Chapter Twenty-Three: A Visit to Investigate

Ma Hongfeng’s son had spent years away from home and had never met Lin Jiayin. The moment he laid eyes on her, his face twisted into a lecherous grin. With a laugh, he called out, “Brothers, this woman is something else! If you let us have a little fun with her, we’ll call it even today.”

Hearing Cui Zhiliang insult his wife like that, Chen Huajiang could hardly contain himself. Gripping a kitchen knife, he pointed it at Cui Zhiliang and said coldly, “Say one more word, and see what happens.”

Cui Zhiliang felt a chill run down his spine under Chen Huajiang’s glare. “You think you’re tough, huh? Didn’t you hit my mother? I’m going to smash up your place today!”

With that, Cui Zhiliang and his men prepared to make a move.

“Let’s see who dares to cause trouble here!” Suddenly, a deep voice boomed through the room.

Everyone turned to see Black Tiger stride in, with Ermao at his side. They had originally come for some barbecue and a drink, but stumbled upon this scene instead. Cui Zhiliang, not recognizing Black Tiger, glared at the newcomers in anger. “Who the hell are you? Mind your own damn business, or I’ll break your legs,” he shouted.

Black Tiger said nothing, merely gestured with his hand. Ermao, his face cold and unreadable, walked up to Cui Zhiliang and, without a word, swung his hand in a vicious slap.

Cui Zhiliang crashed to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth. Ermao’s strike was lightning-fast; Cui Zhiliang didn’t even have time to react.

The others, seeing their leader felled so easily, shrank back in fear, making no move to help him. They’d grown up in this town and knew Black Tiger by reputation—none of them dared cross him.

“Damn it, you dare hit me? Get them, brothers!” Cui Zhiliang screamed like a madman.

Yet not a single one of his men budged.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who runs this place, did you?” Ermao seized Cui Zhiliang by the collar, utterly unafraid. “Let me make it clear: from now on, every time I see you, I’ll beat you.”

“Aren’t you tough? What happened now?” Chen Huajiang, still furious about what Cui Zhiliang had said to Lin Jiayin, strode over and kicked him twice.

Cui Zhiliang doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Ma Hongfeng now fell silent, cowed.

“And you—if I ever hear you badmouthing my wife again, I’ll tear your mouth apart,” Chen Huajiang warned Ma Hongfeng, who now looked at him with terror in her eyes.

“Let’s go, Brother Liang. That’s Black Tiger—we can’t mess with him,” one of Cui Zhiliang’s men whispered.

Although he’d never met Black Tiger, Cui Zhiliang had heard of him and was immediately alarmed. His men helped him up, and under the watchful eyes of the crowd, they left the snack bar.

Once they were gone, Black Tiger approached. “Who were those people? Seems like anyone thinks they can cause trouble these days.”

“Tough luck, Tiger. They’re from our neighborhood. His mother has a foul mouth; I slapped her last time, so her son came to take revenge,” Chen Huajiang explained frankly. There was no need to hide anything.

With the matter resolved, everyone returned to their food and drink as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, a middle-aged man entered the snack bar with two younger companions. He asked, “Do you have braised pork tonight?”

Chen Huajiang was about to refuse when Daguang hurried over. “How many portions would you like? If you want more, I can make it fresh.”

Ever since they’d gotten a refrigerator, their ingredients were always well-stocked.

“There are three of us—so three portions,” the man replied.

“All right, just give me a moment and I’ll prepare it,” Daguang answered, ever the savvy businessman—each extra order meant more profit.

The middle-aged man was Feng Weizhi, owner of the Delicacy Restaurant. He’d heard that the braised pork here was exceptional and had come to try it himself. Of course, Chen Huajiang had no idea who they really were.

He continued grilling lamb skewers, then casually asked, “Would you like some lamb skewers as well?”

Feng Weizhi waved him off—he wasn’t interested in anything but the braised pork. His own restaurant had once been known for that very dish, but ever since Chen Huajiang’s snack bar opened, many regulars had flocked there instead. Even his old customers had stopped coming.

His braised pork cost twice as much, yet tasted nowhere near as good as Chen Huajiang’s.

So why would anyone eat at his place anymore? Over time, Feng Weizhi realized something was wrong and asked an old customer, finally learning that Chen Huajiang was the one making the braised pork.

Daguang worked quickly and soon brought out three portions. He found it odd that they asked for no staple food, only the braised pork.

After a few bites, Feng Weizhi had to admit that this braised pork truly surpassed what his own restaurant could offer. He glanced at his two chefs, displeased. They both lowered their heads; even they could tell their skills didn’t measure up.

“Young man, this braised pork is excellent! Who taught you?” Feng Weizhi asked with a broad smile.

“It’s a family recipe. My grandfather taught my father, and my father taught me,” Daguang replied, completely unguarded. Chen Huajiang, too, saw nothing unusual in this.

“No wonder it’s so good. But why isn’t your father the one cooking? I bet his skills are even better than yours,” Feng Weizhi probed, sly as a fox, hoping to find out where Daguang’s father worked so he could pay him a visit.

“My dad works in a factory cafeteria. He doesn’t have time,” Daguang replied offhandedly.

Feng Weizhi nodded and let it go. After paying, he packed up the remaining braised pork and left.

Back at his restaurant, Feng Weizhi questioned his two chefs. “Did you notice anything different from what we do?”

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, only that the taste was unquestionably superior.

“I’m not sure either,” one chef replied. “It just tastes better, that’s all.”

“I agree. Do you think there’s something wrong with our meat?” the other suggested.

Their exchange circled the issue without ever reaching the heart of it.

“How could it be the meat? We all get our supplies from the same wholesaler. There’s only one market in the city. It must be a unique recipe or special seasoning.”