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Jiang Feng set off early in the morning to the market to buy radishes, carefully selecting fifty to sixty pounds of various types, even persuading the vendor to lend him a tricycle, which he pedaled to the store. After neatly arranging the radishes in the warehouse, he sent WeChat messages to Han Guishan to enquire about the exact time and address for making pickled vegetable dumplings, and then started happily picking out radishes.

25 yuan, 25 yuan, 35 yuan, 35 yuan…

These aren’t just fresh radishes, they’re practically white banknotes!

Jiang Feng believed that as long as he persisted in carving radishes every day, earning a thousand a day, in just over eight years, he’d amass more than three million.

Sounding truly exhilarating indeed.

Jiang Jiankang had nothing but approval for Jiang Feng’s business. He had everything planned out: By the time Jiang Feng graduated from college, he would have saved a substantial amount of money. Then, by selling the shopfront of Healthy Stir-fry Restaurant, they would have enough to refurbish Taifeng Building. With the five brothers working together in unity, Sir Jiang as the head chef and Jiang Feng’s culinary skills improving, they could hire some helpers and cooks. The Jiang Family would not only revive Taifeng Building but also relive the joyous days of their youth eating the dishes cooked by Sir.

As for Sir’s claim that Taifeng Building belonged to Jiang Feng and that the renovation costs were his own responsibility, Jiang Jiankang didn’t take it to heart at all.

He’s Jiang Feng’s father, and a father managing his son, a father helping his son, isn’t that just natural?

As for whether Sir would berate him at that time…

Jiang Jiankang maintained that a father reprimanding his son was also perfectly natural.

By the time Jiang Feng finished carving radish flowers and Minions, Wu Minqi had come to help in the shop. Last night, Jiang Jiankang rushed to get quite a lot of Sichuan cuisine menus made, and now several new rows of menus hung in the shop.

Around ten o’clock in the morning, Han Guishan sent over the address, scheduling the meeting for 7 p.m. tonight at Tianfu Garden, Block A, No. 21.

Jiang Feng couldn’t help but be amazed. Worthy of being the owner of Good Taste, the standalone villas in Block A of Tianfu Garden must be over a hundred million each, at least.

With Wu Minqi’s help in the kitchen, Jiang Feng hardly had to touch a pot. From spicy boiled beef slices to hot and sour potato strips, she took charge of everything except for Kung Pao chicken, Jiang Jiankang’s specialty, narrowly missing out on dominating the entire kitchen.

Jiang Feng decisively focused on his radish carving business, expanding his offerings to include characters like Pikachu and Kumamon. Naturally, the prices rose with the tide, Pikachu for 40, Kumamon for 45, and they sold surprisingly well, with half the radishes in the warehouse gone by the end of the day. Not only that, a girl majoring in art suggested adding watermelon skins for a splash of color.

Typical of an art major, not considering where to find watermelon skins in the middle of winter.

At six in the evening, Jiang Feng promptly set off by subway to Tianfu Garden. As it happened, Han Guishan’s mother was the daughter of Li Sanya, the small girl known as Flower in Jiang Weiguo’s memory—this detail was provided by the task specifics to Jiang Feng.

[Precious Memories] The food Han Guishan found most unforgettable from his childhood was the pickled vegetable dumplings made by his mother, Li Hua. The player is requested to make pickled vegetable dumplings satisfactory to Han Guishan that could evoke his precious childhood memories.

Task hint: Li Hua’s pickled vegetable dumplings were taught to her by her mother, Li Sanya. Just follow the recipe to replicate them.

Task reward: A piece of Han Guishan’s memory.

This task was incredibly easy for Jiang Feng. There was nothing particularly challenging about making pickled vegetable dumplings, and after making them so many times, his dough kneading skills had greatly improved. It was a piece of cake to replicate Li Sanya’s pickled vegetable dumplings, especially since he had also brought along a jar of pickled vegetables personally made by Mrs. Wang Xiulian. He was confident he could complete this side quest today.

Jiang Feng also realized that Han Guishan’s talk of engaging employees in a “bittersweet reflection” activity was just a ruse; he simply craved pickled vegetable dumplings!

To go to such lengths and expense just for the craving of pickled vegetable dumplings, Jiang Feng could only marvel at how the thought processes of the wealthy differed from ordinary people.

The thoughts of the affluent, he simply could not comprehend as an average citizen.

Lost in thought, Jiang Feng arrived at the entrance of Tianfu Garden.

The security guard at the gate checked Jiang Feng’s face several times against a photo, only letting him in after confirming his identity beyond doubt, making Jiang Feng feel slightly guilty as if he were indeed up to no good.

Tianfu Garden’s Block A consisted entirely of standalone villas, idyllic and lush with greenery, with plenty of space between residences so that they did not interfere with each other, perfectly embodying the slogan of peace within the bustling city.

As Jiang Feng sighed at the benefits of wealth, he followed the navigation to No. 21.

Han Guishan was waiting for Jiang Feng at home.

Upon seeing Jiang Feng arrive, Han Guishan warmly welcomed him, showed him the kitchen, and introduced him to the ingredients he had prepared.

“You see, Mr. Jiang, I wasn’t sure what kind of flour you prefer, so I had someone buy several types of cornmeal. I don’t really know much about it, but we also have flour, specially-processed first-grade flour, second-grade flour, standard flour, ordinary flour, and gluten flour of various types—all bought a bit of each. Have a look and see if anything’s missing; if so, I’ll send someone to buy it right now,” Han Guishan pointed to a row of flour bags on the kitchen floor as he spoke.

Jiang Feng:…

That’s a bit overkill; he was just going to make a simple batch of non-fermented pickled vegetable dumplings.

“It’s more than enough, more than enough, the cornmeal is just fine,” Jiang Feng said, as he started looking through the cornmeal Han Guishan had prepared.

“And there are some pickles—I’ve bought a dozen varieties, Mr. Jiang, please take a look and see which one you prefer.” Han Guishan opened the cabinet, revealing a row of jars inside.

“We don’t need pickles; I brought my own.” Jiang Feng took out the jar of pickles from the plastic bag to show Han Guishan and began to feel the cornmeal.

Whoever bought the groceries must be quite something; they even managed to find pure cornmeal in the 21st century, and it’s the retro version from the ’60s and ’70s that includes crushed corn cobs ground into the meal—truly the coarsest of grains.

Obviously, Jiang Feng couldn’t use this kind of cornmeal for the pickle-filled dumplings. Though Han Guishan might miss his grandmother’s pickle dumplings, if they were made to be as authentic as to rip someone’s throat, Han Guishan’s fond memories might turn into terrifying ones.

After picking out a kind of cornmeal with a bit of flour added to it for a finer texture, Jiang Feng started kneading the dough.

The steps were simple and he was quite skilled, having done it so many times before.

While Jiang Feng was making them, Han Guishan watched intently by his side, as focused as a primary school student in a math class.

At seven fifty-three, twelve pickle-filled dumplings were ready.

Han Guishan had already sent the payment through WeChat earlier that morning. Jiang Feng neatly arranged the dumplings on two large plates but couldn’t help asking, “Um, Mr. Han, have you had dinner?”

He had arrived early today, around six forty. When he got there, Han Guishan was already home—no chef around, no dishes on the dining table, and not even a hint of cooking in the kitchen. Moreover, in such a large villa, Jiang Feng only saw Han Guishan; his wife and children were nowhere to be found, not even the cleaning lady.

Jiang Feng found the whole situation very strange.

“The chef is on leave for something, I’ve eaten in the company cafeteria.” Han Guishan said.

Jiang Feng left Han Guishan’s house feeling both impressed with how down-to-earth the big boss could be and perplexed by the evening’s oddities.

As soon as Jiang Feng left, Han Guishan shouted upstairs, “Wang, tell everyone to come down for dinner.”

Upstairs, Han Guishan’s wife, Wang Jing, and their son Han Youxin came down. If Jiang Feng had still been there, he would have recognized that Han Youxin was the little chubby boy who had sneakily eaten two bowls of egg custard in the kitchen before.

“Dad, why is dinner so late today? I’m starving to death.” Han Youxin came bouncing down the stairs, but his enthusiasm dampened at the sight of the twelve pickle dumplings on the table, and he started runningback, yelling, “Mom, mom, dad’s torturing me! He’s making me diet by feeding me grass dumplings!”

“Nonsense, when has your father ever tortured you?” Wang Jing, Han Youxin’s down-to-earth wife, who had started from scratch with him, had cultivated a certain dignified air over the years. She softly scolded her son for his dramatic complaints and pulled Han Youxin back down the stairs.

When she saw the dining table, Wang Jing was also dumbfounded.

“Hon… Honey, nothing… nothing bad has happened at the company recently, right?” Wang Jing chose her words carefully, not wanting to upset Han Guishan.

Could it be that the company faced some catastrophe that had impacted Han Guishan’s mental state, especially since he gave the chef such a long break and forbade them from coming downstairs this evening?

Over the years, Wang Jing had focused on having children and, after Han Youxin was bom, devoted herself entirely to him, no longer involving herself in the company’s affairs.

“What could happen to the company? Who’s been filling your head with nonsense? It’s doing great. The stock price even went up a lot recently.” Han Guishan was preoccupied with the pickle dumplings, “Yesterday, I met a kid who made pickle dumplings exactly like the ones my mom used to make. I just had him come over and make a dozen, and you’re not even here to eat them!” “Dad, you are torturing me!” Han Youxin, recognizing the dumplings were made by Jiang Feng, protested loudly, “Jiang Feng’s hot spicy soup, shredded potatoes, shrimp, and Peppa Pig are so much tastier, but you insist he makes these grass dumplings! You’re torturing me!”

Indeed, Han Youxin had eaten the radish carved into Peppa Pig, worth a hundred dollars apiece, as a snack the previous day.

“What are you talking about? How can those things be tastier than pickle dumplings? Grass dumplings? This is pickled veggies; it was my favorite thing to eat as a kid. I only had it during New Year’s. Don’t be ignorant of your good fortune!” Han Guishan stuffed a pickle dumpling into Han Youxin’s mouth without further debate, “This is whole grain, which is good for you if eaten more. Could I ever really harm you? Eat it up. If you don’t finish, I’ll confiscate your Alipay balance tomorrow!”

Han Youxin nibbled on the pickle dumpling begrudgingly, muttering quietly, “Still not as good as Peppa Pig.”

Raw radish was spicy and quite tasty after all.

Wang Jing realized Han Guishan was feeling homesick, reminiscing about his mother who had passed away when he was young. As long as Han Guishan was happy, Wang Jing didn’t care what they ate and cooperated by taking a bite of a pickle dumpling.

The taste was surprisingly not bad.

Aside from Han Guishan, who had a big appetite and ate three dumplings in one go, Han Youxin and Wang Jing both struggled to finish even one.

Seeing the leftover dumplings on the table, Han Guishan slapped the table and decided to give the chef an extended holiday. There was no need for the chef to come for lunch, as he would take the leftovers to the company and Han Youxin ate at school. Han Guishan also kindly asked Wang Jing if she wanted to keep one for her lunch the next day.

“I have plans to get a facial with my friends tomorrow,” Wang Jing said with a smile.

Should she organize a trip abroad with a few close friends for a week or so? Wang Jing pondered the idea, not noticing her son’s increasingly wrinkled chubby face.

“Wah, I don’t want to eat grass dumplings every day!” Han Youxin burst into loud tears.