As a top food magazine editor, I have a tongue worth a million dollars but I can't taste anything.
I was kicked out of the taxi on a rainy night, and I hid in a roadside wonton stall in embarrassment.
The moment the bowl of hot soup was consumed, the taste buds that had been numb for three years suddenly awakened crazily.
"Boss, have another bowl!" I slapped out a hundred-dollar bill.
The man didn't even raise his head: "Fifteen dollars, cash, no change."
Later I found out that he repaired water pipes and toilets during the day and sold wontons for 15 yuan at night.
The Michelin-starred chef knelt down on the spot after drinking his soup: "This craft has been lost for hundreds of years!"
The financial tycoon patted the table for him: "Come to my company and you can fill in your annual salary as you wish!"
He refused them all, but climbed over the wall to cook porridge when I had a fever.
When reporters surrounded us, he protected me behind him: "Get out of here, you scared my girlfriend."
And in his rental house, I saw the betrothal gift note at the bottom of the box:
An ancestral kitchen knife, a permanent lease contract for an old street stall, a deposit of... One hundred and fifty-three thousand six hundred yuan.
"Is it enough to marry you?"
