"I know the taste of the sea—Nori from Poli."
At that tender age, I would often gaze intently at the advertisements flashing on the screen, turning to my grandfather with naïve curiosity and asking, "Grandpa, what does the sea taste like?"
He would merely sigh and shake his head, his eyes filled with an unspeakable sorrow.
Back then, Zhao Shen could not comprehend.
...
"Where has Boss Zhao gone? He's not even serving lunch?" A man in a suit stood before the empty stall, peering at the deserted blue bricks beneath his feet, glancing curiously at Mu Yichun.
"How would I know? I've traveled over an hour to get here, and I haven't even eaten yet," Mu Yichun replied, lacking his usual bravado, his tone tinged with dissatisfaction.
"You come here every day, so I thought I'd ask," the man in the suit replied nonchalantly. As long as he could indulge in Boss Zhao's culinary delights, a few complaints from others would hardly matter.
"I come here every day, and I still haven't eaten!"
Having heard that hunger can sour one's mood, Mu Yichun snapped this retort before turning away and strolling into the marketplace, appearing more like a wronged wife than a seasoned patron.
As the crowd continued to chatter about Zhao Shen, the elderly gentleman who had waited all day resigned himself to the fact that he could not let his beloved boss go hungry. He spoke up, "Everyone, it seems the young master won't be coming for lunch today."
This sentiment resonated with the crowd. The sun had shifted from its zenith, and it was evident that if he hadn't arrived by now, he likely wouldn't. They had all lingered here, fueled by a flicker of hope, wishing for a miracle, but it appeared none would come.
...
With that, the crowd began to disperse, some grumbling as they walked away.
"This thriving business just stops without notice; who knows what Boss Zhao is thinking?" a middle-aged man remarked, surveying the empty stall with a sense of helplessness.
Nearby, a steadfast fan of Zhao Shen countered.
"What do you mean, 'stops'? If he's not here for lunch, he'll definitely come for dinner. You're being overly dramatic; do you intend to forgo another taste of his culinary prowess?"
"Exactly! If Boss Zhao doesn't come tonight, we'll blame your doomsaying!"
"Honestly, if this were any other vendor, I would have left ages ago. Customers are kings, but with this stall... I can't bear to part with that radiant fried rice or those Ice Silkworm Dumplings!"
"Indeed, Boss Zhao's skills are unparalleled. After tasting his fried rice, other dishes—even the finest meats—seem like mere slop."
"I feel like my life is over; I might as well live off Boss Zhao's stall forever. When will he finally open a restaurant?"
The crowd echoed their agreement as they faded into the distance.
...
Meanwhile, Sister Furong, who had been observing the entire spectacle, couldn't help but exclaim, "I never expected Boss Zhao to cultivate so many loyal customers in such a short time! He's far more talented than Old Wang or Old Song next door. How wonderful it would be to have a close relationship with him!"
Lost in her thoughts, Sister Furong began to call out, "Don't miss out, folks! If you can't enjoy the golden fried rice, come here for hamburgers and soda—chicken wings and feet are all yours to choose from!"
Yet, after shouting for quite some time, her efforts yielded little; very few patrons approached her stand. Most were still haunted by memories of Boss Zhao's fried rice and had little appetite for her junk food.
Finally, even Sister Furong's old flame could no longer contain himself. "Alright, enough! After tasting Boss Zhao's food, you won't even want to touch this stuff yourself, let alone get anyone else to eat it!"
Sister Furong recalled her initial shock when she first heard that a simple meal cost 66 gold coins. She had thought to herself that Boss Zhao must be a bit unhinged—who would spend so much on a bowl of rice?
Initially, as she had predicted, even the neighboring vendors kept their distance from this "fool." However, as more people began to flock to the stall, she couldn't help but think that the wealthy patrons were indeed extravagant.
It wasn't until she learned from a girl driving a large Jeep that Zhao Shen's rice could enhance one's combat abilities that she finally decided to give it a try. To her surprise, once she did, she found herself unable to stop; thoughts of combat faded into the background, as all she wanted was to taste Boss Zhao's culinary creations every day.
...
As for the events unfolding in the bustling market, Zhao Shen remained blissfully unaware, engrossed in savoring each dish and fully experiencing life with his newly restored sense of taste.
Though he marveled at his miraculous recovery, the reasons eluded him—his taste had been a result of a congenital chromosomal defect, diagnosed by expert authorities as irrevocably beyond recovery.
After tasting each dish, Zhao Shen felt compelled to offer his critique, leaving only the chef's turtle soup untouched.
The turtle soup was served in a large celadon bowl adorned with lotus patterns, topped with vibrant green scallions and a few goji berries as a garnish. The broth was a pristine white, free of oil, and emitted no fishy odor. As he stirred it gently with a spoon, the neatly chopped turtle meat emerged beneath the surface.
"It looks quite appealing," he murmured to himself before ladling some into his bowl.
Taking a sip, Zhao Shen quickly realized that he would prefer to stick to his own fried rice from now on. The soup wasn't unpleasant per se; it had a decent flavor, but now that his sense of smell had sharpened significantly, he detected a faint fishiness from the turtle, a hint of disinfectant from the water, and an earthy note from the scallions.
This table full of dishes provided Zhao Shen with a stark contrast and a fresh perspective. Even with his restored taste, he found that reality could not compare to the delectable experiences he had enjoyed within Simulated Life.
In that realm, everything was an absolute simulation; the food entered his stomach with a clarity through his nerves that felt indistinguishable from reality, all while the gaming pod ensured ample nourishment for his body's needs.
...
Eating was fundamentally a spiritual pleasure.
As he gazed at the array of dishes, most of which he had barely touched, Zhao Shen suddenly felt full. Perhaps he longed more for a taste of his own creations from Simulated Life.
"If I had known, I wouldn't have acted so pretentious; what a waste this is! The toil of the fields under the midday sun, with sweat dripping into the earth!"
Thinking of the many children in Africa who go without meals, Zhao Shen, as a chef, continuously reminded himself that this was a waste of food, not merely a regret over spending money.
After sitting for about five minutes, he calmly called out, "Check, please."
"Good day, sir. Your total comes to 3,264 yuan. Will you be paying by card or cash?" The server approached with the bill, glancing at the nearly untouched dishes on the table and discreetly ensuring that Zhao Shen had no escape, keeping a polite distance of about a meter.
With his wallet stuffed full of crisp hundred-yuan bills, Zhao Shen rummaged through it briefly before the server reached to take the payment. Then, with a flourish, he confidently declared, "I'll pay by card!"
The server could only stare in astonishment.