Chef Li still looked bewildered. “We do have soybeans soaked for different time slots,” he said slowly.
Wen Yin nodded. That wasn't surprising—some ingredients needed hours of prep.
“Do you have some that were soaked for five or six hours?” he asked, glancing at Li Xiangwei as if seeking confirmation.
“Are you trying to pass her off on me as a trainee again?” Li Xiangwei shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
Wen Yin had just asked her to trust her. Li Xiangwei looked at her and, because Wen Yin did show real talent, decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Give her whatever she needs,” she said.
“Is it that lady who couldn’t eat earlier?” Chef Li asked, surprised—but he handed the pre-soaked beans to Wen Yin on instinct.
Wen Yin rinsed them twice more, drained them clean, and dropped them into a pot. She chopped a red chili with brisk, steady movements, tossed in star anise, a pinch of sugar, and a splash of light soy, then added a bowl of water. Her hands never idled—she turned the flame from low to high and watched.
Over the next thirty minutes she watched the beans change: from stubbornly hard to a pale yellow and slightly wrinkled. When the skins puckered and the sauce reduced, she killed the heat and the dish was done. A strange, compelling aroma drifted from the kitchen—enough to make anyone wish they had a second bowl of rice.
Her bowl of preserved-egg-and-lean-pork congee was ready, too. She ladled a small serving and carried it, along with the plate of sauced soybeans, into the private room.
The old man hadn’t left; he sat in his chair with his eyes closed, resting. The moment Wen Yin stepped in, he opened them. The scent reached him and he inhaled deeply, despite himself.
“This is…?” he asked, puzzled, looking at her.
Wen Yin set the dishes down and arranged them in front of him. The other plates had been cleared away; only the soybeans and the congee remained. “It’s braised soybeans,” she said with a smile.
He knew the dish. He hadn’t expected such an appetizing little starter from the young woman. Young people these days rarely could pull off soybeans like that—either the beans hadn’t soaked long enough, or the sauce burned in the final reduction. This one looked good.
To everyone’s surprise, he picked up his chopsticks. He lifted a bean to his mouth, and his gaze softened with approval. Then another, and another—soon he was eating one bean after another.
Li Xiangwei had never seen him so eager to eat. From the first moment he’d met her, he’d said he suffered from a loss of appetite—anorexia, as he put it. And yet now, what trace of that remained?
“You can try it with the congee,” Wen Yin suggested quietly. His steady acceptance of the spoon and chopsticks was praise enough; Wen Yin felt a small, warm thrill. “The beans are cooked just right—no burn at the bottom.”
“How did you know I’d been waiting to taste something like this?” he said, half to himself, more amused than annoyed. He stirred his congee with his spoon. The braised soybeans with the congee was, undeniably, an appetizing pairing. Even his previously indifferent appetite perked up.
Wen Yin laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “It’s my first time making them. I’m glad you like it.”
He regarded her steadily, some recognition in his expression. “Little one—have I seen you somewhere?”
“You’re joking,” Li Xiangwei said with a bright laugh, stepping in. “Are you Chef Li’s new apprentice?”
The old man’s eyes lightened. “You’re on TV, aren’t you?” Li Xiangwei teased, sticking out her tongue. “Well, since you like it so much, enjoy it. We won’t bother you.”
She led him out of the room. Once they were in the corridor, she couldn’t help patting her chest in relief. “You made braised soybeans for the first time!?”
Wen Yin nodded earnestly. “At home we don’t usually have things like this—Shao Yinan and I rarely eat appetizers.”
Li Xiangwei stared at her for a moment, incredulous. “You almost got us into real trouble. Do you know who he is? Even if you could, our hotel might not survive a mess-up with someone like him.”
“It was a recipe I saw on a streaming platform,” Wen Yin admitted. “I thought it looked simple enough.”
Chef Li walked over at that moment. “All settled?” he asked, already familiar with scenes like this.
Li Xiangwei nodded. “He ate a little. Thank goodness.”
Chef Li gave Wen Yin a thumbs up. “Not bad for the first time. When I was your age I tried cooking soybeans and ruined the whole pot.”
Wen Yin smiled shyly. After exchanging quick goodbyes she went back to the studio.
She didn’t know that as soon as she left, the old man stepped out as well and watched her go. “Who was that girl?” he asked, curious.
“She’s a friend,” Li Xiangwei said, a little embarrassed. She bowed politely. “If you’d like anything ahead of time, let Chef Li know. He can prepare small dishes for you.”
The old man waved a dismissive hand. “No need. Stick to the usual menu.”
Li Xiangwei nodded, but inside she made a quiet decision: she would add a few small dishes to his regular selection. Wen Yin’s success had been an eye-opener.
“Goodbye, Grandpa Shao,” she called, and the old man watched them go with a thoughtful look.