Su Wanhe clutched the oil-soaked resignation letter and stood in the pouring rain of Linjiang City. All that was left was the old recipe left by her grandmother and a belly full of grievances. She thought she could only say goodbye to pots and pans in this life, but she didn't expect that the small, drafty storefront in the old street would become her salvation.
A bowl of dried bamboo shoots and old duck noodles unexpectedly attracted Lu Shiyan, the pickiest eater in the city. He sat in front of the greasy wooden table in a suit and tie, his brows changing from frown to relaxation: "I'll come back tomorrow."
From being ignored by people to queuing up to the corner of the street, from being spread rumors by peers to winning the gold medal at food festivals, Su Wanhe has never relied on luck, but on being serious about every vegetable and every spoonful of salt. And the man who always sits silently in the corner will give her the farmer's phone number when she is short of ingredients, will show her surveillance evidence when she is being challenged, and will whisper when the lantern lights up: "Your smoke is warmer than anything else."
