With a "whoosh," a flame ignited.
The orange-red flames licked the tree bark, soon producing crackling sounds.
The once deathly silent house began to slowly dissipate its chill as the firelight flickered, and was replaced by something new.
Su Wei took off the restrictive white shirt, loosened his tie and tossed it aside, and put on a loose and comfortable gray wool sweater.
In the Chart Room restaurant, he prepared the most expensive dishes for the wealthy, using the finest kitchen utensils and handling ingredients that ordinary people had never even seen before.
But he himself hasn't even had a sip of hot water yet.
That intense hunger began to surge back the moment I relaxed.
My stomach let out a loud protest.
Su Wei went into the kitchen.
At this moment, he didn't want to eat anything complicated, nor did he want to touch those half-cooked, elaborately presented high-end dishes.
As someone with Huaxia soul, when I'm extremely tired and hungry, all I want to eat is something oily, spicy, and smoky.
Something that can open up pores.
Open the refrigerator.
There was a piece of hind leg meat that I had deliberately saved, a few stalks of bright green celery, and half a bag of dried red chilies left inside.
That's enough.
It's better than any truffle or caviar.
Su Wei took out the piece of hind leg meat, which weighed at least two pounds, and slammed it heavily onto the solid wood cutting board.
After several days of natural aging, the meat turned a deep, dark red color.
He didn't even need to activate any system assistance; relying solely on muscle memory, he flicked his wrist, and the cleaver moved rapidly under the light.
Go go go go go go.
The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables filled the quiet kitchen, sounding particularly pleasant.
The originally thick hind leg meat was cut into thin slices, each slice following the grain of the meat and bearing its unique rugged pattern.
Slice the ginger, crush the garlic cloves, cut a handful of dried chilies into sections, and scatter the chili seeds on the cutting board.
Heat oil in a wok.
Instead of olive oil, they used previously rendered brown bear fat, which was as white as solidified fat.
A large piece of lard slid into the hot pan, and as the temperature rose, it quickly melted, turning into a clear liquid with wisps of blue smoke rising from it.
Su Wei threw the ginger, garlic, and dried chili peppers into the pot all at once.
Sizzle.
A spicy aroma instantly exploded in the pot.
The smell wafted through the range hood, but some of it also seeped into the room, strong and direct.
Cotton Candy, who had been squatting at the kitchen doorway drooling and waiting for food, sneezed three times from the sudden pungent smell of chili peppers. But she couldn't bear to leave, so she could only tilt her head and curiously peek in, her blue eyes full of doubt.
Add the sliced meat to the pot.
Stir-fry over high heat.
The bear meat quickly changed color as it was coated in hot oil, the edges curled slightly, and it made a sizzling sound.
Su Wei vigorously shook the iron pot, causing the flames to leap half a meter high, instantly enveloping the slices of meat in orange-red flames.
This is what cooking is all about.
Add soy sauce to bring out the aroma, sprinkle in celery stalks to add crispness, and finally sprinkle with a handful of white sugar to enhance the flavor.
Thirty seconds.
Remove from heat.
A plate of fragrant stir-fried beef was served on a rough porcelain plate that was even a little chipped.
Beside it was a large bowl of steaming white rice.
Su Wei carried the plate to the dining table and sat down, completely lacking the poise and elegance he displayed in the Chart Room.
He picked up a large piece of meat with his chopsticks, along with celery and two pieces of chili pepper, and put it into his mouth.
This bite...
My mouth was filled with the aroma of charred oil, the burning sensation of chili peppers, and the unique chewiness of bear meat.
"Call..."
Su Wei let out a long breath, the coldness in his stomach completely dispelled by the heat.
He shoveled the rice into his mouth; the sweet aroma of the rice neutralized the spiciness, and the satisfaction brought by the carbohydrates went straight to his brain.
A fine layer of sweat quickly appeared on his forehead, and he seemed to come back to life from being frozen.
This is the kind of life a human being should live.
After devouring her specially prepared, unseasoned boiled pork in a flash, Cotton Candy lightly hopped onto the chair next to her, lay on the edge of the table, rested her chin on her front paws, and quietly watched Su Wei eat.
Su Wei put down his chopsticks; the large bowl was already empty.
He pulled out a tissue to wipe his mouth and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
As my body warmed up and my blood flowed faster, my tired and sluggish brain became active again, clearer than ever before.
He got up, walked to the bookshelf, and took down a thick, black notebook.
This is his strategic planning document.
Turning a new page, those fragmented thoughts that flashed through my mind in the car and in the kitchen must now be put into words.
Su Wei uncapped the pen, the nib traced across the paper, and wrote a line:
[ Northern Throne Club Planning (Draft)]
The pen tip paused for a moment, and the ink spread slightly.
Before tonight, this so-called club was more of a gimmick to attract customers, a vague concept.
He considered becoming a hunting guide, or leading fishing trips, to earn some hard-earned money.
But he never imagined that his starting point would be his peak.
The name Charles is a trump card.
Laurent's addition directly filled the gap in his soft service experience.
The presence of these two people raised the club's standards to an unprecedented level, even higher than he had originally envisioned.
Su Wei's eyes sharpened as he looked at the headline.
From now on, even if someone tries to come in waving a check, they'll have to think twice about whether they're qualified to sit at the same table as Charles and cut meat.
"Don't make a hodgepodge."
Su Wei muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the quiet wooden house.
He wrote two words heavily on the paper and drew two horizontal lines below them:
[threshold].
If any nouveau riche could get in, someone like Charles would definitely leave without hesitation.
The older generation doesn't care about how good the service is, but rather who's standing next to them.
Su Wei began building a membership system, his pen flying across the paper:
[Member ID: Limited to 12 seats.]
He circled the number "12".
Does it correspond to the twelve months? Or the twelve disciples? It doesn't matter, what matters is scarcity.
Number 001: Charles.
Su Wei solemnly wrote down this name.
This is the cornerstone of the club.
These 12 positions must be filled by someone of Charles's caliber.
They possess not only money, but also top-level influence in various industries.
[Regular Membership: Limited to 88 seats.]
The total number is strictly controlled to 100 people.
We don't want any more.
Scarcity marketing is a universal principle in the luxury goods industry.
The more people are prevented from getting in, the more they want to get in.
Su Wei looked at the framework he had written, then suddenly shook his head, a self-deprecating smile appearing on his lips.
I just quoted Laurent 200,000 and received 300,000 from Charles.