The Game of Life

Gu Li was the only one left in the venue who hadn’t completed his dish. His display screen was the only one still lit, drawing the attention of the entire room to him. Yet he remained oblivious, unhurried and calm.

There were twenty minutes left.

The noodles were already in the pot.

His bowl of noodles pushed the use of chicken to its limits.

The chicken bones, chicken fat, and other parts were stewed to make the broth, while the meat from the chicken legs and breast were thinly sliced and marinated, then stir-fried with other ingredients. The noodles were freshly rolled and cut, then they were boiled, first in hot water, then in cold, before finally being cooked with the prepared chicken broth.

The finished dish was unassuming in appearance, but it required a great deal of effort and thought. Unlike Jiang Feng, who spent his time carving radishes into fish shapes while waiting for his eight-treasure chicken to steam, Gu Li’s hands never stopped moving. He was always busy, never idle for a moment.

Gu Li served up five bowls of chicken noodle soup and raised his hand to signal he was done.

One hour, 55 minutes, and 37 seconds-the timer on the screen froze at that moment.

Sun Jikai felt an unexpected surge of nervousness as he watched Gu Li, who maintained a neutral expression, revealing no sign of emotional turbulence. Gu Li had always been like that, whether it was back when he first learned cooking from his master or later at Taste House. The common critique was that his reactions were slow, and he appeared rather dull. His culinary talent was described the same way. It seemed that the word “dull” was tied to him in a

knot that couldn’t be undone.

Gu Li’s only advantage was his solid foundation.

Remarkably solid-he’d been learning from Master Tan, a Master White Chef, since childhood. It took others five years to practice the basics; he did it for eight. Where others practiced for eight hours a day, he put in twelve. Day in and day out, year after year, a plain White Chef like him managed to stay at a prestigious establishment like Taste House for eight years. While his master’s reputation played a part, his own hard work and dedication were equally

crucial.

A “genius” chef like Sun Jikai could look down on Gu Li’s talent but could not ignore his effort.

The chicken noodle soup was brought before the five judges.

It was the last dish. Even Han Guishan momentarily set aside the Huadiao chicken in the clay pot in front of him and shifted the chicken noodle soup

closer.

The noodles seemed utterly ordinary at first glance. The broth was fragrant and rich, but with such exceptional dishes before it, they did not seem particularly outstanding.

-Oh, chicken noodle soup, eh? That’s good. Whenever I eat out, I always finish with a bowl of noodles,” Han Guishan slurped eagerly.

The other four judges:…

Never mind, he was the boss, the financier, the one who paid. As long as he was happy, that was all that mattered.

Tong Deyan took a sip and sighed, “Master Sun’s grandson has met his downfall this time.”

“Yes,” agreed Zhu Chang with a nod.

Score: 8.2 points.

The competition was over.

The most interesting aspect of the Good Taste Culinary Competition was that the judges never critiqued on site. Instead, they gathered in a small room after the competition to discuss each performance. These critiques would be featured in the edited variety show broadcast later, serving as a selling point for subsequent episodes. Otherwise, if everyone already knew the results and there was nothing fresh, then no one would watch the exclusive variety program on a particular video platform.

The host announced the list of those advancing. The contestants moving on to the national top eight headed backstage to receive details from the staff about the competition taking place in a few days. The eliminated contestants were free to leave, exiting together with the audience.

Sun Jikai had been in a daze since he saw Gu Li’s score. Gu Li had scored 0.4 points higher than him, ranking not eighth, but seventh.

Since childhood, Gu Li had been the butt of jokes among the children of the Culinary Aristocracy. Also born into a family of culinary heritage, his father a renowned Suzhou cuisine chef and student of Master White Chef Tan Han, he had no apparent talent yet stubbornly pursued cooking. Like a wooden block, he never turned back even after hitting a wall. As a child, Sun Jikai, lacking understanding, mocked Gu Li for overestimating himself, and growing up hadn’t changed his disregard for him.

Sun Jikai took pride in his own talent, yet still lost to Gu Li.

Even if it was due to a major mistake, he couldn’t understand why he had faltered at the crucial moment. He had made the Cantonese Wenchang chicken before, under his master’s guidance in the restaurant, and had done very well.

Sun Guanyun was waiting for him at the exit.

Seeing Sun Guanyun, Sun Jikai felt ashamed for letting his grandfather down and didn’t dare to meet his eyes.

“Do you know why you couldn’t make a comeback?” asked Sun Guanyun, his tone calm and even.

“Why?” Sun Jikai had always been puzzled, feeling that he hadn’t made any significant mistakes, yet the final product was far from satisfying.

“Because your foundation isn’t solid,” Sun Guanyun didn’t give Sun Jikai a chance to argue, shooting his words at him like a volley of sharp arrows, -You’ve been arrogant since you were a child, believing practicing the basics was a waste of time. Thinking you were smart, you aimed for instant success. When helping out in the restaurant, you never wanted to do mundane tasks like chopping vegetables. How many times have I scolded you? How many times have the old chefs in the restaurant reminded you? Have you ever taken it to heart?”

“The basics…Jiang Feng practiced for seven years, Wu for six years, Zhang Guanghang for four and a half, and you? Only three years. You find being a chef too tough, too tedious, lacking in status and glamour. What were you doing when I wasn’t in FJ? You and your money-grubbing father schemed together to turn Jubao Building from a restaurant into a hotel, to get financing for an IPO, to drive out your uncle’s family so they wouldn’t dispute the family fortune with you. I’m not even dead yet!” Sun Guanyun looked at his eldest grandson, disappointment in his eyes, “I used to laugh at Sir Tan for not knowing how to raise a child. I didn’t expect that I would become the biggest joke.”

“Grandfather.”

“Don’t call me grandfather. When you figure out why you lost today, you can call me that again,” Sun Guanyun didn’t look back at the disheartened Sun Jikai as he left, shakily.

Jiang Weiguo, who came out from the bathroom late and overheard everything around the corner:…

Jiang Weiguo was puzzled. These old guys were all fine when they were young. Why had they all suddenly started acting out family dramas as they got older? Third Brother, Sir Tan, and Sun Guanyun, one after another, why were their families all filled with unworthy descendants?

Didn’t they discipline their children when they were younger?