Li Wei sat on the school's back steps, chewing on a cold steamed bun. Around him, kids tore open plastic meal packs filled with instant noodles, fake meat, and chemical sauces. The smell alone made his stomach twist.
His classmate Junhao rushed over, waving a bright red flyer like a trophy.
"Look at this!" he shouted. "There's a cooking competition this weekend at Sky Cloud Mall. Anyone can enter. You should totally go!"
Li Wei blinked. "Why?"
"Because your fried egg yesterday was insane!" Junhao grinned. "Even the teacher asked where you learned that. Come on, you've got something weird going on, man. It's like… magic."
Magic? No. It was instinct. And it was growing.
Li Wei took the flyer. The details were clear—District 7, live audience, sponsored by the Sky Cloud Culinary Institute. First prize: 5,000 yuan.
That night, he laid it gently on the dinner table.
"A cooking contest?" his father asked, raising a thick brow. "Are you joking?"
His mother, on the other hand, tilted her head. "You've been different lately, Wei. If this is what you want, we'll support you."
"We don't have money for expensive ingredients," his father muttered.
"I'll use what we have," Li Wei said.
Later that night, when everyone was asleep, he returned to the kitchen. His hand hovered over the pan, waiting for the right heat. His fingers chose the ingredients without thinking—garlic, scallions, soy, vinegar.
He moved in silence. The kitchen didn't creak. The flame didn't fight him. It listened.
By the time the dish was finished, the aroma filled the room. Rich. Balanced. Alive.
He sat down and took a bite. A wave of memory washed over him—echoes of applause, the heat of a massive stove, the weight of a gold medallion around his neck.
He looked at his hands.
"This… is real."