Ji Shuyao watched Song Shi'an poke around the living room, touching this and inspecting that, looking just like a newly adopted cat full of curiosity about its new home.
He adjusted his glasses. "I hope you keep thinking that way. I'm heading out. I'll message you on WeChat if anything comes up."
Song Shi'an poked his head out from beside the sofa. "Okay, Brother Yao!"
Ji Shuyao turned to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Song Shi'an crouching in front of the TV cabinet, studying the remotes. He picked them up and pointed each one at the TV, pressing the buttons, but nothing happened.
He lowered his head to inspect the battery cover on the back of the remote, muttering, "Why won't it open? Are there no batteries in it?" Only then did he realize he was holding the air conditioner remote.
Ji Shuyao looked away and left, closing the door behind him.
The lock clicked into place. Song Shi'an immediately put the remote back on the table and let himself run completely wild.
He made two circuits of the living room, pressed every light switch, then ran over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and spent ages studying the electric curtains. He opened and closed them over and over, having the time of his life.
Then he discovered the walk-in closet.
Pushing open the frosted-glass door, Song Shi'an froze in the doorway.
The walk-in closet was bigger than the single room he used to rent, with a neat row of clothes hanging in the clothing area.
He carefully walked in and touched the fabric. It was soft and smooth.
Several watches and ties sat in the glass cabinet beside him.
He picked up a watch and turned it over to inspect the back. He didn't recognize the brand, but the workmanship was so exquisite that he didn't dare grip it too tightly.
He gently put it back, took out his phone, and sent Ji Shuyao a message.
"Brother Yao, is everything in the walk-in closet for me?"
Ji Shuyao replied instantly. "They're all brands that partner with the company. Go ahead and wear them."
Song Shi'an stared at that line for two seconds, then stuffed his phone into his pocket. He was eating imperial grain now!
He wandered through all three floors, opening every room to have a look. He even tested how well the guest toilet flushed.
Finally, he ambled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The refrigerated compartment was neatly stocked with all kinds of vegetables, eggs, and meat.
Song Shi'an closed the fridge and leaned against the kitchen counter, looking a little mournful.
The fridge had everything, but he'd grown up eating in cafeterias. The only hot dish he knew how to make was instant noodles.
Just then, a voice suddenly popped up in his mind.
[Limited-time discount on Top-Tier Culinary Arts! Originally 500,000 Affection Points, now 90% off for a limited time-only 50,000! Step right up, don't miss out!]
Song Shi'an abruptly straightened. "Does Top-Tier Culinary Arts mean I can cook anything?"
[Please do not question the system. The only limit is your imagination, not its abilities.]
"All right, redeem it."
A warm current surged from deep within his brain. The eight great cuisines, knife skills and heat control, ingredient pairings, seasoning ratios-all unfolded clearly in his mind like an open book.
He walked over to the knife rack and casually pulled out a kitchen knife. The instant the handle met his palm, his fingers automatically adjusted to the most standard grip. His wrist instinctively turned, and the blade traced a smooth arc through the air before stopping steadily between his fingers.
What an awesome skill!
He took leafy greens, tomatoes, eggs, and a piece of pork tenderloin from the fridge and washed them in the sink.
The knife met the chopping board. The tenderloin became evenly cut strips, while a tomato turned beneath the tip of the blade, its skin separating from its flesh before it was cut into little crescent-shaped pieces without losing a drop of juice.
He turned on the heat, heated the wok, and poured in oil. When the oil was seventy to eighty percent hot, the pork strips slid into the wok, quickly changing color as his spatula moved.
Scallions, ginger, and garlic went in one after another. The instant their aroma burst forth, he tipped in the tomato pieces and swept his spatula in a semicircle along the bottom of the wok.
He tossed the wok. The ingredients flipped and landed neatly back inside, all in one fluid motion.
He plated the dish. It gleamed red, the pork strips tender and silky, without a single drop of oil splashed on the rim.
He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite, and stood rooted to the spot for a long time.
He would gladly pay 998 for this dish-provided he wasn't the one spending that money to eat it.
There was no rice, so he devoured the entire plate with a glass of cooled boiled water.
After finishing, he leaned against the counter and stared at the little bit of sauce left on the plate, still craving more.
Then inspiration suddenly struck.
Right, I could set up a stall selling snacks.
He'd already noticed last time that the night market had plenty of foot traffic. It wasn't far from the villa neighborhood either, just a ten-odd-minute walk away.
There was a university district and a shopping street nearby, with lots of young people. Now that he had Top-Tier Culinary Arts, he could run a stall whenever he wasn't filming. Wouldn't that take care of his living expenses?
He got straight to work, taking out his phone and placing orders on a local shopping platform: a pushcart, a portable stove, disposable utensils, takeaway containers, an apron, a payment-code stand. His shopping cart grew longer and longer, and the final total made him clutch his chest in pain for ages.
Another sizable expense.
He closed the shopping page and rode his little electric scooter straight to the wholesale market, where he picked out a bag of fresh clams, several bundles of glass noodles, minced garlic, chilies, and assorted seasonings.
He wouldn't make things too complicated for his first outing. He would just make foil-tray clams with glass noodles-quick, simple, and popular with young people.
He got the paperwork sorted that afternoon and headed out with his cart that evening.
The night market was a ten-odd-minute walk from the villa neighborhood. He pushed his cart along, learning the route as he went, and arrived before long.
The market was at its liveliest. Charcoal glowed red on the barbecue grills, squid sizzled and smoked on iron griddles, and the air carried mingled aromas of cumin and sauces.
Song Shi'an paid the stall fee, pushed his cart to the assigned spot, and began setting everything out one item at a time.
The woman at the neighboring stall was turning chicken legs on her grill. She turned to look him over. "Young man, new here? What are you selling?"
Song Shi'an poured the clams into a basin of clean water. "Foil-tray clams with glass noodles."
The woman's hands kept moving. "I think someone sold that here before, but they left because business was bad. That stuff doesn't sell too well on this street. You'd have a better chance with grilled skewers or fried chicken."
Song Shi'an stacked the last container of glass noodles in place. "Don't worry, sis. Mine definitely tastes good."
The woman smiled and said nothing more. Customers soon came to her grilled chicken leg stall. Song Shi'an wasn't in a hurry either. He switched on the stove to heat some water, set out the foil trays, layered in the clams, glass noodles, and garlic sauce, and turned on the heat.
In less than five minutes, the contents of the foil trays were bubbling away. As the hot broth washed over the minced garlic, its powerful aroma mingled with the fresh sweetness of the clams and wafted down the aisle.
Two passing girls were the first to stop.
The one with a ponytail sniffed hard, tugged her companion's sleeve, and headed toward the stall.
She looked down at the bubbling foil trays, then up at the person behind the stall.
A black mask and a cap left only a pair of slightly upturned eyes showing.
"Boss, how much is this?"
"Fifteen for regular, twenty with extras. The extras version comes with another portion of clams and peeled shrimp."
The girl with the ponytail paused. She felt as though she'd heard that voice somewhere before.
She stared at his eyes for another two seconds. The longer she looked, the more familiar they seemed, but she couldn't place them.
Her companion had already taken out her phone to scan the code. "Boss, two with extras! Wenwen, what are you spacing out for?"
The girl with the ponytail snapped out of it and glanced at Song Shi'an again before lowering her head to scan the code and pay.
She looked back once more as they left, still feeling that the masked stall owner looked a little like someone who'd recently become very popular online.
But how could a celebrity possibly run a stall at a night market? She shook her head, deciding she was probably overthinking it.