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That evening, Jiang Feng almost ascended to the heavens with a wok in the kitchen, under the strict supervision and instruction of the two elderly Sirs.

He was still stir-frying sugar color and simmering tender sauce. Jiang Weiming would only be strict if Jiang Feng made obvious mistakes while making these before, with most other times he was quite amiable.

But times had changed, and it was Jiang Feng’s own doing—signing up on a whim feels great, but the kitchen is like a crematorium when training. Now, if the sugar color and tender sauce weren’t the perfect “Fire Control” to the two Sirs’ satisfaction, he would receive the scathing critique of Jiang Weiguo’s “heavenly justice” and Jiang Weiming’s “thorn in soft cotton.”

Most of the time, the conversation went like this:

“Look at this monstrosity you’ve made. Is this how sugar color should be stir-fried? Haven’t I taught you? You’ve practiced for so many days, and now you still stir-fry a color like this. Can this kind of sugar color make the braised elbow look good? Are you cooking for people or for pigs? Even pigs wouldn’t eat this stuff you’ve made!”

“Alright, little brother, don’t be angry. Even if Feng’s talent isn’t great, there’s a saying that diligence can make up for the lack of skill. Just simmer it again, no rush.”

“Diligence can make up for the lack of skill? Even a dumb bird knows to fly early, while this dumb bird just knows how to be lazy. He just took a few days off, and now he can’t even stir-fry sugar color. With such skills, he still wants to represent Taifeng Building in competitions? Who gave you the face, who gave you the guts? You’re really emboldened to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire nation!”

“It’s true that Feng acted a bit rashly on this matter. Feng, don’t stop what you’re doing with your hands, keep going. After all, we two old men sleep less now, so we have time to accompany you. Let’s aim to stir-fry the sugar color for the braised elbow and for the green onion braised sea cucumber tonight. The color for the braised elbow needs to be darker, while the color for the onion braised sea cucumber should be lighter. Don’t rush, take your time.”

Jiang Feng: -|—r_-rnr

Just let me die.

Jiang Feng stayed in the kitchen until late into the night, and it wasn’t until about half-past twelve that he finally stir-fried a sugar color for the braised elbow that satisfied both elderly Sirs, and he was allowed to go back to sleep.

On the fourth day, the great-aunt and Aunt would pack up their husbands and children to go home for the New Year visits; the fifth was the day for the Second Aunt, and the sixth would be the turn for Jiang Feng and the Second Aunt’s family. Except for Jiang Feng going and returning on the same day, the others would stay for a few days.

Since Mrs. Jiang had no daughters and all her sons would visit their mother-in-law’s houses, she was happy to have a break, indulging herself in playing mahjong every day. Only during the New Year did rural folks gather, so Mrs. Jiang’s mahjong friends who went to the city to look after grandchildren would come back. Right after lunchtime, the sound of mahjong tiles clacking would start echoing from the Jiang Family domicile.

Having learned their lesson from the precedent of Jiang Feng stir-frying potatoes for nearly ten days straight until he was in a daze, the two Sirs decided to balance work and rest, avoiding overwork and loss of efficiency.

Specifically, this meant allocating two hours every afternoon and evening for Jiang Feng to attend to Mrs. Jiang, who was playing cards.

It was indeed very effective. Even though Jiang Feng practiced cooking for over eight hours a day, he didn’t exhibit any side effects. The remedy worked wonders.

In the blink of an eye, it was the evening of the fifth day. Mrs. Jiang was a person of very regular habits. Even though she wanted to battle it out at the mahjong table until the early hours, her body and mind sensibly made her leave the table promptly at ten o’clock.

Jiang Feng’s daily routine was to practice cooking from seven to eight in the evening, serve Mrs. Jiang from eight to ten, and then practice another hour of cooking before he could wash up and go to bed. His life was even more regulated than when he was in his senior year of high school.

In just two short days, all of Mrs. Jiang’s mahjong friends had gotten to know Jiang Feng.

“Feng, go see if there’s any ginger juice left in the kitchen. If there is, make me a ginger milk curd,” Mrs. Jiang played a Red Dragon tile.

“Okay,” Jiang Feng went to the kitchen.

If mahjong were just about playing the game, it would be too dull and boring, especially in Mrs. Jiang’s version, which doesn’t involve gambling at all. The elderly react slowly, sometimes hesitating over a tile for two minutes, and without a sweet treat and a hot cup of tea at the table, the game would lack soul.

What Mrs. Jiang aimed for by gathering her good sisters for mahjong at home was prestige! The sisters hadn’t seen each other for a year, and naturally, they sought a reason to get together, to do something while chatting, to show off how well they’d fared over the year, and how their children and grandchildren had turned out, and whether they were filial.

Now that their children were middle-aged with little change in their careers, there wasn’t much to boast about. So, naturally, the topic of pride had become their grandchildren.

“Lanhua, that Feng of yours is really something, so filial!” Madam Xu, Mrs. Jiang’s previous player, praised, “My grandson just knows how to play his games all day long, that ‘Chicken’ he won’t eat at home but has to on his phone, and he’s always talking about going to some canyon or some continent. I’d be content if he could be half as good as your Feng.”

Mrs. Jiang, chuffed with the compliment, shouted into the inside, “Feng, make a serving for your Madam Xu too, if you can.”

Everyone had a share of the beverage, but not the dessert.

“Why bother making anything for me, all that ginger and milk stuff sounds quite troubling,” Madam Xu refused.

“It’s no trouble at all, it doesn’t take much longer to make two servings at once,” Mrs. Jiang said with a laugh.

It’s well known that Mrs. Jiang is a person of regular habits; she could even end her mahjong games promptly at ten o’clock every evening. Naturally, she had also planned what dessert and beverage would be for each day.

Yesterday, it was oolong tea and cupcakes—the cupcakes were baked by Jiang Feng. They looked quite decent, but the taste was so-so. But was Mrs. Jiang after the taste? No, she yearned for a flamboyant faqade. If she really cared about the flavor, she surely could have commanded her few sons. Almost everyone in the Jiang Family could make little sweets, but Jiang Feng’s were the most visually appealing.

Today’s fare was cranberry flower tea, chilled mango sago cream with pomelo, and ginger milk pudding. Mrs. Jiang wasn’t actually fond of the mango sago cream’s taste, but who could resist a dessert that looked so famous and had such a pleasant-sounding name? Just placing it to the side was enough—it didn’t matter whether it was eaten.

Sir had already prepared the ginger milk pudding; in previous years, he was the one who would make these things. This year, it so happened that Jiang Feng had stepped into the role, and since his desserts were also extraordinarily pretty, he had won Mrs. Jiang’s favor. It was likely that he would bear this important task every year into the future.

Milk, being sweet and cooling, is said to nourish and strengthen, while ginger, being pungent and slightly warming, is known to expel coldness, warm the stomach, remove phlegm and release gas. This dessert is perfect for warming up in the winter. The method is simple, but the only tricky part is the ginger infusion during the milk curdling—if the ginger taste is too strong, many may find it unpalatable.

Fifteen minutes later, Jiang Feng came out with two bowls of ginger milk pudding.

Mrs. Jiang skillfully placed her own bowl in a conspicuous place where the other three could easily see it. Madam Xu immediately tasted a spoonful upon receiving her bowl and said with a smile, “Feng’s culinary skills are truly good, such a warming treat for the winter. Make another bowl for Madam Xu tomorrow.”

Mrs. Jiang was immediately displeased, feeling a sense of indignation as if to say, “On what grounds are you ordering my grandson around?” She didn’t show it on her face but had already decided not to invite Madam Xu to play mahjong again and replied cheerily, “That won’t do; tomorrow Feng has to go and pay respects to his maternal grandparents for the New Year.”

“Ah, a ‘bing’, wait, wait, let me see, I’ve won! Straight flush.” Mrs. Jiang pushed her tiles forward excitedly.

Jiang Feng:…

The struggles between these plastic sisters in their old age, they’re just too much to handle.

*Thank you to Super Loud for creating such a fantastic cover for me—it’s really super good-looking!!

Super good-looking, super good-looking, super good-looking!!! **Bang bang bang** slams the table*