Chapter 73: A Heavy Loss

This time, the person who invited Bai Renzong to visit the restaurant was also its owner, just like with Wang's Pancake Roll before. The owner was full of confidence in his establishment's flavors, but due to various uncontrollable circumstances, business had been declining day by day.

It was only after hearing about Old Bai from his regular customers that the idea struck him—perhaps as a last resort, he could ask Bai Renzong to give it a try.

After a brief introduction from both sides, the owner, Zhao Lun, who was already in his forties, explained that the shop had been passed down from his grandfather's generation and had maintained the same flavors for fifty years.

“Our beef offal noodles and rice noodles have used the same recipe since my grandfather’s time, and the broth has been aged for over forty years. I’m absolutely confident in the taste and the generous portions,” Zhao Lun said with conviction.

“Then why has business declined?” Han Jiayi’s pointed question struck straight to the heart.

“Be-because…” Zhao Lun glanced at the academic building across the street. “Most of our customers are students from here and local residents. But last year, the residential neighborhood behind us was demolished, so business dropped sharply. Then, starting this year, Northchang High School across the street required students to eat lunch in the school cafeteria…”

“I see,” Bai Renzong nodded in understanding. “But your shop sounds like an old and established brand. Why didn’t its reputation carry on?”

Zhao Lun’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Well… When I was young, I was rebellious and immature. I didn’t understand how much family mattered. Back then, I only cared about myself and had no desire to take over this little restaurant. I just wanted to see the world. During that time, my father’s health wasn’t good, so the shop often closed unpredictably…”

He sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “But after getting battered by the outside world and slinking home like a beaten dog, the regular customers who had known me since childhood encouraged and comforted me. That’s when I realized it’s not the shop itself that needs to be preserved, but the bonds between people that the shop brings together…”

Bai Renzong nodded. “All right, I’ve heard enough stories. Let’s get down to business.”

The owner looked as if he’d just been interrupted at the most moving part of his tale.

After Bai Renzong and Han Jiayi sat at the table, Wang Bei set up the camera across from them. Bai Renzong then said, “One bowl of beef offal noodles.”

“I’ll have beef rice noodles,” Han Jiayi smiled, while Wang Bei grinned and said, “Beef offal rice noodles for me.”

“Coming right up!” Zhao Lun replied cheerfully, then busied himself in the kitchen with his wife.

Soon, three bowls of beef offal noodles and rice noodles were set before them.

Bai Renzong examined his bowl with curiosity. The serving was indeed generous—the noodles were topped with a heap of beef offal, making the twenty-five yuan price more than reasonable. The broth was a deep, soy-sauce brown, with barely a trace of oil.

“No chili oil?” Bai Renzong asked the owner with interest.

“It’s in there. Our default is mild spicy,” Zhao Lun replied. “If you want it spicier, I can add more.”

“Doesn’t look it…” Bai Renzong muttered. But he wasn’t much of a spice eater anyway, and ever since he’d acquired the “Tongue of the Gods,” he was even less able to handle heat—so less chili suited him fine.

He picked up a chopstickful, held it up to the camera, then took a bite.

A rich, aromatic flavor of beef offal blossomed in his mouth. The textures of beef heart, tripe, omasum, and tendon mingled with the springy noodles, creating a layered, satisfying mouthfeel, without the slightest trace of offal’s usual gaminess.

Truth be told, Bai Renzong wasn’t a fan of organ meats, especially since acquiring the Tongue of the Gods. With such a sensitive palate, even the faintest off flavor would be glaringly obvious.

But in this bowl, there was none of that unpleasant aftertaste. The spices were perfectly balanced, blending seamlessly together.

“Oh! This broth is truly remarkable!” Bai Renzong exclaimed. “Viewers, only those who know the craft will understand how impressive this is. Normally, to mask offal’s strong flavor, heavy spices like star anise, cardamom, and fennel are used, and their aromas tend to overpower everything. But in this bowl, you can’t taste them at all…”

He suddenly noticed something odd—a tingling prickled his tongue, like a spark igniting and slowly spreading through his mouth.

It wasn’t an instant explosion of heat, but a slow-burning fire, gradually consuming the grasslands.

Forcing himself to continue, he said, “And to blend these… cough, these spices together…”

He sniffed, then grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink. “What fuses these spices is the broth. According to the owner, their base… cough, their broth has been aged for over forty years! Cough, cough, cough!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Bai Renzong gulped down his water.

“Wow, this is really spicy…” Han Jiayi took a bite and frowned. “Old Bai never could handle spice. This heat must be killing him.”

“Let me try,” Wang Bei said, watching Bai Renzong sweat and cough. She took a bite of her noodles and raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Mm! Delicious! Spicy, but so good!”

Bai Renzong stared at his bowl in confusion. “Why? There’s no red chili oil at all! Why is it so spicy?”

“The secret is in our special aged broth!” Zhao Lun said with pride. “We don’t pour in chili oil at the end. Instead, we simmer the chilies right into the broth, so the heat infuses every drop!”

“No wonder…” Bai Renzong gasped, struggling to catch his breath. “Water, quick, water!”

“Here, have mine!” Han Jiayi handed over her bottle, and Bai Renzong, beyond caring, drank deeply.

“Oh my, an indirect kiss…” Wang Bei covered her mouth and giggled.

Han Jiayi jabbed her in the head. “Can you not act like a child? Some things matter more than that when it’s life or death!”

After downing two bottles, Bai Renzong finally recovered enough to speak.

“Shall we continue?” Wang Bei asked, slurping her noodles.

Bai Renzong wiped his sweat with a napkin and nodded, though inwardly he was groaning: Just one bite and I’ve gone through two bottles of water—how am I supposed to review the rest?

“Hello everyone, I’m back…” He cleared his throat. “First, let me warn you: Even though these noodles don’t look spicy, they’re incredibly hot. The forty-year-old broth melds the intense spices into a deep, complex flavor, perfectly masking any gaminess from the offal. Highly recommended…”

As he spoke, the heat returned to his tongue, so his words came faster and faster: “This is the truth! Not a paid promotion, the owner didn’t give me a cent. But remember, this place is extremely spicy! And the mildest level is already like this! If you can’t handle heat… don’t try it on a whim!”

With great effort, he finished his review and waved his hand in surrender. “I can’t, I can’t! That’s it for me! I just can’t…”

He looked at his untouched bowl, torn between his fear of spice and his aversion to wasting food. After a long sigh, he relented. “Oh well… Xiao Bei, buy me a mung bean soup, I’ll tough it out!”

Inside, Bai Renzong was wailing: This restaurant review was a total loss—no money earned, and I nearly lost my life!

(Thanks to those who voted for me: Niao Ting Feng, jkzy, Shanglianbing, and Book Friend 20171111163049650 for your monthly tickets, and to Ni Ye Xiang Qi Wu Ma for two tickets as well.)