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When it came to cooking porridge, Jiang Feng really wasn’t afraid.

Although he had had a few failed attempts these past few days, those were all experiments, so failures were normal. The all-capable Good Taste employees could even get the osmanthus sugar that Jiang Jiankang bought while shopping, so what could stop him from advancing to the top four?

Top four?

Apiece of cake!

Jiang Feng was feeling more inflated with confidence than ever before.

He had prepared all the ingredients beforehand; they went straight into the clay pot, water was added, and the flame turned up to the maximum—a rolling boil.

Zhang Xi followed a similar process, except her selection of ingredients wasn’t as varied as Jiang Feng’s. She used a standard-sized clay pot suitable for a family congee, which would just be enough for three bowls: one per person. Jiang Feng, however, used an extra-large clay pot, the kind that weighs several pounds on its own, and that too was for a family of three’s breakfast—Jiang Jiankang would consume half a pot, Wang Xiulian the other half, and he would eat yesterday’s leftovers.

Jiang Feng’s clay pot attracted the attention of the entire venue.

Many people might be seeing such a large clay pot for the first time.

“This Jiang Feng, quite the character! Using such a large pot with only forty minutes, that’s not easy,” Pei Shenghua chuckled.

“Perhaps he’s used to it. He probably uses this size normally; his family might run a restaurant,” Zhu Chang analyzed calmly.

“His family owns a diner near UAL University,” Han Guishan said.

“Mr. Han knows him?” Zhu Chang asked curiously, not expecting there to be hidden connections.

“My son has done volunteer activities with him, and he really liked the way he carved carrots. Last time, my son ate up all the ones I brought home in one night,” Han Guishan mused. “I’ll have to ask him to carve a few more for me later; my son recently stopped watching Peppa and switched to Boonie Bears, so I need him to carve a couple of Xionger for me. I’m just not sure if he could carve Bald Qiang, though.”

The other four judges: ???

Jiang Feng’s clay pot was large, and so were the quantity of ingredients and water he added. He kept the heat on maximum, continuously stirring the porridge inside the pot. While Zhang Xi had already turned down the heat to a simmer and covered her pot, Jiang Feng was still stirring non-stop.

“Time remaining, twenty minutes.”

Jiang Feng kept stirring.

“Time remaining, fifteen minutes.”

Jiang Feng switched to his left hand when his right grew tired.

“Time remaining, ten minutes.”

Zhang Xi’s eight-treasure porridge was already tender, thickened, and she had added a spoon and a half of honey, turning the flame down to low.

Jiang Feng turned down the heat to medium and continued to stir.

“Time remaining, five minutes.”

Zhang Xi’s eight-treasure porridge was ready, while the porridge in front of Jiang Feng had also become very thick. He turned down the heat further and opened the jar containing the osmanthus sugar syrup.

One spoonful, two spoonfuls, three spoonfuls.

Zhang Xi used a small teaspoon, while Jiang Feng used an iron tablespoon.

The two had been on different wavelengths right from the start.

In the last minute, Jiang Feng’s eight-treasure porridge was ready.

[A pot of near-perfect eight-treasure porridge]

Brilliant, just brilliant! This round is in the bag, an absolute win!

Jiang Feng mentally hyped himself up, not showing it outwardly, but inwardly he was bubbling with joy and bursting with confidence.

The staff lady, wearing heat-resistant gloves, delivered Zhang Xi’s eight-treasure porridge to the judges’ table first.

The ingredients like gorgon fruit, Job’s tears, white lentils, and Chinese yam were all cooked to a very thick consistency. Honey, with its floral aroma, intense sweetness, and lasting aftertaste, can add a special flavor to porridge when used appropriately. Although Zhang Xi only added one and a half teaspoons, the sweetness was sufficient due to the small portion she cooked. There were large iron ladles on the table for serving the porridge, and each of the five judges took one ladle each. Han Guishan also modestly only scooped one ladle for himself. Even though the idea of sweet porridge was his, it was from many days ago when he craved sweet porridge, but he no longer did.

After just having had tomato sauce prawns, Han Guishan expressed that he didn’t want porridge, he wanted meat.

If not that, yuxiang eggplant would also be acceptable; bland porridge just wasn’t his dish.

Taking a bite.

Not bad, just a bit hot.

After wolfing down the contents of his bowl in a few gulps, Han Guishan thought for a moment and then scooped another ladleful.

For a 16-year-old girl, everyone was rather lenient; Han Guishan, as usual, gave a score of ten and the others were somewhat merciful with their scoring, giving 8.5 points, which wasn’t bad at all.

The staff went to get Jiang Feng’s Babao Porridge.

Put some effort.

It wouldn’t budge.

Try harder.

Still, it wouldn’t move an inch.

Sinking his breath to his dantian and holding in a breath, he gripped the clay pot’s rim with both hands and heaved upwards.

It moved!

Two seconds later, his energy was drained.

The staff lady silently looked at Jiang Feng, her smile laden with murderous intent.

“Emmm, let me handle this. Give me the gloves,” Jiang Feng said.

The pot of Babao porridge, along with the clay pot, weighed at least twenty pounds, and from the cooking station to the judges’ table was about six or seven meters—a task a bit too cruel for a lady in high heels who normally didn’t do heavy lifting and was only responsible for feigning smiles and looking pretty.

The staff lady quietly handed her gloves to Jiang Feng and walked away without looking back.

Jiang Feng carried the clay pot steadily to the judges’ table, placed it down with a thud, and then returned to the cooking station.

As the clay pot was set on the table, the table shook, seeming to sag down a few millimeters.

“He looks skinny, but he’s quite strong. That must be at least twenty pounds, and he carried it so effortlessly!” Han Guishan exclaimed.

“Chefs have strong arms,” Zhu Chang said.

Once the lid was lifted, the aroma of the Babao Porridge wafted out.

The scent of the ingredients mingled with the osmanthus sugar, creating a rich layered aroma.

“Osmanthus sugar?” Pei Shenghua immediately noticed, “That smells really good!”

Han Guishan thought the same, so he scooped two ladles for himself.

A little hot, he blew on it and then took a bite.

!!!

Who knew there could be such a transcendent and stunning Babao Porridge in this world!

As someone from Guangdong Province, who drooled at the thought of porridge late at night when there wasn’t enough money at home to afford anything but gruel, who sobbed into the night from eating porridge meal after meal in his teens, and who, despite his wealth later in life, was forced to secretly order takeout while his wife obsessed over health food and made the chef prepare porridge constantly, Han Guishan could proudly say that no one present had more extensive experience drinking porridge than he did.

His tragic history with porridge could make a whole book.

But he had never tasted porridge like this before, rich, sweet, thick, and smooth, with every ingredient melting in the mouth as if they could slide straight down the throat without even needing to swallow. The warm sensation extended from the esophagus all the way down to the stomach; the aftertaste of osmanthus sugar lingered in the mouth, with its fragrance spreading through the nostrils.

This was not just a bowl of eight-treasure porridge; it was a work of art.

“Hululu, hululu.”

Han Guishan slurped the porridge down in large gulps, chewing as if he were devouring peonies and scored a perfect ten before promptly scooping up another full bowl. With a few quick stirs, he continued slurping down the porridge.

The other four judges also broke precedent by finishing their bowls and going for a second serving, though not as much as Han Guishan had scooped. They had about half a bowl each and savored it slowly, spoonful by spoonful.

Only after Han Guishan had finished his third bowl did the scores from the other four judges emerge.

9.6 points.

Pei Shenghua awarded Jiang Feng full marks.

The highest score in history, even higher than the score for Ji Xue’s jar-cooked Shaoxing wine chicken.

The whole place was astounded.

“Wow, Feng scored so high!” Jiang Jianguo exclaimed in surprise, chuckling, “Looks like Feng is going to take the championship!”

“His eight-treasure porridge is cooked better than what a few porridge masters in the country can achieve, no wonder,” Jiang Weiguo said, glancing at Sun Guanyun.

Sun Guanyun refused to acknowledge the message Jiang Weiguo was sending his way.

Only when the audience had quieted down did Zhu Chang pick up the microphone and speak, “I’m amazed that I could taste such a bowl of porridge, and even more astonished that it comes from the hands of a 20-year-old. The young are indeed to be feared. It’s truly remarkable. Both contestants are extremely talented. The young girl is only 16 but has already mastered fire control and seasoning. Female chefs are rare in our line of work, not to mention a master chef, and I look forward to seeing your name in Taste magazine’s list of famous chefs in the future.”

“What is the list of famous chefs?” Han Guishan asked quietly. He was friends with Xu Cheng, but he didn’t read Taste.

“It’s a listing that sums up outstanding chefs internationally, even more reliable than the Michelin selections,” Zhu Chang explained.

Han Guishan nodded, pretending to understand.

“I scored a ten, and I feel that the pot of eight-treasure porridge Jiang Feng cooked deserves this score. It’s a kind of eight-treasure porridge that’s hard to describe in words. This porridge will make many experienced chefs who pride themselves on their porridge cooking skills feel ashamed, myself included. It’s just like the saying by the poet Lu You, ‘Once I acquired the simple technique of Wanchou, I could turn porridge into an offering for immortals.’ To cook porridge requires patience and experience. I can’t even imagine what the porridge you brew will taste like in ten years, when you are my age. Perhaps it’ll truly turn into an offering for immortals,” Pei Shenghua recited in excitement, “On the Laba Festival, I also make porridge at home, but compared to the eight-treasure porridge cooked by contestant Jiang Feng today, it seems like an apprentice in the presence of a master. This eight-treasure porridge, I can’t even find a fault with it. If I have to say something, it’s that the cooking time for this competition is too short. If this pot of porridge could be simmered on low heat for four hours, I believe it would be flawless.”

“Two exceptional young contestants, I look forward to your future,” Zang Mu said, as concise as ever.

“Pei has already said all the words of praise. Any further compliments from me would seem cliche. I was a bit disappointed last round, but this round, I’m only filled with surprises. Both Zhang Xi and Jiang Feng have given me plenty of surprises. All I can say is, young lady, losing to him in this round is no injustice whatsoever,” Tong Deyan said, taking the opportunity to diss Zhao Shan.

Han Guishan, who was already on his fifth bowl, spared a moment for a perfunctory comment, “Delicious, *burp*.”

The audience laughed good-naturedly.

“There’s quite a bit of porridge left in the pot; it’d be a waste to leave it here. Let’s share some with the audience and let the contestants try it too,” suggested Han Guishan, who was nearly full.

The other four judges thought it was a good idea.

The audience, their necks craned in anticipation, hoped the staff would choose them as the lucky ones to try this unparalleled eight-treasure porridge that had been so highly praised by the judges.

Indeed, the pot cooked by Jiang Feng had plenty of porridge left, and for some reason, the organizers had prepared many bowls and spoons. Given the number of people in the audience wasn’t extremely large, everyone could get a taste with just a little in their bowls.

“Leave some for me; I’ll take it home and heat it up for my wife and son to try,” said Han Guishan, not forgetting to take some porridge home even after having his fill.

When it comes to priority, the boss is always top, and just as it happened, the lady scooping the porridge saved a bit at the bottom of the pot—enough to scrape together two bowls’ worth.

For a while, no one had time to watch Zhang Guanghang; everyone was focused on the porridge in their bowls.

Sun Guanyun, holding his bowl, wore a look of disdain.

But as soon as the warm eight-treasure porridge touched his lips, his expression changed.

Sun Guanyun looked at Jiang Weiguo, his face asking why he hadn’t been told his grandson was a professional porridge cooker.

Jiang Weiguo was smugly triumphant.

“You didn’t expect this, did you? My grandson is a porridge cooking pro!”

The entire venue was filled with all kinds of exclamations and friendships/relationships breaking down.

“Damn, this is really freaking delicious!”

“It’s too good to betrue!”

“What kind of porridge is this, has the taste of Eight Treasure Porridge? What the heck do they even sell in porridge shops then?”

“Darling, do you love me?”

“If you love me, give me a spoonful of the porridge from your bowl.”

“Honey, give me a sip of yours please!”

“Are we still friends?”

“Nope, beat it.”

The hostess stood at the edge of the stage, still savoring the taste of the Eight Treasure Porridge she had just tried.

The cameraman was filled with envy. That damn assistant director was sipping it right next to him, the tempting aroma making him want to drink it badly, but he had to quickly adjust the camera angle to capture the audience’s expressions.

Guishan sat among the judges, burping away, only wishing he had four stomachs like a cow.

Jiang Feng and Zhang Xi both conscientiously returned to the resting area. Only then did the hostess come out other reverie and sweetly said, “I’m sure everyone has just tried contestant Jiang Feng’s porridge. It was truly delicious and unforgettable. It absolutely deserves the high score of 9.6.”

“Our crew has finished cleaning up the cooking station, and now I’d like to invite the third group of contestants, Gu Li and Chu Peng. Their theme is savory fresh, and the dish they need to cook is vegetable rolls. Please come up on stage and prepare; the contest will begin in 3 minutes.” The hostess said with a smile, her expression as sweet as osmanthus sugar.

“What flavor is your Eight Treasure Porridge? I really want to try it!” Zhang Xi was the most pitiful one, as she lost the contest and didn’t get to taste the porridge. No one remembered there was another poor contestant at the cooking station who hadn’t gotten to drink it.

“Do you have classes on the weekend?” Jiang Feng asked. “You can come to my family’s restaurant this weekend, and I will cook a special portion for you. Although the ingredients might not be as good as today’s, I’ll cook it a bit longer to bring out the flavor of the rice, so it won’t taste bad.”

“Great, I don’t have classes on Sunday except for the evening self-study. I have a full schedule on Saturday but no evening self-study, so Saturday night and Sunday noon are both fine!” Zhang Xi replied excitedly.

It had been a long time since Jiang Feng had to study, and he couldn’t help thinking to himself how tough high school life was. No wonder teachers could get away with the lie that university life would be easier, deceiving one cohort after another.

“Let’s do Saturday then. I’ll start cooking in the afternoon. What time do you finish school? It would be best if you could come around 7 o’clock,” Jiang Feng suggested.

“I get off at 6:20. Where’s your family’s restaurant located? Can I bring my mom with me?” Zhang Xi asked excitedly.

“Sure, what kind of flavors does your mom like? Send me a message later and I’ll let you know. My family’s restaurant is on UAL University’s food street. I’ll send you the location tomorrow,” Jiang Feng responded with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join in?” Zhang Guanghang chimed in on the group chat.

“No problem, it would be an honor. I’ll send you the location tomorrow,” Jiang Feng said, looking at Zhao Shan and thinking it might not be nice to leave him out and form a small group of three, so he invited him as well. “Would you like to come along?”

“No thanks,” Zhao Shan forced a smile. After being relentlessly dissed, he didn’t want to be seen in the same frame as Zhang Guanghang ever again.

Suddenly, Jiang Feng felt a bit uncomfortable, as if he was being watched by a sharp and somewhat hostile gaze.

Coming from the audience seats.

Turning toward the audience, Jiang Feng’s eyes met with Wu Minqi’s.

Wu Minqi smiled at Jiang Feng and mouthed a congratulations.

Jiang Feng also returned a sincere smile to her.

The uneasy feeling disappeared.