Chapter 128: An Indispensable Master

Zhuang Chen’s mind was flooded with a flurry of memories. Unable to hold back any longer, he hurriedly stood up and said, "I need to use the restroom!"

He sprinted to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face repeatedly. After a long while, he stood up and accepted a tissue from Xia Long.

"Boss, are you alright?" Xia Long asked with concern.

Zhuang Chen wiped his face vigorously, took a few deep breaths, and gave a wry smile. "I'm fine. Let's go back."

When Zhuang Chen entered the room, Ding Wei stood up. Seeing the desolation in his expression, she seemed to understand something and said consolingly, "I'm sorry, I..."

Zhuang Chen waved his hand and smiled faintly. "It's not your fault; I’m just being soft-hearted. Please, continue."

Ding Wei sat back down. Seeing his insistence, she kept her words brief. "Teachers arrive in wave after wave, leaving the children with nothing but higher expectations followed by disappointment, and leaving the school with lax discipline and a fickle academic atmosphere."

"It might be unfair to generalize like this about the vast number of volunteer teachers. But accurately speaking, this is indeed one of the realistic problems brought about by the proliferation of volunteer teaching. We must respect every great teacher, but if one cannot pour their heart and soul into the children, please do not use the term 'volunteer teaching' lightly."

"Because this is truly a sacred matter; it cannot be done casually and then abandoned just as easily. Because without expectation, there would be no disappointment—especially for those children."

Zhuang Chen nodded. Having grown up in an orphanage, he understood that for a family to adopt a child, they had to meet many conditions: for instance, being childless, over 30 years old, and having the financial capacity to raise a child...

Once the hardware requirements for adoption were met, a series of time-consuming and arduous documents had to be prepared. This involved complex issues such as whether the adopters had violated family planning policies, whether there was a legal relinquisher, and how the orphanage would sign the adoption agreement.

They had to find various departments to obtain certificates and stamps, and seek witnesses; there were even financial barriers in the form of "sponsorship fees" and "social upbringing fees." After spending a massive amount of time, energy, and money, and enduring an endless wait, there was still no guarantee the adoption would succeed.

Many families were forced to give up the path of adopting through orphanages. Among the hundreds of peers he grew up with in the orphanage, only a handful were ever adopted.

Even more terrifying than true orphans were the growing number of "fact orphans."

Left-behind children!

Their parents leave home to make a living, working themselves to the bone, returning only perhaps once a year for the Lunar New Year. Are they to blame?

The children grow up with their grandparents, where their livelihood, education, and even safety are all in jeopardy. Are they to blame?

Whose fault is it, really?

Zhuang Chen looked at Ding Wei and asked, "What is your organization called?"

"Love Mom!" Ding Wei said proudly. "Although we only have seven or eight volunteers, we are very content."

"Change it to the Little Sun Foundation," Zhuang Chen said firmly. "I will invest twenty million in the initial phase. Have Zhang Wei find a few accountants and legal advisors, recruit more staff, and you will be in charge of the overall operations."

He stared at her, his gaze intense. "Is there any problem with that?"

"Twenty million!"

Ding Wei jolted, snapped back to reality, and quickly stood up, exclaiming with excitement, "No problem at all! I thank you on behalf of the children!"

She began to bow, but Zhuang Chen supported her with both hands and laughed, "It should be me thanking you on behalf of the children. You’ll have your hands full from now on!"

When Zhang Wei returned and heard Zhuang Chen's decision, he was also delighted. He shook hands and promised, "Don't you worry. I will be among the first batch of volunteers once the foundation is established. If Ding Wei ever runs off, you can come directly to me!"

Zhuang Chen was satisfied. The contract was signed on the spot, and he left the rest to Zhang Wei and Ding Wei. Once the funds were in place, they were to handle the procedures to upgrade into a private charitable foundation named "Little Sun."

He hoped to bring sunshine to all children; even if it were just a tiny glimmer, it could provide a moment of warmth.

Leaving the CBD, he felt a heavy heart. Xia Long tried to speak several times but didn't know what to say. Even Xia Hu began to tell jokes...

After listening to a painfully dry joke, Zhuang Chen felt touched. He laughed and scolded, "I'm in a bad mood, I need to eat something good to make up for it!"

He called to book a table at Tan Family Cuisine. The Tai Shi cuisine last time had been incredibly stunning, truly giving him a sense of what a grand old family was like. He hoped that the Tan Family Cuisine, which stood on equal footing, would not disappoint.

In 1943, Tan Junqing and Zhao Lifeng passed away one after another. Their daughter, Tan Lingrou, took charge of the household, with family chef Peng Changhai running the kitchen. In 1949, Tan Lingrou participated in public service; Peng Changhai was responsible for the hot dishes, Cui Minghe for cold appetizers, and Wu Xiuquan for pastries.

They moved out of the Tan residence and operated on Guozi Lane. In 1954, Peng, Cui, and Wu joined the public-private partnership, and the Tan Family Cuisine moved from Guozi Lane to Enchengju in Xidan.

In 1957, when the Xidan Shopping Center was expanded, the Quyuan Restaurant merged into Enchengju, resulting in two cuisines under one roof. In 1958, the Premier personally arranged for Tan Family Cuisine to be stationed at the West Seventh Floor of the Beijing Hotel, where it remains to this day.

There is a condition to eating Tan Family Cuisine: one must invite the host of the Tan family to join the meal. For every three tables booked, a seat must be reserved for the host, regardless of whether the guests know them. The host would always come to taste a few bites and chat.

Another unwritten rule: no matter how powerful or wealthy the guests were, they had to walk through the doors of the Tan house to eat; no takeout was ever offered!

During the Republic of China, there were four great private cuisines: the Duan family in the military, the Wang family in politics, the Ren family in business, and the Tan family. As the tides of history turned, the other three withered away, but only the Tan Family Cuisine stood alone, flourishing to this day.

Arriving at the location, he saw a magnificent gate, carved with dragons and phoenixes—a truly imposing sight. The restaurant featured three dining rooms, with furniture made entirely of pear and sandalwood, decorated with fresh flower arrangements, famous calligraphy and paintings, and antique shelves filled with fine porcelain.

Guests were first seated in the living room to have tea and dried fruits. Once everyone arrived, they moved to the dining room to sit around a table for ten.

First came six appetizers: char siu pork, braised duck liver, scallops with garlic, five-spice fish, soft-fried chicken, and grilled sausage. These were served hot, along with warmed aged Shaoxing yellow wine, allowing guests to toast one another.

Zhuang Chen, still in low spirits, had Xia Long sit down and join him for a drink. After several rounds, he began to savor the food—exquisite, elegant, and with top-tier attention to detail.

The first main course was braised shark fin. Scooping a spoonful, he saw it was golden and glistening, rich in collagen, with thick, tender fin needles. The meat was as rich as pork fat, with a mellow, savory flavor that lingered on the palate.

He took a sip of the broth; it was bright, warm, and clear, like the dragon robe of a Qing Dynasty emperor, full of commanding presence. The shark fin was braised until soft and tender, flavorful without being salty, sweet without being cloying. Using sweetness to enhance freshness and saltiness to bring out the aroma, without any MSG or artificial coloring, Zhuang Chen took several sips, curious about what ingredients gave the broth its color.

Just then, the fourth-generation successor, Liu Zhong, pushed the door open. Seeing Zhuang Chen frowning, he asked curiously, "Are you not satisfied with the taste?"

Zhuang Chen stood up, exchanged pleasantries, sat back down, and scooped some broth, testing him: "Is this made with Luzon yellow-fleshed shark fin?"

"Hahaha, a keen eye!" Liu Zhong laughed. "Luzon yellow-fleshed whole fin, simmered for six hours. As for the color, there is another secret!"

Zhuang Chen didn't press him. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste carefully, and guessed, "It seems to taste of a certain type of chicken. As for what..."

Liu Zhong’s eyes lit up; he had met a fellow connoisseur. He spoke straight to the point: "Butter chicken, produced in Inner Mongolia. It’s a local free-range chicken with yellowish meat. After simmering for several hours, the broth turns golden."

"The chicken soup also contains sea scallops, fish maw, sea cucumber, and ham, among others. Of course, with the same ingredients, others could never replicate this broth. It belongs to the Tan family’s century-old secret technique. Impressive, right?"

Everyone laughed out loud—the old man was quite humorous.

The second dish was served: Clear Broth Bird's Nest. Liu Zhong introduced it: "Shark fin and bird's nest are the two main dishes of Tan Family Cuisine. They are known as the 'Twin Blades,' hailed by experts as the supreme delicacies of the culinary world."

The waiter offered each guest a small cup of warm water, signaling them to rinse their mouths before the next dish. Liu Zhong said gravely, "This dish is fresh, mellow, and thick. If you don't cleanse your palate, you will gobble it down and miss its subtle nuances. It would be a sin to waste such a treasure."

Zhuang Chen smiled and finished rinsing his mouth. Looking at the bird's nest, the broth was light yellow and crystal clear, while the bird's nest was snow-white with a soft texture.

He tasted the stock; it was as clear as water, without a trace of grease, yet the flavor was extraordinarily mellow and fresh, truly unforgettable. Strangely, the portion of broth was just enough for one spoonful per person—it was clearly calculated. By the time you wanted another bite, it was gone!

Seeing Liu Zhong's smug expression, Zhuang Chen pursed his lips. Still wanting more? A beauty of imperfection?

He bit into the abalone; it was tender and infused with flavor, the center a semi-liquid state that hadn't solidified. It had a soft, resilient texture, like a soft candy, sticking to the teeth with every bite, as if a pair of lovers who refused to part...

"We use new, fine lamb-wool towels, soaked in the original chicken broth until thoroughly infused, then left to cool. We spread the towels out, wrap each rehydrated abalone individually, place them in a pot, and simmer over low heat until the sauce is just reduced. The fibers become so soft they barely need chewing."

The host of the Tan family never ate or drank for free; they always provided interesting topics of conversation. Liu Zhong, rarely meeting a kindred spirit, had the waiter bring out a prized aged Jiujiang Double-Distilled wine and switched to Da Hong Pao tea, sitting down to chat with Zhuang Chen as they ate.

The dried ingredients were ordered from Guangzhou: the fins had to be Luzon yellow, the abalone had to be purple abalone, rejecting anything too big or too small...

The Philippine yellow-fleshed fin, which had a dart-like piece of meat inside, contained layers of fin tendons, rich in collagen and of the highest quality.

The bird's nest was chosen from Siam official nest, a tribute in ancient times, white and transparent, with very few feathers and no roots. They were most particular about using large sea cucumbers, followed by plum blossom sea cucumbers or prickly sea cucumbers.

The chickens were also incredibly selective—free-range chickens with hair on their legs, raised on special feed including distiller's grains and insects for sixteen to eighteen months. Only when one could touch the chest bone of the chicken and feel it was soft and elastic could the chicken be used...

If the bone was too soft, the chicken lacked flavor; if it was too hard, the meat was stringy and could only be used for stock, not for slicing.

The third-generation successor, Master Wang Binghe, had a famous saying: "The Tan family does not stir-fry!"

Compared to other styles of cuisine, Zhuang Chen noticed that Tan Family Cuisine had a unique characteristic: it only used braising, stewing, simmering, steaming, and pan-searing. Everything was a labor of love, cooked slowly and never rushed over high heat.

Hearing Liu Zhong explain that they never stir-fried to avoid the harshness and to pursue harmony. They only used sugar and salt, using sweetness to enhance freshness and saltiness to bring out the aroma, highlighting the original flavors. They never used pepper, Sichuan peppercorn, or MSG. This was the "Doctrine of the Mean"—the southern sweet and northern salty, complementing each other.

In Wang Binghe’s words: "Food can nurture a person. No matter what your original personality is, in the process of cooking, you gradually follow the rhythm of the food. After long exposure to the craft, a chef’s personality becomes gentle and steady, with a touch of elegance. This is what is nurtured by the Tan Family Cuisine."