Lan Feihong gathered the potatoes he had selected, glanced briefly at Haruto, then returned to his station without saying anything and began preparing them.
Haruto merely shrugged.
He did not take Fei’s distant attitude personally. Given what he had experienced growing up, Lan Feihong had become naturally reserved and aloof.
And Haruto was not Mao. There was no reason for Fei to suddenly become chatty with him.
Haruto calmly carried his own ingredients back to his station and began grinding the soaked soybeans.
At Zhilin’s workstation, however, things looked considerably stranger.
She placed saltpeter, sulfur, charcoal, and several other ingredients no one around her could identify into a mortar, then began grinding them together.
Before long, she had produced a handful of fine black powder.
Zhilin poured it into a bamboo tube, inserted a fuse, lit it, and tossed the tube into the air.
Boom!
A muffled explosion rang out as the bamboo tube burst apart, and the faint smell of gunpowder drifted through the arena.
Zhilin nodded in satisfaction.
The test had succeeded.
Now she could complete her Noodles, Yet Not Noodles dish.
While everyone else busied themselves with their ideas, Mao was still standing there in confusion.
The words noodles and not noodles kept circling through his head, tangling his thoughts more and more until anxiety began to set in.
"Mao, have you figured it out yet?!"
Meili urged him anxiously.
Mao could only look helpless.
No matter how much she rushed him, an idea was not going to appear simply because she wanted one.
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed across the arena.
Mao and Meili turned toward the sound and saw Xiao Han returning from the ingredient area with an entire cow slung over his shoulders.
The animal weighed several hundred pounds, yet Xiao Han carried it as though it were barely an inconvenience.
He reached his station and dropped the carcass onto the ground with a heavy thud that made the floor tremble.
Then he removed the paired blades hanging around his neck and immediately began butchering the cow.
Watching everyone else work, something suddenly clicked in Mao’s mind.
Noodles, yet not noodles...
In other words, he needed to use some other ingredient to create something that functioned as noodles.
And if he wanted an ingredient that could be turned into strands like noodles...
"I’ve got it! I know what I’m making!"
Mao suddenly shouted.
He immediately sprinted toward the tanks in the seafood section.
His target was fish.
Fish flesh was thick, relatively free of bones, delicate in texture, and mild in flavor.
It could absolutely be shaped into noodles.
Unfortunately, catching one was easier said than done.
The fish were slick and incredibly agile in the water. Mao reached left and right for what felt like forever without managing to grab a single one.
Growing increasingly desperate, he suddenly lost his footing.
Splash!
He fell straight into the tank and was soaked from head to toe.
"Mao! Are you okay?!"
Meili shouted worriedly.
"I’m fine, Meili!"
Mao reassured her.
At that point, he decided there was no point climbing back out yet.
He watched the fish dart around him, waited for one to pass close enough, then lunged forward and wrapped both arms tightly around its body.
The fish thrashed violently in his grip, spraying water all over his face.
Mao refused to let go.
After an exhausting struggle, he finally wrestled it out of the tank and onto dry land.
Then he carried it straight back to his station and began working.
He removed the bones and skin, trimmed away the most tender flesh, then repeatedly pounded it with the back of his knife until it became a smooth fish paste.
Egg white, Shaoxing wine, and a small amount of salt were added before Mao vigorously stirred the mixture in one direction until it became sticky and elastic.
He transferred the finished paste into a piping bag and squeezed it into long, thin strands resembling noodles.
Next, Mao brought over a fresh sea bream.
He removed the head, bones, and tail and placed them into a pot to make broth.
The remaining bream flesh was rolled into neat pieces and gently simmered.
Finally, Mao cooked his fish "noodles" in the sea bream broth and finished the bowl with the rolled fish meat.
His Fish Noodles were complete.
Snow-white strands floated in the clear broth beneath delicate rolls of sea bream, while a rich seafood aroma rose from the bowl.
Meili picked up her chopsticks and tasted some.
Her eyes immediately widened.
"This is delicious, Mao!"
"These fish noodles are so fresh and tender! Every bite is full of the fish’s natural sweetness!"
"This can definitely win!"
Mao watched her delighted expression, then picked up his own chopsticks and tasted a mouthful.
The fish noodles were indeed fresh, tender, and smooth, carrying the clean natural sweetness of fish. The rich sea bream broth clung beautifully to every strand.
But after only a few chews, Mao’s expression changed dramatically.
No.
This was wrong.
Completely wrong.
The fish noodles looked like noodles, but the moment he bit down, they snapped apart.
They were soft and tender, but there was none of the springy resilience noodles were supposed to have—none of that satisfying resistance that pushed back against the teeth.
They could not truly be called noodles at all.
This was merely fish paste shaped into strands.
It failed to meet even the most basic standard of what noodles should be.
Mao fell into confusion once again.
Meanwhile, the moon was creeping steadily closer to the point directly above the central flagpole.
There was not much time left.
Everyone else in the Culinary Arena had already entered the final stages of their dishes.
Xiao Han had chopped the cow bones and boiled them over fierce heat into a thick, concentrated broth.
He had also sliced the beef into long, thin strips.
Lan Feihong had already pressed his potato mixture through a noodle-making machine, forming it into delicate strands, and was now preparing the accompaniments.
Haruto had long since ground his soybeans into a smooth soy milk.
He was currently skimming sheets of yuba from the surface as the soy milk simmered, while the pork, carrots, and green peppers he had prepared earlier had all been cut into fine strips.
As for Zhilin, she had placed ground rice flour into a specially designed container filled with the explosive powder she had made earlier.
After lighting the fuse—
Boom!
A muffled blast sounded.
Perfectly even strands of rice vermicelli were forced through the tiny holes in the container.
Time raced by.
Silver moonlight spread across the entire Culinary Arena like a thin veil.
Under everyone’s gaze, the full moon finally climbed directly above the central flagpole.
GONG—!
The gong rang out.
Lei Hua’s cold voice immediately followed from atop the high wall.
"Time is up!"
"All contestants, stop what you are doing immediately!"
Under the attendants’ guidance, Haruto, Lan Feihong, Mao, Xiao Han, and Zhilin gathered at the very center of the Culinary Arena.
A dining table had already been prepared there, with five seats arranged in a row.
"Contestants, each of you has completed a dish based on the theme Noodles, Yet Not Noodles."
Lei Hua descended from the high wall and stopped beside the table, her gaze moving across all five chefs.
"We will now begin the judging."
She paused before revealing an unexpected rule.
"This round will use peer scoring."
"All five of you will taste the dishes prepared by the other four contestants and assign each one a score."
"In other words, during this examination, you are not merely contestants competing for the title of Super Chef."
"You are also judges responsible for determining whether your rivals deserve that title."
Apart from Haruto, who already knew how this stage worked, the other four contestants immediately reacted with surprise.
None of them had expected Lei Hua to arrange the judging this way.
"I see."
Lan Feihong looked thoughtful.
"For a Super Chef examination, that actually is the most appropriate method."
"That’s true!"
Mao nodded eagerly.
"Until now, all we’ve been thinking about is making our own dishes as well as possible."
"But if a chef can’t accurately judge someone else’s cooking, then they can’t really call themselves a Super Chef!"
Lei Hua felt a trace of approval when she saw Mao and Fei understand the intention behind the rule so quickly.
Still, knowing the principle was easy.
Actually tasting a rival’s dish objectively and giving it the score it deserved was far more difficult.
This stage tested character as much as culinary judgment.
Lei Hua continued.
"Each dish is scored out of ten."
"Taste carefully."
"Give each dish the score you sincerely believe it deserves."
It sounded like a simple instruction.
In reality, it was one final warning.
Anyone incapable of judging fairly—anyone who could not remain honest when faced with the strengths and weaknesses of a rival’s cooking—had no right to become a Super Chef.
The path was theirs to walk, and the integrity was theirs to maintain.
If someone had reached this point without understanding even that much, then they had no business remaining in the Culinary Arena.
"First, we will taste Zhilin’s dish."
Lei Hua glanced at her, then gestured toward the other four.
"Everyone else, take your seats."
Haruto, Mao, Lan Feihong, and Xiao Han sat down at the table.
Soon, two officials approached carrying trays and placed portions of Zhilin’s dish in front of them.
A glossy, pitch-black sauce coated the "noodles," giving the entire dish an almost unsettling appearance.
Even the aroma was unusual.
There was the deep savoriness of seafood mixed with the toasted fragrance of rice flour, but underneath lingered a strange final note that made the tip of the tongue almost itch in anticipation.
"Whoa..."
Mao stared at the black dish.
"Those noodles are really dark!"
Zhilin ignored his surprise and calmly began explaining.
"This dish is Stir-Fried Rice Vermicelli with Squid Ink."
"I first ground rice into a fine flour and toasted it, then used the force of gunpowder to form it into vermicelli."
"The black sauce coating the noodles is made from squid ink carefully blended with wine."
She paused and looked toward Lei Hua.
"My dish uses only rice flour and the force of gunpowder to create the noodles. It fully satisfies the theme of Noodles, Yet Not Noodles."
Lei Hua offered no comment.
Zhilin then raised one hand in invitation.
"Please."
"Have a taste."
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