War was not declared with trumpets and banners.
Sometimes, it was declared with a reservation for one.
The name Chao Wei Jun echoed in Yu Zhen's mind all night, a low, persistent hum beneath the frantic energy of a closing kitchen and the lonely silence of her small apartment.
She hadn't slept.
Instead, she had planned.
If Chao Wei Jun wanted to taste her food, she would give him a taste of her soul.
And her soul was currently a raging inferno of pure, unadulterated fury.
He thinks this is a game?
Fine.
Let's fucking play.
The next morning, the kitchen of Phoenix Rising was not a place of creation.
It was a war room.
Yu Zhen stood before her assembled ingredients, laid out with the precision of a surgeon's tools.
This was not just food.
This was an arsenal.
Each ingredient was chosen for its story, its integrity, its defiance against the very idea of "instant."
There was the hundred-year-old soy sauce from a family brewery, so precious she used it by the drop.
The wild honey harvested by monks from a remote mountain temple.
The hand-picked tea leaves that were withered, rolled, and fired according to ancient traditions.
Every single item was a middle finger to his processed garbage.
"Mei Ling," she said, her voice sharp and clear in the morning quiet. "Cancel my regular prep list. Today, we have a new menu."
Mei Ling, who had watched Yu Zhen storm around the kitchen since 5 a.m., leaned against a stainless-steel counter, her arms crossed.
"Let me guess," Mei Ling said, her tone dry. "The 'Go Fuck Yourself' tasting menu? My favorite."
"The Grand Imperial," Yu Zhen corrected, a dangerous glint in her eye. "But with commentary."
"So, the 'Go Fuck Yourself' tasting menu with extra steps. Got it." Mei Ling pushed off the counter, her usual playful energy replaced by a quiet concern. "Yu Zhen, are you sure about this? This guy sounds like bad news. Like, corporate-Darth-Vader-level bad news."
"He wants to see what this restaurant is about," Yu Zhen said, her hands caressing a rare, perfectly marbled piece of wagyu beef. "I'm going to show him. I'm going to cook a meal so profound, so undeniably real, that his soul will shrivel up from the sheer shame of his instant noodle empire."
Or, you know, he'll just be a rich asshole who doesn't get it.
But a girl can dream, can't she?
"Okay, Chef," Mei Ling sighed, grabbing an apron. "Let's weaponize some food. Just... try not to actually stab him with a fish bone, okay? The paperwork is a nightmare."
Yu Zhen didn't smile.
Her focus was absolute.
Today, she wasn't just a chef.
She was an executioner.
And her blade was a twenty-course tasting menu.
Chao Wei Jun arrived at precisely eight o'clock.
Not a minute early, not a minute late.
Punctuality was the politeness of kings and CEOs, a small, effortless display of control.
Yu Zhen watched his arrival from the small, concealed window in the kitchen door.
Okay, so he's hot.
Like, stupidly hot.
The kind of hot that makes you forget your own name and maybe your moral principles.
It was infuriating.
He was younger than she'd pictured, maybe early thirties. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his impeccably tailored suit in a way that was just… unfair. His hair was perfect, his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and he moved with a liquid grace that was both elegant and predatory.
He didn't walk into the room.
He took possession of it.
This is the man who wants to put my soul in a plastic cup?
I hate him even more now.
Jin, the maître d', led him to the Jade Chamber. The room had been prepared for a single diner, the solitary place setting looking both lonely and incredibly powerful on the large mahogany table.
Yu Zhen took a deep breath, smoothing down her pristine chef's whites.
Showtime.
She decided to serve the first course herself.
A power play of her own.
She entered the room, her face a mask of cold professionalism.
He was standing by the window, looking out at the glittering Beijing skyline.
He turned as she entered, and his eyes met hers.
They were dark, intelligent, and held a flicker of amusement that made her skin prickle.
"Chef Lin," he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that was even more annoying than his face. "An honor."
"Mr. Chao," she replied, her tone clipped. "Welcome to Phoenix Rising."
She placed the first course on the table.
It was a single, perfect oyster, sitting on a bed of sea salt, adorned with a single drop of yuzu-infused oil and a few grains of smoked paprika.
"The first course," she began, her voice a well-rehearsed monologue. "A Moment of the Sea. The oyster was harvested from a protected bay this morning. The yuzu was grown on a hundred-year-old tree. The salt was evaporated from water drawn from a deep ocean trench. It represents purity, origin, and the beauty of a single, perfect moment in time."
She was basically saying: This is real. Your shit is fake.
He didn't flinch.
He simply picked up the small fork, his movements economical and precise.
He ate the oyster in one bite.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, and a look of genuine, unadulterated pleasure crossed his features.
It was so unexpected it threw her off balance.
"Extraordinary," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "The salinity is perfectly balanced by the citrus, and the smokiness... it lingers. Like a memory."
Fuck.
He gets it.
This was not going to be as easy as she thought.
The second course was a clear consommé, served in a delicate porcelain cup.
"Essence of the Earth," she announced, her voice a little tighter this time. "A broth made from eight varieties of wild mushrooms, simmered for seventy-two hours to extract their purest flavor. It is a testament to the fact that complexity cannot be rushed. It must be earned."
He took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers.
It felt less like a meal and more like a duel.
"Patience is a virtue few can afford, Chef," he countered smoothly. "But you have proven it can be a delicious one."
Every course was a new battle.
She presented a dish of aged tofu, fermented in a secret brine passed down from her grandmother.
He spoke about the beauty of tradition.
She served a single, perfect stalk of white asparagus, grown in complete darkness to preserve its tenderness.
He commented on the power of a controlled environment to create perfection.
He was taking her culinary arguments and turning them back on her, twisting them to fit his own worldview.
He wasn't just eating.
He was analyzing.
He was learning her.
And the most infuriating part?
He was enjoying every single second of it.
By the tenth course, the dynamic in the room had shifted.
The initial, rigid tension had morphed into something more complex, more electric.
The air crackled with unspoken challenges and a grudging, terrifying respect.
Yu Zhen had stopped serving him herself, letting her best waiters handle it, but she watched him on the small monitor in the kitchen, her heart pounding with a strange mix of rage and fascination.
He had loosened his tie.
Just a fraction.
But on a man so perfectly put together, it felt like a major concession.
He was speaking with the waiter, asking questions not just about the food, but about the restaurant, the staff, the philosophy.
He wasn't just a customer.
He was a predator, studying his prey's ecosystem.
She decided to serve the main course herself.
The final, definitive statement.
It was the A5 wagyu, seared to absolute perfection, served with a single, sculptural potato pave and a sauce made from reduced bone broth that had taken her four days to create.
She placed the plate before him.
"Fire and Time," she said, her voice low. "The highest quality beef, which takes years of careful breeding. A simple potato, elevated through hours of precise technique. And a sauce that represents the soul of our kitchen. This is what we do here, Mr. Chao. We don't take shortcuts."
He looked from the plate to her face, and for the first time, the amused glint in his eyes was gone.
Replaced by something else.
Something more intense.
More personal.
"I've never been a fan of shortcuts, Chef," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I prefer the most direct route. Even if it's the more difficult one."
He cut into the steak. It yielded like butter.
He took a bite, and this time, he didn't speak for a long time.
He just savored it, his expression unreadable.
"Your grandmother," he said suddenly, his voice soft. "She taught you to cook, didn't she?"
The question hit her like a physical blow.
It was so out of left field, so deeply personal, that she had no defense against it.
"How... how did you know that?" she stammered, her professional mask cracking.
"It's in the food," he said simply, gesturing to the plate. "This kind of cooking... it's not just technique. It's not just about showing off. There's a foundation. A deep, foundational understanding of flavor that doesn't come from a school. It comes from love. From a home."
She stared at him, speechless.
He had seen through her.
Through the Michelin stars, through the anger, through the armor.
He had tasted her food and found the one secret she kept buried deep inside.
The memory of her grandmother's tiny kitchen, the only place she had ever felt safe, the only person who had ever loved her without condition.
Not me about to have an emotional breakdown in front of the enemy.
Get it together, bestie.
"You're very perceptive," she managed to say, her voice strained.
"I had to be," he replied, his eyes holding hers. "Orphans learn to read people quickly. It's a survival skill."
And there it was.
A piece of his own story, offered up in exchange for hers.
A calculated move, no doubt.
But it felt real.
The tension in the room was no longer about business.
It was about two broken people, two survivors, recognizing the scars on each other from across a battlefield of their own making.
The meal concluded with a dessert of spun sugar and bitter chocolate, a dish that was both beautiful and sad.
He had eaten every bite of all twenty courses.
He paid the bill without even looking at the astronomical figure.
He stood to leave, and Yu Zhen found herself standing as well, a strange, magnetic pull holding her in the room.
"Thank you, Chef Lin," he said, his voice back to its smooth, controlled baritone. "That was more than a meal. It was an education."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said, the words feeling hollow and inadequate.
"Enjoyed is not the right word," he corrected. "I understood it."
He walked to the door of the private dining room, his powerful silhouette framed against the light of the main restaurant.
He paused, his hand on the doorframe.
Yu Zhen's heart hammered against her ribs.
This is it.
The final move.
He turned back, a small, knowing, and utterly infuriating smile playing on his lips.
"By the way," he said, his tone casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. "The construction starting tomorrow? That's me."
Her blood ran cold.
"I bought the building next door," he continued, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the game.
"I find it's always good to be close to one's investments."