Chapter 402 - 203: This Line of Writing Is Pretty Authoritative
It’s easier for someone heavier to lose weight in the early stages, but once she hits a plateau, she’ll probably have to start controlling her diet.
Her appetite was still a bit too big, almost on par with Zhou Yan’s.
But the work Zhou Yan did in a day was far more strenuous than her three cycling trips, and he even went for a run at night.
Over the past month of eating and drinking normally, he hadn’t gained any weight at all. In fact, he had grown leaner and more muscular. Even the outline of his six-pack had become more defined. The occasional extra sit-ups at night were clearly paying off.
The Master’s ’Obsessive Quest for Stir-fried Pork Liver’ had been stuck at 99% for several days now. Zhou Yan had already given Old Xiao a talking-to today, telling him not to slack off. He needed to have dreams and ambitions. When he wasn’t busy with village banquets, he should come to Zhou Yan Restaurant to study and break through to the Perfection Realm as soon as possible.
Comrade Old Xiao had a profound realization of his mistake and decided to come to Zhou Yan Restaurant the day after tomorrow to study. He would also bring along Comrade Zheng to work as a prep cook.
That last one percent was often the hardest gap to bridge.
Zhou Yan was going to lend him a hand by providing a stage where he could practice stir-frying pork liver frequently.
As for the ’Breakout Plan’ mission, it was progressing steadily.
Of these 66 people, Zhou Yan figured at least half were kids Zhou Momo had roped in from her kindergarten and elementary school. They would use their allowance to buy the braised vegetarian dishes to eat as snacks.
Its reputation was slowly growing, and it had already become a favorite treat for many of the kids.
A single malt candy stick cost twenty-five cents, which was enough to buy half a pound of braised vegetables to share with classmates.
The kids who didn’t have much allowance were quite good at making every penny count.
Closing the system panel, Zhou Yan sat up, picked up the copy of *How Steel is Made* from his bedside, and began to read intently.
He had to finish the book tonight before going to sleep. Tomorrow, he would go to Wang to borrow a new one and, while he was at it, see if the man’s library had any culinary classics like cookbooks. He could borrow a few to keep at the restaurant for reference.
For one, it was to appease his Master; for another, he genuinely wanted to read and learn more to broaden his horizons and spark new ideas.
After more than a month of cooking, he was gradually discovering the joy of being a Chef.
The process of turning raw ingredients into a dish, serving it to a customer, and then receiving their praise or seeing the look of sheer amazement on their face—that sense of satisfaction was unparalleled.
Switching roles from a food blogger to a Chef and seeing customers from the kitchen’s perspective was a strange but wonderful feeling.
The system’s quests might generate some unexpected recipes, but Zhou Yan still wanted to use his own years of experience as a foodie. He wanted to build on the recipes he’d mastered and try his hand at creating some new dishes.
’A man’s got to have his own ideas to feel alive, right?’
It was just a shame eggplant wasn’t in season; otherwise, Zhou Yan would have definitely tried making Fish-Flavored Eggplant.
The Stir-fried Pork with Salt he’d eaten today was excellent. He and Luo had already arranged a time. Luo had Tuesdays off, so he would come to the restaurant to learn how to make Snowflake Chicken Porridge from Zhou Yan.
Zhou Yan had one condition: in return, he wanted to learn how to make Stir-fried Pork with Salt from Luo.
Although it also used pork hind leg, the texture and flavor were quite different from Twice-Cooked Pork. It would be a great rice-accompanying dish to add to the menu, especially since it wouldn’t require any additional prep.
At twenty years old, Zhou Yan was determined to make a name for himself in this industry!
If he let the system’s recipes define his limits, wouldn’t that be a disservice to his steadily improving Knife Skills, Fire Control, and seasoning abilities?
Paul’s story got much more exciting after he became a soldier. Zhou Yan, breaking his usual habit of falling asleep after half a page, rolled up his quilt to prop himself against the headboard, got comfortable, and finished the entire book in one sitting.
"Man’s most precious possession is life. It is given to him but once. A man’s life should be spent so that when he looks back, he is not filled with regret for a life lived without purpose, nor with shame for a mean and vulgar past."
Zhou Yan copied this quote onto the first page of the journal.
That way, it wouldn’t feel like he’d read the book for nothing.
Oh, he didn’t have a habit of keeping a journal.
That was Comrade Zhou’s journal.
’What kind of self-respecting person keeps a journal?’
Not that Comrade Zhou could keep a journal anyway. His handwriting was so bad that even he couldn’t stand to look at it.
The first entry was three lines long and ended with: "This handwriting is fucking ugly! Screw it, what’s the point of a damn journal!"
Zhou Yan had found this journal in a cabinet a few days ago. He was left speechless after reading it.
He had torn out that page and burned it in the stove, but he kept the notebook itself. It would make a decent account book in the future.
Closing the book, Zhou Yan picked up the watch from his bedside and glanced at it. It was already one in the morning.
’Crap, I stayed up way too late!’
He hadn’t been to bed past ten o’clock this entire time.
He turned off the light, pulled the covers over, and was out in a second.
The next morning, Zhou Yan was woken up by Comrade Zhou.
Zhou Yan opened the door, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes.
"Didn’t sleep well last night?" Comrade Zhou asked, looking at him with some surprise.
"I got engrossed in a book and lost track of time, so I went to bed a little late," Zhou Yan explained with a yawn and a smile. "Let’s go. I’ll just take a nap this afternoon to catch up."
The sky was still completely dark when the two of them left the house.
Flashlights were tied to their handlebars, two beams of light cutting through the darkness ahead as father and son pedaled one after the other toward Zhou Village.
When they returned from their supply run, a thin figure was squatting by the door. The moment he saw them, he shot to his feet, a smile revealing a set of perfectly white, even teeth.
"Isn’t that Lai Fu?" Old Zhou said in surprise.
"Lai Fu, what are you doing here?" Zhou Yan was also surprised. He looked at the tofu, dried bean curd sticks, and dried tofu piled high in the basket on Lai Fu’s back. The load must have weighed at least fifty pounds; Zhou Yan had no idea how he’d managed to carry it all.
Lai Fu handed Zhou Yan a piece of paper. On it was written a line of neat, elegant script: