Taste-tester?
Qin Jiao was eager, while Xie Qian nodded slowly.
Xie Qian didn’t expect much from Wen Ying’s cooking. He could tell the two girls were hiding a little secret.
He thought Wen Ying was clueless. After they returned to Rongcheng and parted with Qin Jiao, he asked her to keep the Changtan Lake incident under wraps.
“…I don’t want my cousin to worry.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a blabbermouth!” Wen Ying promised cheerfully.
Xie Qian couldn’t resist prodding her, “Your uncle will probably tell your aunt, right? Make sure she doesn’t spill it to my cousin.”
“No way, my uncle’s keeping it from my aunt,” she replied confidently.
Her assurance didn’t cheer Xie Qian up.
*If he hides small stuff from your aunt, hiding big stuff’s even easier.*
To Xie Qian, the oblivious Wen Ying was firmly a hamster in his mind—a view he wouldn’t shake for a long while.
Back at the Jiangs’, Lin Lin asked Xie Qian if Changtan Lake was fun. Unable to mention the near-drowning, he lied—a rare move for him.
“It was fun. Wen Ying’s friends were really welcoming.”
Lin Lin beamed, “Then hang out with them more! If you want, invite them over sometime!”
One lie needed more to cover it. Xie Qian felt a bit helpless.
Wen Ying aimed to bring spicy crayfish to Rongcheng’s late-night snack scene, but she had prep work to do.
While Deng Shangwei and Boss Qin dealt with Yu Wenhao in Pu County, they hadn’t forgotten Wen Ying’s request. They arranged for someone to source twenty pounds of wild crayfish from the countryside to Rongcheng. The moment Wen Ying got back, Fang Jie from Deng Shangwei’s company contacted her, delivering the crayfish in person.
“Why’d you want to eat these? Big heads, heavy shells, just a tiny bit of meat on the tail, and they reek of mud,” Fang Jie remarked.
Working at a seafood company, Fang Jie had access to cheap ocean catches.
To someone used to seafood, these ditch-dwelling “water critters” stank of mud. She wasn’t biased against crayfish—mudfish, river crabs, same deal. She wouldn’t touch them!
Wen Ying hefted the bucket of shrimp, grinning like it was a bucket of cash.
Sure, they had a muddy smell, which is why crayfish dishes leaned on bold flavors.
Once wild crayfish were gobbled up by foodies, the market would shift to farmed ones—better controlled, leading chefs to experiment with steaming. But in the late-night snack scene, steamed crayfish weren’t the star. Fans craved the heavy taste.
Cooked with rich oil and spices, the muddiness vanished. Fang Jie’s complaint about big heads and heavy shells turned into the joy of peeling. Sucking the heads felt like slurping snails. Gathering friends at a night stall, digging into a basin of crayfish—that was the vibe!
When Wen Ying first met He Zhen, he still carried the airs of an elite, overseas-educated rich kid. He took her to Michelin-starred restaurants, invited her to plays and concerts. She sensed he liked her. Others might’ve hidden their true selves to snag a golden catch like him.
Wen Ying wasn’t most people.
She’d fled her parents’ control to carve her own path in Shanghai.
Dating? Sure. Turning into a dainty, opinion-less doll, eating while watching her “boyfriend’s” mood? Sorry, not her. If she had to lose herself for He Zhen, why not just go home and live off her parents’ whims?
Blood-tied parents offered a steadier meal ticket than a maybe-marriage boyfriend!
Even regular friendships needed give-and-take. He Zhen treated her to Michelin; she’d return the favor with something down-to-earth.
She took him to a street stall for crayfish.
That was her life. If He Zhen couldn’t handle it, they weren’t a match.
He didn’t balk at the meal.
Wen Ying ate more crayfish, and he tried some too—she didn’t scare him off.
He even peeled shrimp for her… She’d been touched, thinking him a gentleman. Later, dating him and knowing him better, she realised he didn’t like them. Peeling for her let him eat less without fuss!
He Zhen disliked heavy spices, believing good ingredients didn’t need rescuing with seasoning.
Caught out, he didn’t flinch. He took her to a Ningbo-style place in Shanghai, ordering Huadiao crayfish.
Each shrimp, sans head, burst with rich yellow roe, wine fragrance blooming, sweetness dancing on her tongue—like eating sea urchin.
It wasn’t cheap—a few shrimp cost as much as a whole basin at a stall.
Delicious, sure, but Wen Ying felt it lost the crayfish’s casual joy.
She gave her honest take. He Zhen, speechless, seemed to misunderstand—her Sichuan roots ran deep, her tastebuds loyal.
She thought that was that. Not long after, he took her to a private Sichuan eatery.
No Ningbo fare this time—just stunning Sichuan braised shrimp!
In that moment, Wen Ying resolved to become a top lawyer, earn big, because her and He Zhen’s differences melted under the power of money.
That Sichuan spot became their regular haunt.
Frequent visits led her to befriend the chef, who liked her generous praise and shared a simplified braised shrimp recipe—about 70% of the restaurant’s flavor. Full replication? Impossible—that was their signature secret. She wasn’t getting it all!
She wasn’t a chef anyway. Cooking for He Zhen now and then was sweet; three meals a day? She wasn’t his paid nanny!
She tried the recipe twice—it held up, a solid 60-70% match, a budget version of the same dish.
Spotting crayfish absent from Rongcheng’s night market, Wen Ying saw her chance.
Technically, He Zhen had led her to it.
Now, using the chef’s recipe to make Sichuan braised crayfish for Qin Jiao and Xie Qian? No issue—He Zhen was off flirting with seniors in the UK; she hadn’t complained!
Receiving the crayfish from Fang Jie, Wen Ying didn’t dive in—she prepped ingredients first.
The Changtan Lake trip delayed her tutoring, so she’d cram two days of lessons. Two days later, she’d host.
Early that morning, Deng Yao Mei helped wash the shrimp while Wen Ying brewed the brine.
Knowing Xie Qian didn’t do spicy, she made two batches—one with chili, one without.
Post-wash, the shrimp got fried—oil-locked tenderness, soaking longer in brine for flavor.
As she fried, the brine’s aroma filled the house. Chen Li opened the windows, and it wafted downstairs.
Chen Li was baffled, “You barely touch a spatula—when’d you learn this?”
“Saw a recipe online. Trying it today,” Wen Ying said casually.
Chen Li, recalling Wen Ying’s computer tinkering, bought it.
Deng Jie and Deng Hao hovered at the kitchen door, drooling.
Wen Ying dumped the fried shrimp into the brine, simmered, then let it steep half an hour. Lifting the lid, the scent hit like a tidal wave. Chen Li laughed, “With this method, even a shoe sole’d taste good!”
She thought Wen Ying just wanted to impress her friends. After tasting, she gave a thumbs-up.
She meant to try one shrimp but ended up peeling several.
Deng Yao Mei liked it too but held back—Wen Ying’s guests hadn’t arrived.
Deng Jie could handle spice; Deng Hao couldn’t, so Wen Ying shared some of Xie Qian’s batch with him.
Crayfish were shell-heavy—twenty pounds looked like a lot, but with this crowd, it’d vanish fast.
She hadn’t expected more than Xie Qian and Qin Jiao—Wang Shuang and Li Mengjiao showed up too.
All four brought gifts: Xie Qian with fruit, Wang Shuang with cold salad, Li Mengjiao with dessert, Qin Jiao with flowers.
“No helping it—they heard there’s good food and crashed,” Qin Jiao said.
Li Mengjiao pouted, “Wen Ying, you invited Qin Jiao Jie but not me? Am I not your friend?”
“It’s my first try. I wanted Xie Qian and Qin Jiao’s approval before inviting you guys,” Wen Ying explained.
Li Mengjiao was appeased.
Wang Shuang showed no signs of his ordeal three days prior. Wen Ying congratulated his discharge; he mumbled, “Sorry about before.”
“Before what? I’ve got a bad memory—forgotten already. Sit and try my cooking!”
Guests were guests. Wen Ying ushered them in.
The braised shrimp hit the table.
The four eyed each other, unsure where to start.
Wen Ying sighed—rich kids, huh?
She handed out disposable gloves, demonstrating how to peel, what to toss, what to eat. She ate her first, placing the second in Xie Qian’s dish, “No spice—try it.”
Xie Qian eating shrimp made it look upscale.
Li Mengjiao giggled, “Wen Ying, no favoritism—peel me one too?”
Of course!
Li Mengjiao, Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang—all got one.
Wen Ying awaited feedback. Qin Jiao ate one, then peeled another herself.
Wang Shuang hadn’t expected this from Wen Ying.
*Is this her shine?*
Asked for his take, he said, “Needs ice-cold Coke or Sprite to really hit the spot!”
*Kid, your thinking’s too narrow—ice beer’s where it’s at!*
Qin Jiao found it spicy but couldn’t stop, calling it addictive.
Li Mengjiao tried the spicy batch, then eyed the mild one eagerly.
Xie Qian ignored her longing.
The no-spice batch was made for him—why share?
Still, he wouldn’t hoard publicly. He made an offer Wen Ying couldn’t refuse, “Can I take some home? My cousin doesn’t do spicy either.”
Chen Li jumped up to pack it before Wen Ying could.
Wen Ying felt complete—everyone’s praise boosted her confidence. “I’m gonna find a spot on the night market strip and sell this Sichuan braised crayfish!”
