All or Nothing

In the small conference room on the top floor of Dongbei's headquarters building, the air was so heavy it seemed like it could drip water.

It was completely dark outside the window, and the skyscrapers of the distant CBD were brightly lit, with neon signs outlining the city's skyline in the night sky. But no one in the conference room looked out the window—all eyes were fixed on the person at the far end of the long conference table.

Zheng Dong sat in the main seat, his hands clasped on the table. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket; the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing the faint throbbing veins in his neck. His eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones were prominent from days of insomnia, but his eyes were frighteningly bright, like two burning charcoal embers.

The meeting has been going on for three hours.

The latest public opinion monitoring data was displayed on the projection screen: negative sentiment accounted for 92.7% of the total online discourse. "Pre-made dishes," "scissors," "frozen meat," and "performance" were the most frequently mentioned terms related to Dongbei. On Weibo's trending topics list, # Dongbei # ranked seventh, with the topic's readership exceeding 40 million.

Operations Director Old Chen had just finished reporting last month's operating data, his voice hoarse. "... Customer traffic in North China decreased by 18% month-on-month, in South China by 21%, and in East China... by 27%. Seven stores in commercial districts saw their daily revenue drop below 5,000 yuan, not even enough to cover labor and utilities. Service area stores... are practically empty."

He paused, then added, "Yesterday afternoon, the manager of the G60 East Gate Service Area store—the one in the video—called and said that a customer had taken a picture of the empty store at the entrance and Douyin with the caption ' Dongbei proves with its actions: nobody eats here.'"

The conference room was deathly silent.

Zhao Bin, the brand's public relations director, cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. "Our positive publicity is still going strong. The hashtag # Dongbei # has already garnered over 100 million views, although... although the comments below aren't very friendly. In addition, we've contacted several authoritative media outlets and are preparing in-depth interviews..."

"An in-depth interview?" Zheng Dong spoke, his voice low but like a stone thrown into water. "An interview about what? An interview about how we open ready-made meal kits with scissors? How we perform 'freshly cooked'?"

Zhao Bin's face stiffened, and he dared not reply.

Zheng Dong's gaze swept over everyone around the conference table. The CFO was writing and drawing in his notebook with his head down; Vice President Sun of the supply chain was staring at the tea leaves floating in his teacup; several regional managers looked ashen-faced, like defeated soldiers.

"Say something," Zheng Dong said. "You're usually quite talkative in meetings, why aren't you saying anything now?"

Still, no one spoke.

Zheng Dong took a deep breath, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the table. "I know what you're thinking. You think I overreacted, that I shouldn't have argued with those two customers, that we should have let it cool down and waited for the heat to die down, right?"

He paused, his gaze sharp as a knife. "Then let me tell you, Dongbei's current predicament can't be resolved simply by the 'hype dying down.' Customers' trust in us has collapsed. They're not just temporarily stopping eating here; they'll never come back. Why? Because they feel we've deceived them."

Old Chen couldn't help but speak up, "Chairman Zheng, but we..."

"I know what you're trying to say," Zheng Dong interrupted him. "You want to say that pre-cooked meals are the norm in the industry, everyone does it. You want to say that we also have freshly cooked dishes, but the proportion isn't that exaggerated. You want to say that our claim of 'freshly made' isn't entirely a lie."

He shook his head, his voice carrying an almost cruel clarity. "It's useless. Customers don't care about any of that. They only care about one thing—they paid for 'freshly cooked' food, but all they got was a reheated meal kit. That's deception. And once you're labeled a 'liar,' a restaurant business is finished."

The distant sirens of fire trucks pierced the night sky from outside the window.

Zheng Dong stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to everyone. The neon lights shone through the glass onto him, and red, blue, and green spots of light moved erratically on his white shirt.

"Twenty years ago, when I opened my first shop," he began, his voice suddenly becoming very calm, "The shop was only thirty square meters, with four tables. I was both the owner and the chef. Every day I would get up at three in the morning and ride a tricycle to the seafood market to pick out fish. Back then, there were no central kitchens, no cold chain logistics. Every dish was made step by step by me, from washing and chopping the vegetables to tossing them in the wok."

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across every face in the conference room. "Later, more and more stores opened, and the scale grew larger and larger. We built a central kitchen, introduced standardized processes, and partnered with cold chain companies. Why? Because we needed to control costs, ensure fast food preparation, and maintain consistent taste across our more than two hundred stores nationwide. This is a business principle, and I don't deny it."

"But where's the problem?" He walked back to the conference table, tapping his fingers lightly on the surface. "The problem is that while we enjoy the cost advantages of standardization, we're unwilling to give up the 'make-to-order' reputation. We want the best of both worlds—to profit from efficiency while also enjoying the traditional word-of-mouth."

He paused for a few seconds, then slowly said, "There's no such thing as having it all in this world."

The conference room was completely silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning vents.

"So now," Zheng Dong sat down again, placing his hands crossed on the table, "We only have one choice."

Everyone looked up at him.

"Since the customers don't believe what we say," Zheng Dong said, emphasizing each word, "Then let them see for themselves."

Zhao Bin paused for a moment, then asked, "What does Chairman Zheng mean...?"

"Fully open," Zheng Dong said. "Dongbei's kitchens will be fully open to all media outlets—official media, independent media, and short video bloggers. Starting tomorrow, all 200+ stores nationwide will be open for filming. From ingredient warehousing, washing, and preparation, to cooking, plating, and serving, the entire process will be broadcast live. There will be no obstructions and no editing."

He paused, then raised his voice. "We must refute rumors with facts and win trust with transparency."

A few seconds of deathly silence.

Then the CFO spoke first, "Chairman Zheng, this... the risk is too great. What if there's an unexpected situation..."

"What kind of emergency is this?" Zheng Dong looked at him. "Is our kitchen really that badly maintained?"

The CFO opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Vice President Sun from the supply chain hesitated, "Chairman Zheng, the pre-packaged meals delivered from the central kitchen do need to be unpacked and heated at the stores. If this process is filmed..."

"Then let them film it," Zheng Dong said. "We can explain that some dishes are pre-processed in a central kitchen for the sake of consistent taste and efficiency, but the core cooking steps—heat control, seasoning, and wok tossing—are all done on-site at the store. That's a fact, isn't it?"

He looked at Zhao Bin: "Director Zhao, the public relations department should get to work immediately. Invite at least one hundred media outlets and one thousand food bloggers nationwide, covering all stores. The slogan will be: ' Dongbei Transparent Kitchen Campaign - Witnessing Every Freshness.' There's no budget limit; I want this topic to be in the top three trending topics within 24 hours."

Zhao Bin nodded with difficulty. "Yes."

"Operations Department," Zheng Dong turned to Old Chen, "Issue an urgent notice to all stores: immediately conduct a deep cleaning of the kitchen, and all employees change into new work clothes. Assign the most skilled chefs to prepare the simplest dishes—scrambled eggs with tomatoes, stir-fried vegetables, and braised fish. Starting tomorrow morning, each store must have at least three chefs 'cooking on-site' in the kitchen, smiling at the camera the entire time."

Old Chen's face turned pale. "Chairman Zheng, many chefs... aren't used to facing the camera..."

"Then let's train them," Zheng Dong said. "Train them overnight. Teach them how to cut vegetables beautifully, how to toss the wok with flair, and how to say to the camera, 'Our ingredients are delivered fresh every day.' The lines aren't long; just memorize them."

"And," he added, "The 'fresh ingredients display area' in all stores—you know, the ice display area for fruits and vegetables—must be restocked immediately. It has to be the freshest greens, the plumpest tomatoes, and live fish caught right now. Even if it's just for show, it has to be presented properly."

Old Chen replied in a low voice, "Understood."

"Technology Department," Zheng Dong said, glancing at a middle-aged man wearing Glasses in the corner of the conference room, "Install at least five high-definition cameras in all stores, covering the entire kitchen area. Connect the signal directly to the headquarters' large screen; I need to see the situation in each store in real time. At the same time, launch an official live streaming account for 24/7 broadcasting."

"Yes."

Zheng Dong looked around, his gaze finally settling on Zhao Bin: "The most important point: all media outlets and bloggers involved in the filming must sign an agreement—their work must be reviewed by us before publication. If there is any false, distorted, or maliciously edited content, we have the right to demand its removal and pursue legal action."

Zhao Bin wrote it down, "Understood."

"Alright," Zheng Dong waved his hand. "Go and get ready. I want to see the first batch of reports by eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

One by one, everyone got up, packed up their notebooks, and hurriedly left the conference room.

In the end, only Zheng Dong was left.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The air conditioning blew coolly on his face.

My phone vibrated. It was WeChat from my wife. "Still at the company? Have you had dinner yet?"

Zheng Dong stared at the screen for a few seconds, then replied, "Coming back right away. I've eaten."

He put down his phone and walked to the window.

The streets below were filled with cars, their taillights forming a red ribbon that flowed endlessly forward.

In the distance, Dongbei's sign gleamed in the night – "Fresh ingredients, cooked to order."

He suddenly remembered many years ago, when the sign for their first shop was first hung up. It was raining that day, and he and his wife stood under the sign. She smiled and said, "From now on, our shop will ensure that every customer can eat with peace of mind."

What about now?

Zheng Dong clenched his fist.

This was his last gamble.

If they win the bet, Dongbei might be able to turn things around.

I lost the bet...

He dared not think about it.

At the same time, in Lin Feng's apartment.

K's encrypted message popped up. "The contents of Dongbei's internal meeting have been monitored. Zheng Dong has decided to fully open the kitchen to the national media, with live broadcasts starting tomorrow. The public relations department has initiated a large-scale media outreach program."

Lin Feng was eating dinner—simple fried rice and vegetables. After reading the message, he put down his chopsticks.

Lü Yi, who was engrossed in eating across from him, looked up when he saw this and asked, "Boss, what's wrong?"

"Dongbei is opening its kitchen to the public," Lin Feng said.

"Huh?" Lü Yi's eyes lit up. "Really? Can we go film it? I'll get some equipment and sneak in..."

"No need." Lin Feng picked up his chopsticks again.

"Why? If they really cooked it fresh on the spot..."

"They can't do it," Lin Feng interrupted him. "With over two hundred stores and thousands of chefs, maintaining a 'cook-to-order' pace requires an enormous amount of fresh ingredients, manpower, and time. Their central kitchen's capacity and cold chain delivery capabilities simply can't support it."

Lü Yi scratched his head. "Then they still dare to open it up?"

"Because they have no other choice," Lin Feng said. "Public opinion has cornered them. They either admit to lying, or... take a gamble and hope their performance can fool everyone."

He picked up a piece of green vegetable with his chopsticks and chewed it slowly.

"What happens if you lose the bet?" Lü Yi asked.

Lin Feng glanced at him but didn't say anything.

Lü Yi thought for a moment, then suddenly grinned. "Oh, I get it. They're going to commit suicide."

Lin Feng nodded and continued eating.

Outside the window, the city night is just beginning.