Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Opening Crisis

In the end, Mao Xiaohong was persuaded to return by the male classmates in the class. However, those boys also said that someone like Zeng Zeng was not suitable to be a girlfriend; everyone should be wiser in the future and avoid getting involved with her.

The matter was resolved over the weekend. The school issued a notice, recording a demerit for the girl and making a public announcement throughout the campus. The negative impact of the incident was significant—even the people from the military district had heard about it. It was damaging to the school’s reputation, which was why such a heavy punishment was imposed.

Fortunately, the second semester of junior year was busy and short. Classes began in February, and by mid-May, exams were already underway. For the students in the Foreign Languages Department, the internship period essentially lasted an entire year: during the first semester of senior year, they interned; in the second semester, they wrote their thesis and prepared for their defense. Those who found good jobs or positions during their internships usually didn’t return to school—they would work while writing their thesis, find time to consult with their professors, and then take leave to return for the graduation defense. After that, they simply waited to receive their diploma.

Chen Xin’s internship was certified by the magazine for which she wrote articles. Coincidentally, the magazine was collaborating with a foreign media outlet, and Chen Xin was genuinely involved in analyzing and translating documents. Her translations were swift and precise, and the magazine even extended an invitation for her to join them officially. If she accepted, they would reserve a column for her.

But Chen Xin declined. After all, she still had to take care of Zhang Zhang, and her planned career path began right here.

The busy academic schedule gradually made everyone forget about the incident caused by Zeng Zeng. After that semester, Zeng Zeng never appeared at school again. It was said she only returned once for her thesis defense, and after that, no one knew where she went.

Of course, all that was later. Now, Chen Xin had to face the imminent opening of the café.

She hadn’t anticipated that the two chefs she’d hired for simple meals would back out at the last minute. One had a legitimate reason—his family encountered trouble and he had to return to his hometown in the county to support them. The other was more deliberate; he didn’t show up or even inform her. On the day of the opening, when Chen Xin called to ask, he admitted he had joined the kitchen staff of a star-rated hotel. He went so far as to say that Chen Xin’s café had no future and would close within days.

Chen Xin put down the phone and wiped her face, too weary and preoccupied to be angry with him. She was only worried about how to find a chef to stabilize things.

“If worst comes to worst, you’ll have to do it yourself. We didn’t set a menu, and not many people come to the café for meals anyway. Just improvise for today—I’ll try to contact someone who might be able to help.”

There was no other option. Chen Xin hurried to the workspace to change, then went to the kitchen to see what ingredients were convenient for cooking.

Since they were a café, they avoided the heavy fumes typical of regular restaurants, so only simple, Western-style dishes were needed. In the fridge were chicken, fish, shrimp, some ribs, and small fried meatballs.

The chef who returned to his hometown specialized in seafood rice, so the condiments were well-prepared, with fresh vegetables needed daily. The other chef excelled at frying, so fish and pork were prepared for him.

For pan-fried fish, sea fish is best—the flesh is thick and firm, with few small bones, and the fillet holds its shape perfectly. This time, they had prepared chilled salmon.

After thawing, she removed the skin, patted the fillet dry with absorbent paper, sprinkled salt on both sides, and marinated it for ten minutes. She heated the skillet, added a little olive oil, and once it was warm, placed the marinated fish inside, pan-frying it over low heat until golden. Flipping it required care to avoid breaking the fillet, for keeping it intact was the foundation of a perfect fish steak. After flipping, she sprinkled ground black pepper on top and poured a spoonful of white wine over the fish—both to dispel the fishy smell and to keep the flesh tender. Once both sides were golden, it was ready.

Their dinnerware was custom-made. On a pure white plate, a golden pan-fried fish steak was placed. At its side, a potato ball drizzled with salad dressing, garnished with mint leaves—a delicate, aromatic fish steak ready for the table.

Since the first customers were Cheng Jie’s close friends, they weren’t picky; whatever Chen Xin made, they ate.

The skillet for the fish steaks was custom-built—a single heating plate could accommodate six fillets at once. Uncle Tie, meanwhile, was helping prepare the ingredients for fried rice.

Chen Xin planned to make authentic Indonesian fried rice.

Many domestic restaurants offer Indonesian fried rice, even small roadside eateries. Most of them, though, aren’t authentic—they simply add some seafood sauce.

Uncle Tie had volunteered to help. His cooking was ordinary, but his knife skills were decent. Following Chen Xin’s instructions, he diced chicken breast into one-centimeter cubes, thawed shrimp, removed the veins, and drained them. He chopped carrot and onion into coarse pieces the size of peas, combining them with previously cooked peas in a bowl. The beef came from the hind leg, also diced into one-centimeter cubes and marinated in satay sauce.

When the fish steaks were ready and served, Chen Xin began preparing the fried rice.

She poured olive oil into the pan, added diced onion, and sautéed until fragrant. Then, she added carrot and peas and continued to stir-fry. Next came the beaten egg, which she scrambled, followed by the chicken and shrimp, sautéed until they changed color. At this point, she added sweet soy sauce for flavor, and the aroma began to fill the kitchen.

Uncle Tie thought it was time to add rice, but saw Chen Xin take out a bottle of foreign sauce he didn’t recognize and spoon a generous amount into the pan. She stir-fried the sauce over low heat, then added rice and turned the heat up, continuing to stir-fry.

While cooking the rice, she put the marinated beef cubes in the oven to roast. By the time the rice was ready, so was the beef.

On the edge of a square white porcelain plate, cilantro was arranged in a decorative pattern. The fried rice was packed into a small bowl and inverted onto the plate, forming a neat rice mound, topped with several shrimp. The satay beef cubes were served in a small dish, and a round white bowl held a clear shrimp and seaweed soup, sprinkled with scallions for fragrance.

A big batch of fried rice made six plates. As she served them on trays, Chen Xin heard praise from the guests in the front.

After all, there weren’t many guests—just a few friends there to support the opening. They didn’t plan to eat their fill, coming more for the atmosphere. But once Chen Xin’s Indonesian fried rice was served, that idea was abandoned by everyone! Such delicious rice couldn’t be found elsewhere. Hearing that Chen Xin was only helping out today and might not cook again, everyone realized that missing out would be a huge loss!