Chapter Eight: "Nothing Out of the Ordinary"

In the afternoon, the audience eagerly awaited another glimpse of Wen Jingxing's earnest demeanor. Unfortunately, they were disappointed once more. After the guests completed their assigned tasks, the production team did not require them to do any additional work.

“Seriously? Has Wen Jingxing already been led astray after just one day with Song Waning?”
“Song Waning, how dare you! You wicked woman, you’ve already corrupted Young Master Wen!”

As before, on the same long corridor and the same lounge chair, Song Waning spent yet another afternoon lying there idly.

That evening, Li Weiwei gathered everyone together, but not at the previous location. Instead, she led them to a spacious room with five long tables, one of which was laden with an array of dishes.

The guests looked on with curiosity as Li Weiwei explained, “Tonight, we’ve prepared a little competition. The winning pair will be awarded a day of rest, free from any tasks.”

She then signaled for the crew to open the livestream.

“The competition is simple: each pair selects one member to participate, and they will each prepare a dish. Tonight, we have a special guest judge—the master of Southern Cantonese cuisine, Yao Xiucheng. If your dish gains his approval, you win first place.”

As she finished speaking, a young man in his early twenties with gentle features, dressed in a chef’s uniform, entered and took his place beside the central table.

“My goodness! I can’t believe the production managed to invite Master Yao Xiucheng!”
“Who’s Yao Xiucheng?”
“One of the nation’s top ten chefs! He achieved such high status at a young age—his skills are beyond question.”

As soon as Yao Xiucheng appeared, the guests greeted him in turn. He responded graciously, asking each about their cooking abilities. When he reached Song Waning, his hand paused momentarily as he greeted her. Even before joining the show, he had heard much about this young lady’s reputation.

“Miss Song, how do you do?”
“Greetings, Master Xiucheng.”
“I wonder, Miss Song, how are your culinary skills? Have you cooked before?”
Song Waning smiled. “I’ve prepared quite a few dishes in the past.”
“Is that so? I’m looking forward to seeing your skills,” Yao Xiucheng replied, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. It seemed this Miss Song was more capable than he imagined.
“Nothing special, I’m afraid—quite ordinary.”

Yet the livestream audience burst out laughing.

“Song Waning, you just can’t bear to lose face, can you? You clearly can’t cook, yet you’re putting on airs in front of a master.”
“Exactly! Wasn’t it you bragging in front of Anan that you never had to lift a finger since childhood? If you can cook, then my skills should be unmatched!”
“If you love to show off so much, why not join the competition yourself?”
“You can’t! She’ll only drag Young Master Wen down!”

Li Weiwei didn’t give the guests much time. “Have you all decided?”

Jian Anan volunteered to compete, so Shen Yue let her partner Jiang Mingzhao participate as well, though neither was truly skilled. For the engaged pair, Yun Ze and Nan Yan, Nan Yan took up the challenge.

Wen Jingxing looked at Song Waning, instinctively assuming that someone like her wouldn’t know how to cook. His own skills weren’t impressive, but he could manage a few simple dishes. He was about to speak up, but Song Waning beat him to it. “Director, I’d like to participate in the competition.”

The moment she spoke, everyone in the room stared at her in disbelief.

Her? She was sure?

“Are people really this ordinary and yet so confident nowadays?”
“Let’s see—however much she shows off now, the more embarrassed she’ll be later.”

The staff murmured among themselves, but Li Weiwei quickly cleared her throat, putting a stop to the chaos.

“All right, now that the participants are chosen, let’s begin. The competition lasts one hour. Show us what you’ve got.”

But the viewers in the livestream paid no heed to Li Weiwei’s words.

“A live slap in the face, coming soon.”
“This woman is so arrogant—doesn’t she worry about embarrassing herself?”
“Why should we care? It’s not our faces on the line.”
“But she’ll drag down Young Master Wen!”
“Exactly. So annoying. Why does he have to be paired with her? What bad luck.”
“Ugh, enough already.”

With Li Weiwei’s announcement, all the guests began choosing ingredients from the central table. With only an hour, much of their time would be spent selecting and preparing ingredients, leaving even less for actual cooking. Everyone moved quickly.

Everyone, that is, except Song Waning, who strolled leisurely with a basket at her waist, picking out vegetables that looked pleasing to the eye, as if she had all the time in the world.

“Ugh! She’s driving me mad just watching her!”
“If she can’t cook, fine—why is she moving so slowly?”

On the other side, as Nan Yan finished choosing her ingredients and passed by Song Waning, she offered kindly, “Waning, are you unsure what to make? I could recommend an easy dish if you’d like.”

Nan Yan’s features were delicate, her gaze gentle and full of warmth, giving her a charmingly demure air. Song Waning glanced up in surprise, then replied that she was prepared and there was no need to worry. Satisfied with the answer, Nan Yan moved on.

Watching her leave, Song Waning fell into thought. In the novel, Nan Yan was always portrayed as a poised and dignified young lady, though her fate was ultimately tragic. The book never explained why, and Song Waning hadn’t figured it out either, so she let the matter rest for now.

Once the ingredients were chosen, it was time to prepare them. Song Waning selected cabbage, a box of beef slices, a tomato, a handful of seafood mushrooms, and some sauces.

The preparation was straightforward: she pureed the tomato, added two spoonfuls of light soy sauce, a spoon of salt, a spoon of sugar, half a spoon of chicken essence, and enough water. She then laid the beef slices on torn cabbage leaves, cut them into small pieces, and arranged them in a circle in the iron pot. The seafood mushrooms went in the center, and she poured the prepared sauce evenly over everything. After adding half a bowl of water, she covered the pot and left it to cook.

With everything done, Song Waning took a seat and did nothing more.

The others were perplexed, unable to fathom what she was up to this time. Only Jian Anan spoke up, “Waning, are you really done already? Won’t it taste bad? If you weren’t sure how to cook, you didn’t have to force yourself—it’s just a little competition, after all.”

She seemed even more invested than Song Waning herself, busily working while still finding time to question and subtly undermine her.

Song Waning paid her no mind—results would speak for themselves. She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, it’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

Her confident tone only made everyone more curious about what she was planning.

Jian Anan added, “Is that so? Well, good luck then!” Though her words seemed encouraging, there was a fleeting look of disdain in her eyes.