one pot of broth. If you take some now, there won't be enough later."

Without missing a beat, Yan Sen grasped her hand and, in one smooth motion, pressed a light kiss to her fingers. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he gazed at her. "Come on, make an exception."

Qin Li's heart stuttered, her pulse racing out of control. This man—so infuriatingly cheeky! All this for a bowl of soup? Did he really need to pull out the charm?

Flustered, she yanked her hand back and waved him off. "Fine! Eat as much as you want."

Yan Sen laughed at her reaction, clearly enjoying himself. He didn't even care about the soup—it was just fun to tease her.

Qin Li ladled out a bowl of chicken broth and added a drumstick, shoving it at him. "Here, now go sit at the table."

Schrödinger the cat, sensing an opportunity, jumped onto Yan Sen's shoulder and nuzzled against his neck. Yan Sen fed the cat half the drumstick, watching as it darted away with its prize.

"Is it your cat or Thomas's?" Qin Li asked.

"Thomas's. He adopted it from a shelter," Yan Sen replied.

Who would've thought that blockhead had a soft spot for animals?

But one bowl of soup wasn't enough to satisfy Yan Sen's appetite. When his stomach growled loudly, Qin Li glanced at him sympathetically. "Just wait a little longer."

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, Yan Sen grinned. "At least I have something nice to look at."

Qin Li froze, her hands pausing mid-motion. She glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat as she met his gaze. His eyes sparkled like the night sky, deep and mesmerizing. Was he talking about the food—or her?

Finally, the wontons were done—a hundred of them, perfectly folded. Qin Li called everyone in and served each person a bowl.

Even the director was delighted. "I get some too?"

Qin Li nodded. "Not much, just enough to try."

Qu Dani sniffed her bowl eagerly, then popped a wonton into her mouth. "Wow! It tastes like home!"

The wontons were delicate, the wrappers thin but sturdy, encasing a rich filling of pork and shrimp. The meat was tender and juicy, perfectly seasoned with just the right balance of salt, soy sauce, and a hint of sugar. The broth, fragrant with chicken, complemented the wontons perfectly.

Everyone finished their bowls in record time, silently holding them out for seconds.

Even Thomas, who had sulked earlier, was among those asking for more. Qu Dani couldn't resist a jab. "Why don't you go eat your Japanese dumplings?"

Thomas pouted, clutching his bowl like a beggar. He tapped his chopsticks against it, silently begging for another helping.

Qin Li and Qu Dani exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.

Originally, Qin Li had only intended for everyone to taste the wontons. She'd served small portions, just seven or eight wontons per bowl. But one bite led to another, and soon, all one hundred were gone.

Qu Dani sighed. "Now I see it. Whether foreigners like Chinese food or not all depends on the quality."

As everyone licked their lips, still craving more, Qin Li scraped the pot with the ladle. "That's the last of the broth."

Qu Dani's eyes lit up. "How about spicy chili oil soup?"

"I'd have to make the chili oil," Qin Li said.

Qu Dani waved her off. "Just use Lao Gan Ma!"

"We'd still need more wontons," Qin Li pointed out.

"I'll help," Qu Dani volunteered eagerly.

As the two women began folding more wontons, the German crew members hovered nearby, watching intently with forks in hand. "Is it ready yet? How much longer?"

Seeing their enthusiasm, Qin Li joked, "Maybe I should open a wonton shop in Munich."

The director and his assistant perked up. "When? Where?"

Qin Li could only laugh, shaking her head.

One of the crew members asked, "Can you share the recipe? I want my wife to make it."

Qin Li explained, "It's simple. Use store-bought wrappers, mix minced pork and shrimp, add one or two egg whites, some salt, a dash of soy sauce, and a bit of sugar. Mix it all together."

The director looked confused. "Wait, one egg white or two? How much salt? How many grams of soy sauce? How much sugar?"

Qin Li laughed. "I don't measure—I just go by feel."

"Doesn't that mean it tastes different every time?" he asked.

"Exactly," Qin Li replied with a grin.

The director surrendered with a wry smile. "Chinese cooking really can't be replicated."