Chapter 62: Ten Joys

By this point, he was thoroughly disappointed—not just by the food itself, but by the lack of care in the décor and the tableware. For a Michelin three-star, couldn’t they at least invest in some props to keep up appearances? After the jarring blow of the scallion-fried lobster, another signature dish arrived in quick succession: golden shrimp balls. The dish was split into two distinct halves: golden money cakes and fresh shrimp balls, each clearly demarcated. The waiter explained that the golden cakes should be eaten first, otherwise they wouldn’t taste as good once cold.

“The golden cakes are crisp on the outside, but soak up oil and are heavily seasoned. Yet the shrimp balls and crab roe are done in the typical Cantonese fashion—light and natural in flavor. The shrimp are big enough, but after the rich golden cake, all that’s left is a passable texture; the seasoning is nearly imperceptible.”

Next was the stir-fried wagyu with wild mushrooms in black pepper sauce, supposedly made with Australian M9-grade beef. Yet when served, the dish was merely warm. Johnson scoffed, “There’s none of that seared, charred exterior giving way to a succulent interior, nor the deep aroma only high heat can create. At best, it’s a tepid, smooth morsel of tender beef.”

“Even a home cook knows to use high heat for beef cubes, flip quickly with chopsticks, and the result is a fragrant, buttery bite with little effort.”

“A complete waste of premium ingredients!”

“Hahaha…” Ding Mengyao couldn’t help but laugh, rarely having seen Johnson so cynical. “Isn’t that a bit much? It’s just a meal.”

“If it’s bad, we simply don’t come back, right?”

Johnson snorted coldly. This girl knew nothing. For this to merit three Michelin stars—what a disgrace to the culinary heritage of their ancestors!

The last dish was fried rice with huadiao and black-bone chicken. Black-bone chicken is just silkie, and yellow wine is a staple ingredient in fried rice. Huadiao is a sweeter variety, more suitable for pairing with chicken. Jasmine rice and a few pine nuts for flavor—once again, barely passable.

The only thing that truly satisfied Johnson was the dessert: almond tofu. Freshly ground soy milk mixed with almond powder, cream, and food-grade gelatin, then chilled until set. The texture was delicate, and the mango sauce was a delightful finishing touch.

With the bill plus a fifteen percent service charge, the total exceeded eight thousand. Johnson gritted his teeth as he paid, his face dark as he strode out. That meal was…

Utterly humiliating.

If anyone were to ask: how was your first Michelin three-star experience?

Well… The dessert was decent?

Calming down, he realized the issues at Tang Court were common among many restaurants: the executive chef is merely a figurehead to attract guests, rarely hands-on, so the quality of dishes fluctuates greatly. Especially for those requiring great skill, the timing and seasoning inevitably vary.

Moreover, the relationship between chef and restaurant is often just employment—I make my food, you run your business. Unlike in Europe or Japan, where the chef is both owner and the establishment’s signature, always on the front lines, the two roles complement each other.

He drove Ding Mengyao to the airport. Their first Michelin three-star meal had proven the old saying: believe books entirely and you’ll be misled!

That afternoon, he arrived at Jiujian Hall. The villa was spotless, the pond cleaned and sun-dried for two days, now ready for koi. He planned to buy a fine batch and let them swim freely.

He was never fond of overly affectionate pets, likely due to his upbringing. He invested feelings cautiously. Creatures like turtles and goldfish could fend for themselves for months if he was busy, yet when he had free time, he could feed them and watch them glide about, carefree.

Nearby was a high-end club, built by the developer at vast expense. Every owner in Jiujian Hall was a lifetime member. With nothing pressing, Johnson went to have a look.

The so-called “Ten Delights”: reading, conversation, resting, sunbathing, sipping drinks, gardening, music, painting and calligraphy, strolling, and recreation.

The architect Arata Isozaki had been commissioned for the design. In the tranquil heart of Century Park stood a discreet, square building, its exterior devoid of extravagance, defined only by clean lines. The façade was clad in blue-green wood-grain stone, paired with bamboo plantings, creating an atmosphere where modernity and classical Chinese elegance intertwined. Not dazzling, not overwhelming—simply pleasing to the eye.

In the courtyard stood a massive bamboo birdcage, evoking the poetic image of birdsong deepening the tranquility of the mountains. Beneath the cage, a patch of verdant rice paddies caught the eye—so this was the legendary “farming” aspect? Water features abounded: waterfalls, streams, even the decorative motifs on the walls echoed the ripples of ancient paintings. Brush-shaped columns, hand-inlaid wooden doors, clouds drifting across the study’s ceiling—these details invited closer inspection.

Johnson, however, wasn’t entirely convinced. For a place aspiring to evoke Chinese gardens, it lacked the essence: vast vistas within small spaces, twists and turns leading to hidden wonders, ever-changing scenery at every step.

Meeting his private consultant, the tour began: “The ground floor is called the Hall of Nine Reflections, a reference to the nine qualities of a gentleman: clarity in vision, acuity in hearing, warmth in expression, humility in dress, sincerity in speech, respectfulness in conduct, inquisitiveness in doubt, restraint in anger, and gratitude in receiving kindness.”

“There’s a lecture hall and a study. The space is defined by curved walls and a wealth of books, giving it a cultured atmosphere.”

Entering the study, he noted the white columns, which lent a painterly beauty. Around the window frames, bright light strands were cleverly hidden; the lighting was softly diffused, so when lit, amber gradients washed over the windows, creating a silhouette effect.

The mellow yellow glow truly evoked the ambiance of ancient scholars reading by night. The exterior walls were carved with clusters of small round holes, casting petal-shaped amber light and simulating the gentle filtering of moonlight indoors.

“This is the open salon. ‘Thin wine,’ from Su Shi’s poetry, surpasses even fine tea; rough cloth is better than nothing. A couple of cups of thin wine, a couple of layers of rough cloth for clothing—simple pleasures.”

Approaching the wine cellar, hidden lighting softly illuminated the metal sheen of bottle caps. The warm, subdued tones fostered a relaxed mood. Bookcases and wine racks were interspersed, merging the lazy atmosphere of ancient scholars who read and drank wine.

The outdoor cigar area was set on a platform by a square pool, the oval deck suspended above the water, creating a space for socializing amid the embrace of water and sky. Beyond a large outdoor fire pit, a shallow pool stretched on. At night, the fire cast a beautiful glow, with five-meter-high spotlights sending a gentle radiance across the blue pool. Reflections of fire and moonlight shimmered, as if the moon itself was their companion.

A boat drifting at night, startled swan wings, clear water and sky, reflections deep and tranquil. Fish darting beneath the surface, egrets alighting on misty shoals. Crossing rapid sandy streams, frigid frosty brooks, and bright moonlit creeks. Layer upon layer, like a painting, twisting like a screen.

Yet the distant mountains extend endlessly, clouds swirl in tangled profusion, and the morning hills glow azure.

Upstairs, the wellness center connected by covered walkways, the route to the private rooms immersed in nature. In the garden, the sculpted pool’s edge transformed into a waterfall, sketching a curtain of water that drew the eye back to the verdant courtyard.

Soaring dougong brackets, carved screens, walls paneled in ancient elm lacquer, hand-painted wallpaper in Eastern motifs—these refined interiors offered a feast for all the senses.

The yoga studio, named “Boundless Mind,” resembled a womb in its panoramic design, with all corners softened and materials like cotton and wallpaper creating a gentle touch.

Bamboo flooring underfoot, warm and comfortable, echoed the purity and resilience of bamboo, awakening the body and mind, transporting one into a tranquil bamboo grove, merging with nature.

At the rear of the club was a standalone building: a comprehensive health management and anti-aging center, offering high-tech, personalized treatments tailored to each member’s constitution.

Strolling through the Ten Delights’ outdoor landscape, the giant birdcage ringed by green rice paddies, the sun setting in the west—there was no need to hurry home with a hoe. One could simply sit, watching the last rays of sunlight fall on the water and rice tips, enveloped in laziness.

While enjoying a leisurely spa, perhaps the play of light would blur in a guest’s sleepy eyes, transforming into that fleeting glow where sea and sky meet at sunset.

After the tour, he felt it was passable. Not every detail was perfect, but there was genuine effort. The main advantage was proximity—he could come for a swim, a massage, or a soak in the hot spring whenever he wished.