The relatives of the Jin family stared blankly as Shen Qiming emerged from the kitchen.

He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his appearance refined and striking. Every movement exuded elegance and nobility.

His noble demeanor… was now paired with carrying a dish.

The guests at the table he was serving turned around and, upon seeing him, were nearly scared to death. Several of them scrambled to stand up in shock.

Shen Qiming placed the bowl of Eight Treasures Mountain Delicacies on the table and said calmly, “Please enjoy.”

“B-b-b-big brother…” Jin Father’s second brother stammered nervously, “H-how can this be…”

Jin Father quickly snapped back to his senses and rushed into the kitchen to find his daughter. “Yaotiao! How can you let Xiao Shen serve dishes!”

Jin Yaotiao, clearly troubled, replied, “What else can I do? Just look at what he chopped.”

Jin Father followed his daughter’s hint and glanced at the cutting board. On it, a Cantonese sausage had been chopped into uneven strips, some shaped like moons and others like stars.

“This cutting is terrible,” Jin Father commented instinctively, then quickly corrected himself. “No, I mean—how can you let Xiao Shen help with chores? It’s far too inappropriate. He’s never done this sort of thing before!”

Jin Yaoqiao was at a loss for how to explain.

Suddenly, Shen Qiming’s voice appeared: “It’s no trouble at all, Uncle Jin. Please carry on with your work.”

Jin Fu turned around to face Shen Qiming, who was nearly a head taller, looking down at him quietly. Though Shen Qiming spoke with great politeness, his aura left no room for argument.

Jin Yaoqiao ignored everyone and continued chopping sausage at her own pace. For the anniversary banquet, she planned to make clay pot rice, a seemingly simple dish that actually required significant skill.

Jin Fu glanced between his daughter and Shen Qiming, utterly confused. The Jin family rarely had any influence over the Shen family; otherwise, Jin’s third brother wouldn’t have relied on Shen’s support. Thanks to Jin Yaoqiao’s connection to Shen Qiming, Jin Fu was able to call him “Xiao Shen” with an air of familiarity. But in reality, if Shen Qiming was determined to do something, no one could stop him.

As Jin Fu turned to leave the kitchen, Shen Qiming softly warned, “Don’t cut your hand.”

Jin Yaoqiao, annoyed, retorted, “President Shen, please go rest.”

He seemed thoughtful but then turned to leave. Outside, the Jin relatives were still uneasy. “Big brother, what’s going on with President Shen?”

Jin Fu thought for a moment, then chuckled and waved them off. “Let’s not worry about it. Young people can handle their own affairs.”

Jin’s third brother was stunned, watching his elder brother leave to entertain the guests without further concern. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Meanwhile, Jin’s second sister-in-law and several female relatives exchanged whispers. Their expressions were hard to decipher—somewhere between admiration and envy:

“I didn’t expect Yaoqiao to be so capable.”
“Didn’t they say she was chasing after President Shen? Looks more like she has him wrapped around her finger.”

---

The uniform clay pots bubbled quietly over the fire. The aroma of rice and cured meats, tinged with sweetness, spread throughout the kitchen.

Several junior chefs stood nearby, keeping an eye on the heat but not daring to lift the lids. Finally, Jin Yaoqiao wiped her hands and announced, “It’s done. Turn off the heat and have someone bring it out.”

Shen Qiming, standing behind her, immediately moved to help. Jin Yaoqiao slapped his hand away. “You can’t carry this.”

Shen Qiming looked down at her and then at the professionals carefully sliding the clay pots onto trays using heat-resistant tools. After a moment, he picked up a small bowl instead.

The bowl contained crab—the meat and roe carefully extracted and fried into a golden paste by Jin Yaoqiao herself. She rubbed her brow and sighed. “Fine, whatever.”

Having gained her permission, Shen Qiming carried the small bowl and followed the servers out. His tall, elegant figure loomed at the back of the line, intimidating the servers in front of him into silence, as if he were a shepherd dog overseeing a flock.

Jin Yaoqiao: “……”

---

Outside, the banquet was in full swing. Chief Editor Gao of A Taste of the World magazine was busy praising the Beggar’s Chicken that had just been served. He held onto the second piece of porcini mushroom he had carefully dug out of the chicken cavity, reluctant to eat it.

He turned to Mr. Meng beside him and said, “This is honestly the best Beggar’s Chicken I’ve ever tasted.”

Mr. Meng seemed to favor the tender bamboo shoots more than the mushrooms. The shoots had soaked up the juices but retained their crisp sweetness. He ate one after another, and no one at the table dared compete with him.

After finishing several shoots, he nodded and agreed, “I once tasted Beggar’s Chicken made by the Tian family, descendants of its alleged inventor. It was excellent, but it pales in comparison to this. To achieve this level of perfection with such a simple dish requires incredible skill.”

His evaluation carried weight; he rarely gave detailed feedback. Usually, he would simply say “good” or “not good,” so his praise clearly came from genuine enjoyment rather than professional habit.

Chief Editor Gao was thrilled. He nudged the photographer beside him, signaling him to capture the moment.

This was Mr. Meng’s praise—a golden ticket for their magazine sales!

Just as Chief Editor Gao kept an eye on Mr. Meng, the latter suddenly looked up. Before Gao could react, a rich fragrance filled the air.

Rice was often overlooked as a side dish, rarely receiving much attention, but this aroma stood out among the extravagant dishes, inspiring unbidden anticipation.

The servers brought a large clay pot to the table, and the combined fragrance of rice and cured meats seemed capable of traveling for miles.

Editor Gao had eaten quite a bit, but when he saw the main course, he swallowed instinctively. Rising from his seat for a better look, he saw a glossy rice pot with a crab nestled in the middle. Around it were thin, glossy slices of roasted meat. It didn’t seem particularly special at first glance.

Mr. Meng, however, immediately noticed something unique. “This rice pot doesn’t just use jasmine rice, does it?”

The cautious chef standing nearby nodded. “That’s correct. Manager Jin added some freshly harvested pearl rice airlifted from the north—just harvested in October.”

As he spoke, the chef carefully poured a sauce over the rice.

The pot was still hot, sizzling with a tantalizing crackle. The fragrance of the toasting rice mingled with the sauce, creating an irresistible aroma.

Editor Gao leaned forward impatiently to watch the chef stir the rice. The pure white grains slowly absorbed the sauce, turning into a rich golden brown. A delicate layer of crispy rice at the bottom was lightly scraped and broke into crunchy pieces.

Unable to wait, Editor Gao held out his bowl, signaling for the waiter to serve him some. But the staff declined politely. “Please wait a moment—it’s not quite ready yet.”

Not ready? Isn’t everything here already prepared?

Confused, he watched as the young chef turned nervously and requested, “Mr. Shen, could you please pass me the crab paste?”

A hand extended from behind—a hand clad in the sleeve of a finely tailored suit. The wrist revealed a high-end silver watch, its craftsmanship exuding an air of quiet luxury. The sight of it made Editor Gao gulp; it was a Swiss mechanical piece worth more than he could likely afford in a lifetime.

And yet, this hand—so refined and privileged—was holding…a bowl.

Editor Gao looked up and nearly fainted. He sprang up like a startled rabbit. “Mr. Shen—Shen Shen Shen Shen!”

Shen Qiming glanced calmly at the bowl of golden, glossy crab paste being handed to the chef. He watched as the chef poured it into the rice pot. The sticky-soft rice, the crispy layer at the bottom, and the rich crab paste blended together into an irresistible, aromatic mixture.

Shen Qiming’s voice was composed. “Enjoy.”

Editor Gao froze, trembling slightly, not daring to touch his bowl. But Mr. Meng, whose eyes were solely focused on the food, unceremoniously dug in.

The collaboration of fragrant jasmine rice and tender pearl rice was seamless. The roasted meats were perfectly seasoned, their flavors elevated by the savory sauce and sweet crab paste, making an already exquisite dish even more extraordinary.

Mr. Meng’s cheeks jiggled as he chewed, his expression serious as he offered his critique. “Excellent! Perfect heat control, great flavor!”

Shen Qiming silently shifted his gaze from the rice pot to Mr. Meng’s portly figure. After a moment, he looked at the young man seated beside Mr. Meng. “Is his blood sugar level normal?”

The young man froze before quickly realizing the implication. He jumped up and began coaxing, “Grandpa, don’t forget about your high blood pressure and sugar levels! Half a bowl is more than enough!”

Mr. Meng: “???”

---

Back in the kitchen, the lingering fragrance of clay pot rice hung in the air.

With the main course served, the banquet was nearly over. Jin Yaotiao strolled in to inspect the remaining ingredients. Seeing Shen Qiming standing there, she asked, “You’re back?”

He nodded and stood obediently, looking at her with his large, earnest eyes as if waiting for instructions.

Jin Yaotiao sighed. “There’s no more work to do, Mr. Shen.”

Then she asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

Shen Qiming shook his head. “Not yet.”

He had come straight over after work.

Since he had helped out tonight, Jin Yaotiao figured she should at least prepare something for him. She glanced at the ingredients on the counter and asked, “How about some clay pot rice?”

Shen Qiming nodded. “Sure.”

Just as she picked up the preserved sausage, her father, Jin Fu, entered the kitchen. “Yaotiao, this won’t do. Xiao Shen has been busy all evening—you can’t just make him clay pot rice.”

Clearly concerned about proper hospitality but also protective of his daughter, Jin Fu rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll cook. You’ve had a long day too—take a break with Xiao Shen.”

Jin Yaotiao met her father’s caring gaze and, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. “Alright, but make a smaller portion. I’m not too hungry since I had lobster porridge this afternoon. Just enough for Mr. Shen.”

Jin Fu grinned and turned to Shen Qiming. “Xiao Shen, let Uncle Jin show you what I can do.”

Shen Qiming: “…Thank you.”

Jin Fu: “After so many dishes, you’re not just getting clay pot rice!”

Shen Qiming: “…”

---

This year’s Mingde anniversary banquet concluded perfectly.

The event was grand and lively, with guests thoroughly enjoying themselves. Mr. Meng, the guest of honor, showered the event with praise, and the media left satisfied with plenty of photos, undoubtedly gearing up for a wave of glowing coverage.

On her home balcony, Jin Yaotiao gazed into the late-night skyline of Linjiang City. The stars were faint and sparse, and few houses nearby still had their lights on.

She felt like a general fresh from the battlefield, reflecting on the day’s triumphs.

Although the official media coverage hadn’t yet been published, local buzz about the Mingde compound’s bustling success was already thriving. Meanwhile, their competitor, the Muhe Pavilion, had gone silent, their earlier marketing efforts fading into the background.

She had won this battle.

Not only against the Cheng family, but also within her own ranks. This successful “Fragrant Feast” was her declaration of capability, a reassurance to the entire Mingde organization.

Her father sent her a text, asking her to come to the study. When she arrived, she found him sitting at his desk, studying her.

She smiled. “Dad, is there something you want to tell me?”

Her father’s gaze was unusually solemn, scrutinizing.

After a moment, he finally spoke—not about Shen Qiming’s unexpected appearance at the banquet but about something far more shocking.

“Yaotiao, if I were to hand you the Mingde compound project, could you handle it?”

Yaotiao stared at her father in astonishment, realizing his gaze had shifted. It wasn’t the affectionate look of a doting parent but the weighty regard of someone seeing her as a capable successor.

The Mingde compound was the company’s most important brand line. Only senior leaders held sway over it. None of her many cousins had even come close to being considered for a role in its management.

She locked eyes with her father for several seconds before her lips curved into a confident smile. “If you dare give it to me, I’ll make it work.”

Her father studied her for a long moment before his expression softened with approval. “Good. I trust you.”

They smiled at each other.

Her father gestured for her to come closer. When she did, he pulled out a stack of documents from his drawer and laid them in front of her.

She glanced at them briefly, then her face fell. “Dad, what is this?”

Her father’s gaze was gentle. “My will. I don’t know what will happen after my surgery. Your mother isn’t someone who can handle major responsibilities. If something goes wrong after the operation, don’t be afraid—”

“Dad, shut up,” Yaotiao snapped, her fists clenched tightly.

Her father chuckled and fell silent, watching her with the same indulgent yet helpless look he’d always had when dealing with her stubbornness.