Chapter 85: Behind-the-Scenes Fans

“In terms of your current abilities, you’re indeed on par with him,” Bai Renzong said as he picked up a piece of roasted lamb and took a bite.

There wasn’t much heavy seasoning; instead, a fresh, herbal fragrance mingled with the meat, perfectly suppressing the lamb’s gaminess. It must have been roasted wrapped in some kind of leaves.

“But in the long run, you’ll eventually be left behind,” Bai Renzong continued, looking at Han Jiayi with a frown. “Haven’t you realized what he has that you don’t?”

“Why don’t you tell me…” Han Jiayi muttered, unconvinced.

“It’s a goal.” Bai Renzong pointed his spoon at Han Jiayi in mild annoyance. “He has his ‘Ultimate Tasting Menu.’ And you?”

“I—I do too…” Han Jiayi replied, though she sounded uncertain. “Every chef has their own ultimate menu, it’s just that… mine isn’t as specific yet.”

“That’s why, if you don’t want to be left behind, you’d better put that clever little mind of yours to good use,” Bai Renzong said, scooping some curry onto his rice. “Although ‘Cloud Veil’ and ‘Heart of the Prairie’ are evenly matched, his ‘Heart of the Prairie’ was deliberately subdued to close out the tasting menu, so the only flavors lingering in the mouth at the end are the walnut’s fragrance and the freshness of the herbs.”

Han Jiayi understood what he meant. Judging that dessert alone, they might truly be equals. But if Yang Hua were to craft a dessert outside the context of a tasting menu, “Cloud Veil” would stand no chance.

The thought made Han Jiayi anxious. Biting her lip, she brooded in silence: What should I do?

“But that’s just your style, isn’t it?” Bai Renzong took a bite of curry, a hint of pleasure on his face. “You’re someone who thrives on inspiration, and you have the talent for it. When inspiration strikes, you’ll naturally create dishes of equal caliber.”

“Mmm! Mmm!” Han Jiayi nodded happily, then complained, “Can’t you ever just give a compliment without undermining me first?!”

Bai Renzong turned to look at her and pointed at the curry in front of him. “This green curry…”

Han Jiayi’s heart skipped a beat: Here comes the critique…

“You added a bit too much basil and mint,” Bai Renzong said. “It’s a bit overpowering on its own, but mixed with the rice, it’s quite good.”

“I used more herbs on purpose to match the Thai jasmine rice; their aromas pair better that way,” Han Jiayi replied with conviction.

“In that case, you could add a bit more coconut milk to mellow out the spice,” Bai Renzong immediately suggested.

“Fine, I get it…” Han Jiayi muttered unhappily.

Bai Renzong glanced at her, his expression softening. “Keep it up, all right? You’ve done everything you needed to for August, and the plan is going smoothly. In September, you can slow down with the video uploads. Let’s focus on getting you that second star first.”

“I can handle it! I can manage both recording videos and running the restaurant!” Han Jiayi protested, anxious not to be seen as a burden.

“To do a good job, one must first sharpen their tools,” Bai Renzong explained. “If your restaurant’s rating goes up, it also proves I have good taste. Besides, last month’s spike in attention needs some time to settle. For now, let’s pause business collaborations until your follower count increases.”

“So… what’s your plan?” Han Jiayi asked, probing.

“I’ll cash out last month’s video income and come here for meals every day to help you refine your tasting menu,” Bai Renzong replied with a gentle smile. “So for the next while, I’ll be pretty strict. Be ready for it, Han Mumu.”

Han Jiayi hesitated, then shot him a defiant smile. “Fine, Critic Bai. That’ll be three hundred and sixty.”

“You…” Bai Renzong frowned but still scanned the code and paid three hundred and sixty. “Do your best.”

While Bai Renzong turned away, Han Jiayi scrunched up her nose and made a silly face at him.

But inside, she knew everything Bai Renzong said was true, which only added to her pressure—from Yang Hua’s “Ultimate Tasting Menu,” and now from Bai Renzong’s plan to critique her more frequently this month.

“My ultimate tasting menu…” Han Jiayi muttered anxiously, biting her lip. “I’ll start thinking, using Cloud Veil as my first step…”

When Bai Renzong got home, he received the video of “Dark Forest” from He Guang.

As usual, he checked the final cut before uploading. He Guang’s editing was as polished as ever. The game itself had little background music, but He Guang had added some eerie tracks—like ones from “Young Detective Bao”—to set the mood.

Watching the whole video, the unsettling music paired with the oppressive visuals of “Dark Forest” truly sent chills down the spine.

“Excellent,” Bai Renzong nodded in satisfaction. But he soon noticed something odd—the progress bar seemed longer than usual, as if there was extra footage compared to his own edits. Curious, he watched further and discovered there was an added blooper reel.

But this was strange. Shooting food and travel videos was different from making gaming ones; he recorded gaming footage on his computer, so there was no filming involved.

So how did a behind-the-scenes segment exist?

He watched on and realized the “blooper” was actually footage of him and Han Jiayi playing the game together...

The only person who could have shot that, apart from Wang Bei, was nobody.

“Xiaobei, you made that blooper reel, didn’t you?!” Bai Renzong called out angrily to Wang Bei in the living room.

“It wasn’t me! It was a fourth person!” Wang Bei declared solemnly. “Besides us, there was a fourth person present! How creepy is that!”

Thinking back to that day, Bai Renzong shivered a little himself…

“Oh, cut it out!” he snapped. “That camera angle was clearly yours!”

“All right, it was me,” Wang Bei admitted with a mischievous grin. “Don’t you think it turned out great? Everyone will love the blooper reel! The only pity is that I didn’t get your faces on camera—otherwise the video would be a sensation!”

Bai Renzong glared at her, debating whether or not to upload the video with the extra footage.

From the viewers’ perspective, all they knew about Wang Bei was that her nickname was “Xiaobei,” and she was a hand that occasionally reached in from the edge of the frame to grab food. Yet, despite this, she had her own group of “blooper fans.”

Among Bai Renzong’s followers, quite a few were drawn in by Wang Bei’s edits. Some even thought the bloopers were better than the main videos. This group was often the most active—they watched, liked, tipped, and left comments, significantly boosting Bai Renzong’s popularity.

The only problem was… the people being filmed might not enjoy it so much.

“You just wait, one day I’ll upload your own blooper reels…” Bai Renzong threatened, glaring at Wang Bei.

“Oh, you’d really upload a girl’s embarrassing footage to D-Station?” Wang Bei gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. Then she spun around and dashed out the door: “Old Bai, I misjudged you—!”

“That girl!” Bai Renzong slammed the table in exasperation.

But he knew Wang Bei had just run downstairs to collect deliveries. Lately, with all the merchants sending samples for business deals, Wang Bei had to visit the parcel station every day and haul back a mountain of packages.

Bai Renzong hesitated for a long time, but in the end, he clicked “upload.”

Only after uploading did he remember he hadn’t told the other person featured in the blooper reel.

“Oh well, I’ll tell her when she gets back.” Bai Renzong shrugged.

(Thanks to Egg’s Sorrow | Gentle Melancholy, Wind and Moon, Humorous Gensokyo, Night’s Dark Hues, Atomic Collapse for the monthly votes, and to Reader 130911222415953 and Reader 20170615114635099 for their two monthly votes each.)