The kitchen of the military compound was a scene of pure pandemonium. Steam billowed from oversized iron woks, and the scent of burnt oil hung heavy in the air. The three assistants young soldiers who looked like they'd rather be in a minefield stood frozen as the head chef was carried out on a stretcher.
Lin Xi stepped into the center of the room. She didn't look like a village girl anymore. The moment she smelled the hearth, her spine straightened, and her eyes turned into flint.
"You three," she barked, her voice cutting through the noise. "Stop staring. Wash your hands. If we lose this banquet, your Commander loses his contract, and you'll be peeling potatoes until the year 1990. Move!"
Startled by her authority, they scrambled.
Lin Xi surveyed the "old" ingredients available: a mountain of winter cabbage, bags of coarse cornmeal, fatty pork belly, and jars of fermented bean paste. To a standard 80s cook, this was the menu for a peasant's stew. To Lin Xi, this was a challenge in textures.
"We aren't making a stew," she announced, grabbing a heavy cleaver. "We are making a 'Deconstructed Emerald Wrap' and 'Golden-Crusted Velvet Pork'."
The Cooking: Modern Soul, 80s Heart
The first dish was the most daring. In the 80s, cornmeal was considered "coarse grain"—something people ate because they couldn't afford white flour.
Lin Xi had the soldiers sift the cornmeal three times until it was as fine as sand. She mixed it with boiling water and a hint of lard, creating a delicate, golden batter. Instead of thick, heavy buns, she spread the batter paper-thin on the side of a scorching hot wok.
"What is that?" one soldier whispered. "It looks like... lace."
"It's a cornmeal tuile," Lin Xi muttered, her hands moving with rhythmic precision. She stuffed the crispy "lace" with a finely minced mixture of the winter cabbage and the fatty pork, but she added a modern twist: she caramelized the cabbage first with sugar and ginger to mimic the "umami" of high-end Cantonese cuisine.
For the main course, she took the toughest cuts of pork belly. Instead of boiling them into mush, she used a "slow-braise, fast-sear" technique. She rendered the fat until the skin was like glass, then glazed it with a reduction of the fermented bean paste, thinned with a splash of the Commander's medicinal rice wine.
As the clock ticked toward the two-hour mark, the door swung open. Gu Shaozheng walked in, his expression tense. Behind him, the Southern delegation—men in sharp suits who looked unimpressed by the rustic surroundings—were already taking their seats in the dining hall.
"Lin Xi," Gu Shaozheng whispered, leaning over her shoulder. "They are used to the best hotels in Guangzhou. If this tastes like village food, the deal is dead."
Lin Xi plated the final dish, wiping a smudge of sauce from the rim of a chipped porcelain plate with a clean cloth. She looked up at him, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. "Commander, village food is only 'village food' if the chef has no imagination. Tell them to pick up their chopsticks."
The Banquet: The Face-Slap
The Southern delegates looked at the plates with skepticism.
"Cornmeal?" the lead delegate, a man named Director Chen, scoffed. "We came all this way to eat the food of the famine years?"
"Please try it, Director," Gu Shaozheng said, though his hand was clenched tightly under the table.
Director Chen took a bite of the Emerald Wrap. The "clink" of the crispy cornmeal tuile was audible in the silent room. As the caramelized cabbage and savory pork hit his tongue, his eyes widened.
The texture was light, airy, and sophisticated. It didn't taste like poverty; it tasted like a deliberate, artistic choice.
"This..." Chen stammered, taking another hurried bite. "The sweetness of the cabbage... the crunch of the grain... I've eaten at the White Swan Hotel in Guangzhou, and I've never had cornmeal prepared with such... elegance."
The table erupted into murmurs of praise. The "old" ingredients had been transformed into something that felt like the future.
Outside the dining hall, Lin Jiaojiao was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the sound of a scandal. She had even whispered to one of the kitchen maids to "accidentally" tip over the salt jar. But as she peered through the crack in the door, she saw the delegates toast Gu Shaozheng with big smiles.
She saw Lin Xi standing in the corner, her arms crossed, receiving a nod of pure, unadulterated respect from the Commander.
Lin Jiaojiao's face twisted. How? How could that illiterate brat know how to cook for Directors?
After the contracts were signed and the delegates were led to their cars, the dining hall fell quiet. Gu Shaozheng walked over to Lin Xi. He looked at the girl who had just saved his career.
"Director Chen wants the recipe," Gu Shaozheng said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "He said that meal did more for the trade agreement than six months of negotiations."
Lin Xi leaned against a table, exhausted but triumphant. "Recipes aren't free, Commander."
"I know." Gu Shaozheng reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small, red-stamped booklet. It was the official permit for a prime stall in the Capital's Morning Market. "And I added something extra."
He handed her a second paper. It was a temporary residence permit for the city—a "Golden Ticket" in 1983. Without it, she was just a runaway. With it, she was a citizen.
"Thank you, Shaozheng," she said, using his name without the title for the first time.
Gu Shaozheng stiffened, his pulse jumping at the sound of his name on her lips. "Don't thank me yet. Lin Jiaojiao's father is the Secretary. He's already heard about the 'incident' at the gates. You've won the battle, Lin Xi, but the war for the market starts tomorrow."
Lin Xi tucked the permits into her bodice, her eyes flashing with anticipation. "Let them come. I need someone to help me test my new knives anyway."