Chapter Twenty-Four: Poaching Talent

Feng Weizhi had been running a restaurant for a year or two, and had accumulated a bit of money. He knew well that the key to successful restaurant management was the flavor. Even if the prices were a little higher, customers would still pay as long as the taste was good; but once the flavor failed, no matter how cheap it was, no one would come.

“But how are we supposed to get that recipe?” one of the chefs asked.

“That young man said it himself, didn’t he? His father works in the canteen of the Hongqi Factory, and his skills were taught by his father. We don’t need to go through him, we just need to win over his father,” Feng Weizhi replied, his mind sharp as ever. He had already looked into it: the chefs at the Hongqi Factory canteen made only twenty or thirty yuan a month. With such skills, if his father came to work at his restaurant, he could easily offer him at least eighty yuan a month.

“Boss, you really do have a way. Let’s try to contact his father first,” someone suggested.

Feng Weizhi had wide connections. With a few inquiries, he found out where Dagang’s family lived. Coincidentally, the next day was a Saturday, and the canteen was closed.

Dagang’s father, Lu Cheng, was sitting in the courtyard, fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan when Feng Weizhi walked in.

“Excuse me, is Master Lu at home?” Feng Weizhi asked, carrying two boxes of pastries.

“I am. And you are?” Lu Cheng looked at the well-dressed man before him, clearly someone of means, and quickly rose from his chair.

“Hello! I’m Feng Weizhi, owner of the Delicious Fresh Restaurant. I came especially to see you today.” Feng Weizhi put his gifts on the table and grasped Lu Cheng’s hands warmly.

Lu Cheng was puzzled. He didn’t know the owner of Delicious Fresh, so why did he come to see him today? Still, since the man had come, it was certainly for something important. He hurriedly invited Feng Weizhi to sit and poured him a cup of hot water.

“Master Lu, your son mentioned that his braised pork recipe was taught by you, is that right?” Feng Weizhi asked.

Lu Cheng immediately understood his intention. “You’ve tasted his braised pork?”

“Of course, I have. That’s why I came to see you,” Feng Weizhi replied.

Lu Cheng began to feel proud. “He’s still far from mastering it, in my opinion. What he makes isn’t even edible, yet you all seem to enjoy it.”

Lu Cheng was actually jealous of Chen Huajiang’s snack shop being so popular, and that his own son was only paid fifty yuan a month for his skills.

“That’s why I came to see you, Master Lu. Our restaurant needs someone like you who can make braised pork. We all think your son’s cooking is delicious—if you made it, there would surely be crowds of customers lining up.”

Feng Weizhi flattered him, eager to recruit Lu Cheng to his restaurant. He knew he needed to sweet-talk him a bit.

“I can’t do it. I have a job at the canteen, and it’s secure all year round,” Lu Cheng replied, his mindset somewhat stubborn. He felt that restaurants could close any day, but at least the Hongqi Factory was stable. As long as the factory stayed open, he’d get his salary on time every month—a very stable life.

“Listen, you work at the canteen during the day, right? My restaurant primarily operates in the evenings. If you’re willing to come over, I can offer you eighty yuan a month—that’s four or five months’ salary at the canteen,” Feng Weizhi persisted.

Lu Cheng was immediately tempted. At the time, eighty yuan was a considerable sum. That meant nine hundred sixty yuan a year, nearly a thousand. That would be more than his son was earning now.

“What if my son comes to work for you? How much would you pay him?” Lu Cheng asked, shrewdly.

“I’ll be honest: if your son comes to my restaurant, I’ll pay him a hundred yuan a month,” Feng Weizhi replied. He’d found out that Dagang was currently earning fifty yuan a month from Chen Huajiang. Doubling the salary, he doubted Dagang could refuse.

“That’s quite high. How about I wait for my son to come home and talk to him—see if he wants to work for you?” Lu Cheng suggested.

“Master Lu, that would be wonderful. If your son doesn’t want to come, but you work at my restaurant every day, I’ll pay you a hundred a month as well. Think about it: if my restaurant thrives, the snack shop will lose customers—then your son will be out of work. You could bring your son to the restaurant, and in a year, father and son together could earn two hundred yuan a month—two thousand four hundred a year.”

The offer was truly tempting. Lu Cheng’s family had only modest means; with that income, in five years he’d be a ten-thousand-yuan household. Such a good opportunity—only a fool would turn it down.

“I have to discuss it with my son first. Let me wait for him to come home, ask him, and then I’ll give you an answer,” Lu Cheng said.

“Very well, I’ll wait for your news,” Feng Weizhi replied, addressing him respectfully and leaving Lu Cheng feeling delighted.

He really didn’t have much to do in the evenings—after all, the canteen was closed at night. He pondered it carefully: it really seemed possible.

Dagang returned after midnight to find his father still awake, waiting for him.

“Dagang, come here. I want to talk to you about something,” Lu Cheng said, his face stern. He always felt Dagang had been duped by Chen Huajiang.

“Dad, why are you still up so late?” Dagang asked, confused.

“A restaurant owner came to see me today. He wants you to make braised pork at his place, offering you a hundred yuan a month. Will you go?” Lu Cheng asked directly—after all, Dagang was his own son.

“Which restaurant owner? I don’t really believe it,” Dagang replied.

“Delicious Fresh. Are you going or not? Right now at this place, Chen Huajiang is only giving you fifty yuan. Which is more, which is less—can’t you tell?” Lu Cheng said, frustrated with his son’s straightforwardness.

“Even for a hundred, I won’t go. Brother Jiang promised me a share in the profits later, and he treats me well. The snack shop is finally getting busy. If I leave now, how will my friends see me?” Dagang said, stubborn as always. In his mind, loyalty mattered—whoever treated him well, he’d treat them well in return.

Chen Huajiang had always been good to him, providing meals every day, even cigarettes. In the shop, Dagang could eat whatever he liked without spending a cent.

“I’m telling you, if you won’t go, I’ll take the job myself. You know my skills—if I go, your snack shop will be left without anyone,” Lu Cheng warned, hinting at a threat.

“Go if you want, why talk so much to me? You haven’t cooked in years anyway—how good could it really be?” Dagang retorted.