Chapter 34: Eliminating the Local Tyrant

Turning to Tang Hong, he asked, “Can we participate in the auction tonight?”

“We can, we're number 69.” Tang Hong pulled out the numbered paddle and said, “I’m participating under the studio’s name. I don’t have much money, but I do my part every time.”

Zhuang Chen nodded, took the paddle, and waited for the banquet to begin. Although it was scheduled for eight o’clock, it dragged on past nine. Only after all the celebrities had made their appearances and soaked up the spotlight did the event officially start.

The central tables were filled with stars, many familiar faces. While there were no true A-listers, the room still glittered with fame, especially the actresses, resplendent with color and style, competing for attention.

The host spoke in grand platitudes. Observing Zhuang Chen’s boredom, Tang Hong leaned over with a quiet laugh, “At events like this, every actress puts on a show—trending topics one after another. It’s as if the male celebrities barely exist.”

“My deepest impression is still last year’s Bazaar Night. The ones who stole the spotlight were International Zhang and Sister Jia Ling. When Sister Ziyi appeared, it was like she’d come home—roaring with laughter, posing for photos with practiced ease, the mark of a true veteran!”

“Especially during the group photo, she just whisked off her little jacket, revealing a bare shoulder—the aura was instant, and every photographer’s lens was drawn to her.”

“The saddest was that singer from the island who just made her comeback—the one famous for ‘Invisible Wings.’ They all say she’s scheming, fighting for center stage in front of everyone, and the netizens tore her to shreds.”

“I watched as she was gradually pushed to the middle. Actually, those group shots are never rehearsed, so it’s always chaos. She started on the side, shook hands with everyone, and as more people squeezed on, she ended up in that position, helpless.”

“And those so-called sisterhoods are a sham—on screen they’re the Five Happy Beauties, but offstage they won’t even stand together. Heh…”

“The most awkward was Big Mouth Yao, who got sandwiched between two Bingbings as soon as she got on stage, pulled this way and that—so pitiful!”

“In the end, Big Mimi got dragged in too. The whole time there was no interaction—just fidgeting with her hair and clapping awkwardly. I say, this is the real stage for honing acting skills—the true birth of an actor!”

Zhuang Chen listened and laughed, surprised at Tang Hong’s gossipy side. At last, the banquet moved to the auction. First up were celebrity-donated personal items—bags, bracelets, even headphones.

Watching each item sold off, Zhuang Chen marveled at the extravagance. Buying a designer bag made sense, but headphones—what use were they?

“Now for the second part of the evening: donations of water purifiers for impoverished rural areas, to ensure the children have clean water…”

“Each unit is one hundred thousand. We hope everyone will participate generously…”

“All acts of kindness will be made public and subject to social oversight. Please bid without worry…”

Zhuang Chen sat up straight, finally anticipating the main event. What he truly wanted to support was orphaned children—he understood their hardships. One day, he hoped to set up a foundation to support education.

“Mister Six, five hundred thousand, thank you for your generosity…”

“Madam Eighteen, eight hundred thousand, thank you…”

“Mister Twenty-seven, one million, thank you for your kindness!”

Many people held up their paddles; there was no shortage of kind hearts, including celebrities. The donations ranged from several hundred thousand to over a million, and the atmosphere was enthusiastic.

“Five million!”

All eyes turned to Zhuang Chen. He raised his paddle high and called out five million. The room erupted in whispers and astonishment.

“Boss… you…” Even Tang Hong was startled. Five million?

The host hurried to confirm, his excitement barely contained, “Number sixty-nine! Number sixty-nine, Mister, has donated five million. On behalf of the children, thank you for your immense kindness…”

“Who is that? Never seen him before.”

“Probably not from our circle. Wow, he’s loaded!”

“Hmph, must be some nouveau riche who struck gold at home.”

“Trying to impress a woman? Five million… that’s commitment!”

Zhuang Chen remained composed under the flashes of cameras, unaffected. After all, he wasn’t part of the entertainment industry—who knew or cared who he was?

Tang Hong quickly composed herself, flashing a dazzling smile, playing the role of the perfect accessory. When attention finally shifted away, she let out a long breath. “Couldn’t you have given me a heads-up?”

“That’s five million… gone just like that…”

“Oh, boss… wait for me!”

She watched as Zhuang Chen stood up to leave and hurried after him. She could only comfort herself: “Well, five million for publicity—maybe we’ll even make the entertainment news. Worth it!”

Back in the car, Zhuang Chen had no interest in watching celebrities perform now that the donation was done. Noticing Tang Hong’s conflicted expression, he joked, “I know you admire me. Since I’m in a good mood, dinner’s on me tonight—any place you choose!”

“Really?” Tang Hong’s eyes sparkled as she pretended to be indignant, gritting her teeth, “I want Kyoto Kaiseki at Hana-Den Minokichi!”

“Two hundred and ninety years of authentic Japanese kaiseki… all ingredients flown in… even the staff are Japanese.”

“The most expensive Japanese restaurant in the capital… average price six or seven thousand per person… a legendary dream restaurant.”

Her eyes shone as if she’d just received a lollipop, exclaiming excitedly, “That’s what I want!”

Zhuang Chen waved his hand casually, “Drive, let’s try the so-called most expensive Japanese food.”

He had long heard of kaiseki cuisine, famed as the highest form of Japanese dining, with exquisite presentation and even a taste of Zen. Zhuang Chen was curious.

They headed straight for the Pangu Seven Star, up to the 21st floor, and arrived at Hana-Den Minokichi. Though there were only eight private rooms, tonight the restaurant wasn’t crowded. A kimono-clad hostess led Zhuang Chen and Tang Hong inside.

The environment was elegantly refined, in classic Japanese style—warm lighting, shoji screens, tatami mats, understated colors blending with spaciousness, capturing the beauty of all four seasons.

No sooner had they sat than they were served a cup of clear tea and a small aperitif—the delicate scent of cherry blossom sake poured into a shallow dish.

“I heard the architect is Mr. Konari Takashi, the same man who designed the Sumo National Hall in Tokyo. They even have a traditional Noh stage for performances.”

“They say everything here—from the décor to the ingredients, even the rice-washing water—comes straight from Japan. That’s why it’s one of the most expensive restaurants in the capital.”

Zhuang Chen was surprised. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”

“Well, I may not have eaten pork, but I’ve seen pigs run.” Tang Hong rolled her eyes. “I read up online and studied the pictures—otherwise, how could I keep up with those rich ladies?”

Zhuang Chen suddenly understood—imagination was a kind of social weapon, too.

Looking around, Zhuang Chen felt comfortable with the minimalist elegance. There are no borders or conflicts in fine cuisine—if it tastes good, that’s enough.

The world’s most refined cuisines follow a few core principles: select the best natural ingredients, and no matter how globalized the market, always choose what’s local and in season, cooked fresh. Presentation is equally important—designed to reflect the seasons or the chef’s inspiration, highlighting cultural traits. Every dish is crafted with care.

The best examples are the ceremonious Japanese kaiseki, luxurious French cuisine, and the profound artistry of Chinese cooking. All pay homage to eating with the seasons and adapting to the land.

The kimono waitress brought the menu. Tang Hong recited, “Daikon with duck floss sauce, savory salmon roe egg custard, pine-needle soba, grilled lotus root, yuzu-marinated silver salmon, oysters and prawns grilled on magnolia leaves.”

“All signature dishes. Of course, the best are the charcoal-grilled wagyu and the house special—sweet shrimp sashimi and eel rice!”

Sensing her anticipation, Zhuang Chen smiled and ordered all the most expensive dishes. There seemed to be a dozen or so, but knowing Japanese cuisine, he doubted they’d be filling.

“Boss, look—these are ‘Ningyo-kazari’ and Kyoto round fans!” Once the waitress left, Tang Hong stood to point at the wall decorations. “Ningyo-kazari are unique to Kyoto—decorations wishing for prosperous business. A small doll is hung inside a round bamboo frame and wrapped in red cloth, hoping to attract more customers.”

“The round fans are given out in summer by Kyoto’s geisha to their patrons—family crests on the front, the geisha’s name on the back. They’re generally not for sale and were precious in ancient times.”

“This is called a ‘kyo-soku’—used to rest your elbows when sitting on tatami.” She sat down again, stroking the wooden stand. “They’ve been used for more than a thousand years, a traditional household item. Here at Minokichi, they’re all made from chestnut wood—the finest material.”

Zhuang Chen sipped his tea—it was light, almost tasteless, even a bit bitter. He listened to Tang Hong recite her knowledge and asked, “Why’s it called kaiseki cuisine?”

“It’s said that long ago in Kyoto’s temples, there were monks who practiced asceticism. In the bitter cold, eating little and living simply, they would warm a stone in their robe to stave off hunger and chill.”

“The word kaiseki came to mean a simple meal that was small in quantity, but warm and filling. It’s all about using what’s in season, never overdecorating, and preserving the original taste of the ingredients.”

“And then there’s the spirit of hospitality toward the guest—also a vital part of kaiseki. The cuisine itself isn’t showy, but every part of its preparation, presentation, freshness, seasonality, and choice of tableware is taken to the highest degree of care.”

She picked up a porcelain plate from the table and showed it off. “Don’t underestimate these—they’re Arita ware, which in ancient times was our official kiln porcelain!”