Don't Call Me a Cop, Call Me a Culinary God

Ye Liangchen, bottom of his class at the police academy, was sent to a local police station to while away his days.

One day, while conducting a covert investigation in disguise at a street stall, he complained that the fried rice nearby tasted awful. Suddenly, a voice rang out in his mind:

[Extreme culinary passion detected. Chinese God of Cooking System binding…]

Ye Liangchen: ??? I’m a cop, and instead of a crime-solving System, you give me a God of Cooking System? What, you want me to change careers?

System: [Diners’ Emotion Detection] [Ingredient Traceability Vision] [Precise Taste Analysis]. On the surface, they’re for cooking, but every one of them is actually an investigative aid.

Fine, then.

From that day on, a fried rice stall appeared in Nandou Market. It was called the Peace Hotel.

The fried rice was so delicious that a gang of thieves lined up there every day, and he took them all down in one swoop.

His singing was so good that gangsters burst into tears and swore to turn over a new leaf on the spot.

He recruited three underlings: the market’s local tough, a street kid, and a taxi driver. All three became police undercover agents.

The underworld called him the God of Gangster Songs.

From second-level police officer to first-level police commissioner, from Nandou Market to the Golden Triangle, from a family’s despised loser to the pride of three generations of martyrs.

For twenty years, he tossed his wok and fried rice, building it into a Peace Catering Group, then donating the whole company to the Police Martyrs Foundation.

He handed his final bowl of fried rice to a new police officer:

“Give it a try. This is the taste of Nandou Market.”

I’m a cop, and I’m a God of Cooking.

The underworld calls me brother, and justice knows my name.