After three years of working 996, Lin Xian is sick of eating takeout. He slaps his resignation letter onto his boss’s desk and walks out of the office building
“Ding! Delicious-to-Tears System successfully bound!”
[Brown Sugar Ice Jelly: Grandmaster Level] knowledge transferred. [Roujiamo with Braised Pork: Grandmaster Level] loaded. [Shrimp Dumplings: Grandmaster Level] muscle memory forming…
One all-purpose food truck and 100,000 yuan in startup money. Lin Xian goes from an office drone who can’t even cook instant noodles without burning them to a grandmaster who can flip a wok with one hand.
At Taikoo Li in Chengdu, his brown sugar ice jelly leaves influencers wide-eyed. At the foot of Xi’an’s city wall, his roujiamo has local grandpas ordering five at a time. By the Pearl River in Guangzhou, his shrimp dumpling wrappers are so thin they’re translucent, and the uncles bring their own tea sets as they line up. At a music festival in Changsha, his spicy crayfish set the whole city crying. By the Yellow River in Lanzhou, his fine noodles are as thin as hair. At Xiamen’s old wharf, the satay noodles are so fresh they make fishermen’s eyebrows drop. In a Beijing hutong, his zhajiangmian earn perfect scores from both a retired diplomat and an old man playing chess. In a Shanghai lane, his pan-fried buns cost five yuan each, leaving Michelin-star diners questioning everything.
“I’m just making something simple.” “Is this even edible? …Damn, that’s delicious!”
One city, one flavor; one truck, one cat. From completing tasks out of necessity to cooking out of love, from “the System carries me” to “I am the System.”
When the feast for a hundred cities begins, old friends arrive from every direction. Lin Xian finally understands:
The finest flavors in this world are nothing more than a bowl of hot soup, a smiling face, and a heart willing to rise early to make a meal.
It's too literary. There's really a lot of nonsense. There are so many plots that are written in crude characters.