Chapter 4: Braised Beef with Dried Bamboo Shoots

Zhou Miao rode the "28-inch" bicycle, carrying Zhao Tieying and Zhou Momo back home.

Zhou Momo sat on the front crossbar, not forgetting to tilt her head and wave at Zhou Yan, calling out in her milky voice, "Gege, I'm going home now."

"Alright," Zhou Yan replied with a smile.

This 28-inch bike wasn't just a means of transport; it was his father's delivery vehicle. Every day, it was used to haul hundreds of pounds of beef to the market.

In this era of scarce resources, having money wasn't enough to buy a bicycle; you also needed a bicycle ration coupon.

"Zhou Yan seems a bit different today," Zhao Tieying said with a smile, her arms wrapped around Zhou Miao's waist.

"He seems to have matured, and he's closer to our youngest daughter. It’s different now that he’s a hero," Zhou Miao replied.

"The noodles today were truly delicious. I’ve never eaten such good noodles in all my life. He really has picked up some skills." Zhao Tieying’s smile grew brighter, but she soon looked puzzled. "But he learned his craft from Master Xiao. If the factory canteen's noodles were that good, why would anyone still go to Wang Laowu’s noodle stall?"

"That is a bit strange, isn't it..."

...

"Zhou Yan, are you planning to sell your restaurant?" As Zhou Yan was about to enter his shop, Wang Laowu’s voice came from behind.

Zhou Yan frowned and turned around.

He looked at Wang Laowu, who was about 1.56 meters tall, sporting a receding hairline, a slightly chubby build, and a shrewd smile.

Zhou Yan: "Who said that? My restaurant is doing just fine. I'm not selling."

The smile on Wang Laowu’s face froze. He urged, "You don't have a single customer all day, and you call that doing just fine? That’s not how you run a business. Even if your parents have money, they can't afford to let you squander it like this. Although my words might be hard to hear, but..."

"If they're hard to hear, keep them to yourself. It would be best if you stayed away from me." Zhou Yan took a step back. "I have trypophobia; I’m most afraid of people with too many hidden agendas."

Wang Laowu’s noodle stall was located right at the entrance of the silk factory, directly across from Zhou Yan’s restaurant. Zhou Yan knew he didn't have good intentions; otherwise, his mother wouldn't have scolded him so harshly earlier.

He smiled again. "Instead of worrying about my shop, you should worry about how many hairs are left on your own head. I’m switching to selling noodles starting tomorrow; I’m afraid your hair will fall out even faster."

After saying this, Zhou Yan turned and entered the shop, closing the door behind him.

"Selling noodles?" Wang Laowu was stunned for a moment. Once he grasped the meaning of Zhou Yan’s words, he became恼羞成怒 (embarrassed and angry): "This spendthrift doesn't even know where to buy noodles, and he wants to sell them? Does he really think running a noodle shop is that simple? His restaurant will definitely go bust within half a month!"

He didn't care about the shop with its 15-yuan monthly rent, but he was eyeing the eight-immortal tables and benches Zhou Yan had built. He planned to drive the price down and buy a few sets later; it would be much cheaper than hiring a carpenter to make them.

Zhou Yan went into the kitchen to take stock of his ingredients. There was about ten pounds of flour left, enough for tomorrow.

He had to prepare the chili, dried bamboo shoots, scallions, ginger, and other seasonings today; he wouldn't have time to make the toppings until he got the meat early tomorrow morning.

Before going out, Zhou Yan counted the money he had on hand. He originally had 3 yuan, 8 jiao, and 5 fen. His father had secretly slipped him 2 yuan, Zhou Momo had sponsored 5 fen, and his mother had given him 10 yuan and 4 jiao, totaling 16 yuan and 4 jiao.

It wasn't much money, but it was all in one-yuan and five-jiao notes, a thick stack in his hand.

This was all of Zhou Yan’s capital, his stake for a comeback, and it carried the expectations of his parents.

Zhou Yan pocketed the money, locked the door, and set off to do his shopping.

By the time he returned to the restaurant carrying bags of groceries, it was already dusk.

"Bicycles are great. Once I make some money, I have to buy a bicycle first." Zhou Yan placed the large bags of dried bamboo shoots and vegetables on the eight-immortal table, shook his numb hands, and picked up the teapot to gulp down several large mouthfuls of herbal tea.

There were too many places to go to buy ingredients, and relying on his own two feet was exhausting. His desire for a 28-inch bike reached its peak at that moment.

He bought ten pounds of dried bamboo shoots at 5 jiao 5 fen per pound, one pound each of millet chili and Erjingtiao chili at 1 jiao 5 fen, and five pounds each of radishes and asparagus lettuce, costing one yuan. In total, he spent six yuan and eight jiao. He took out an account book from behind the counter and recorded the expenses.

He made himself a simple bowl of dough-drop soup, then found two sheets of bright red paper and a calligraphy brush.

On one sheet, he wrote the new menu to stick on the wall: three types of noodles, six jiao per bowl, with prices clearly marked.

On the other, he wrote a new sign and nailed it to a wooden display board to put out front tomorrow to attract customers.

He soaked two handfuls of dried bamboo shoots and cut the radishes into long strips to put in the pickle jar.

The starter pack provided by the system included not only three noodle recipes but also a secret recipe for pickles—start pickling today, and they’d be ready to eat the day after tomorrow.

After finishing these tasks, he washed up early, went upstairs, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

...

The next day, before dawn, Little Master Zhou got up and went out to buy groceries.

Zhou Yan always maintained twelve points of enthusiasm for making money.

He couldn't help it; he was terrified of being poor.

Carrying a Tiger-brand flashlight, he followed his memory to the slaughterhouse at the head of the Zhou Village weir. Zhou Miao had already prepared the one pound of *diaolong* (ribeye) and one pound of beef brisket he wanted, along with ten pounds of beef bones.

He charged him 1.5 yuan per pound for the ribeye and brisket, which was 1 yuan cheaper than the beef stalls outside, and he didn't charge for the beef bones. This was a real father!

On the way back, he stopped by the stone bridge to pick up one pound of premium pork ribs he had pre-ordered from Zhang Laosan.

"Zhou Erwa, why only one pound of ribs today? Don't you want the pig trotters or pork belly anymore?" Zhang Laosan looked at Zhou Yan, puzzled. Zhou Yan had been a big customer lately; every time he came, he bought not only meat but also pig kidneys, liver, and intestines.

"Uncle Zhang, I’ve switched to selling noodles. I’m buying ribs to make braised pork rib noodles. Come over and have a bowl once you're done here," Zhou Yan replied with a smile.

Zhang Laosan had a good relationship with Zhou Miao, so he charged him 1.9 yuan per pound for the ribs today, two or three jiao cheaper than other places.

Butchers were important suppliers for Sichuan restaurants, so maintaining a good relationship was essential, especially with the friendship between their fathers.

"Will do," Zhang Laosan replied, bowing his head to continue butchering.

When Zhou Erwa’s restaurant first opened, Zhou Miao had invited him to eat there once. It was the first time he had ever eaten such terrible Sichuan food; it was practically a waste of good meat.

On the way back, Zhou Yan spent 1 jiao to buy two bunches of small green vegetables.

They were freshly picked by a villager that morning and tied with rice straw. Each bunch weighed over a pound, and the leaves were still covered in dew—very fresh.

It was only five o'clock when he returned to the restaurant. Both the brisket and the ribs needed to be stewed for a long time, and the beef bone broth had to be prepared in advance. He didn't dare delay, chopping the ribs into uniform pieces and cutting the brisket into even chunks.

He lit the stove and started preparing the braised beef and braised ribs, while the soup pot in the middle simmered the beef bone broth.

He heated the oil, sautéed the brisket until the fat rendered and the surface turned slightly golden, then added bean paste, ginger, garlic, and Sichuan peppercorns. After stir-frying until fragrant, he added a small amount of star anise, *shannai* (galangal), and cinnamon, then deglazed with cooking wine.

Once the aroma emerged, he added water to cover the beef and covered the pot to simmer for an hour.

When the beef was tender, he added the sliced dried bamboo shoots, letting the rich beef broth soak into them, and simmered on low heat.

*Gudu, gudu*—the aroma of meat filled the air.

He skimmed the foam off the bone broth repeatedly until a thick, milky white soup formed. The cracked beef bones made the broth even richer. Once the soup was done, the beef marrow would be a delicacy in itself.

Watching the time, Zhou Yan kneaded the dough for the noodles so he wouldn't be caught off guard when customers arrived.

In the other pot, the ribs were bubbling in a thick, rich sauce. He took them off the heat immediately and transferred them into a large ceramic bowl he had prepared.

The ribs, cut into thumb-sized pieces, were distinct and coated in sauce, looking incredibly tempting. Zhou Yan decided to try one.

The tender ribs trembled when picked up, and the meat fell off the bone with a single bite. The slightly sweet sauce was rich without being greasy, the meat flavor and spices perfectly intertwined, and the fat in the ribs was the finishing touch. With one bite, his soul felt like it had ascended to heaven.

"I am a genius!" Zhou Yan’s eyes lit up. This braised pork rib dish stunned him—a success on the first try!

He kept the large ceramic bowl warm on the stove and, without a moment's rest, quickly washed the wok to start stir-frying the double-pepper beef topping.

By the time the double-pepper beef topping was done, the braised beef had reduced its sauce and was ready to be served.

Zhou Yan tasted a piece of dried bamboo shoot. It was cut slightly smaller than the beef chunks, soaked full of the mellow beef juice, and was both crispy and fragrant—truly delicious!

Having been up since four and working until six-thirty, Zhou Yan was starving. He quickly cooked himself a bowl of hand-pulled noodles, seasoning the bottom of the bowl, adding two ladles of milky white beef broth, three *liang* of noodles, and a spoonful of braised beef and bamboo shoots.

After finishing the hot bowl of noodles, he even drank the soup dry, and his whole body immediately warmed up.

This bowl of braised beef noodles was top-tier, absolutely impeccable.

Moreover, this braised beef with dried bamboo shoots could even be a signature dish for the restaurant on its own—it was perfect with rice!

With the noodle toppings and sauces ready, Zhou Yan carried the sign he had written last night and stood at the entrance of the restaurant.

The Jiazhou Silk Factory was located on the banks of the Qingyi River in Suji Town. It was a major taxpayer in Jiazhou, with over two thousand employees, eighty percent of whom were female workers. It had its own school and hospital, and the benefits were excellent; people in Suji Town took pride in working at the silk factory.

It was already bright out, and workers were riding their bicycles to work. Some stopped at the street stalls at the factory gate to eat a bowl of noodles or a steamed bun, but most went to the factory canteen for breakfast.

The canteen provided breakfast, and it was cheaper if you used ration coupons—a bowl of plain noodles was only one jiao, much more cost-effective than eating outside.

As soon as Zhou Yan stood at the door with the wooden sign, he immediately attracted the attention of some young female workers.

He was 1.8 meters tall, with a straight, sturdy posture, a clean crew cut, and a sharp, angular face. Even though he was just wearing a white cotton shirt, blue work pants, and an apron tied around his waist, the young women couldn't help but take a few extra looks.

"Zhou Yan is really handsome, and he has long legs—better looking than a movie actor!"

"Handsome doesn't put food on the table. He had a good apprenticeship at the canteen, but he just had to go and become a self-employed businessman."

"Zhou Yan is good-looking, but his cooking is truly terrible. Switching to selling noodles definitely won't taste good either."

"Who in our factory would go to Zhou Erwa’s restaurant to eat? No matter how bad the canteen food is, it’s still much better than what he makes."

...

The girls giggled as they rode past Zhou Yan, their gazes bold, but not one of them stopped.

As those words reached Zhou Yan’s ears, the smile on his face faltered slightly.

*Little Zhou is really something; he’s ruined his own reputation completely. It looks like it might be difficult to even open for business today. The catering industry is all about reputation.*

*Prejudice in people's hearts is a mountain.*

Looking across the street at Wang Laowu’s noodle stall, there were already seven or eight customers.

"Zhou Erwa, I’m afraid you won't be able to sell these noodles. Craftsmanship should be about quality, not quantity. You selling everything like this won't work; you have to be responsible to your customers," Wang Laowu said, dropping noodles into his pot, not forgetting to mock Zhou Yan. He couldn't hide the smile on his face.

Zhou Yan selling noodles was here to steal his business, so naturally, Wang Laowu would take every opportunity to taunt him.

"Wang Laowu, you’re standing there with your mouth wide open, and your spit is spraying into the pot. I’m afraid that won't work; you still have to be responsible to your customers," Zhou Yan wouldn't let him get away with it, replying with a smile.

The customers waiting for their noodles heard this and all leaned forward to look at Wang Laowu, their faces showing concern.

Wang Laowu’s expression changed, and he quickly waved his hands. "No, no, that little brat is just talking nonsense."

The corners of Zhou Yan’s mouth curled up slightly. *Business warfare—it’s just that simple and unadorned.*

Winning a verbal argument wouldn't bring customers to Zhou Yan. He stood at the door, watching the bustling workers pass by, his mind already thinking about how to reverse his reputation and drive traffic to the restaurant.

There were plenty of methods, such as offering free samples. People would definitely try something free, and he could use his skill to break their doubts.

Or he could build a stove at the door and stir-fry the toppings and pull the noodles on the spot. Once the aroma of the meat drifted out, the discerning foodies would naturally come knocking.

The methods were simple and effective; they just cost money.

And what Zhou Yan lacked most right now was money.

He had to sell all thirty bowls of noodles he prepared today, or he wouldn't be able to pay the rent in three days. He couldn't ask his parents to borrow money for him again; he couldn't bring himself to say that.

The flow of people at the factory gate was increasing. Wang Laowu’s stall was already on its second round of customers, while Zhou Yan hadn't even made his first sale.

Wang Laowu glanced at Zhou Yan standing at the door from time to time, his face beaming with joy.

Seeing it was already 7:30, Zhou Yan figured there was no hope for this morning. He had to finalize his promotional plan and start executing it by noon, otherwise, the toppings and noodles he prepared today would go to waste, and he would lose even more.

Just then, two bicycles emerged from the stream of traffic and stopped in front of Zhou Erwa’s restaurant.

"Deputy Factory Director Lin, this is Zhou Erwa’s restaurant," one of them said.

Zhou Yan looked over. The two men were middle-aged. He recognized the slightly chubby one on the right—Zhao Dong, the director of the silk-reeling workshop. He liked to come to the canteen for special meals and had a heavy palate.

The man on the left was tall, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit with a white Dacron shirt underneath. He had a square face, wore black-rimmed glasses, and his hair was combed meticulously. A fountain pen was tucked into his pocket, and he wore a Shanghai-brand watch on his wrist, giving him the air of an intellectual. He was pushing a brand-new 28-inch bike with a red silk flower tied to the front.

*Is this Deputy Factory Director Lin Zhiqiang, who transferred here the year before last?*

"Comrade Zhou Yan, right!" Lin Zhiqiang parked his bike, stepped forward excitedly, grabbed Zhou Yan’s hand, and said loudly, "I am Lin Zhiqiang. You saved my niece yesterday, and I’ve come to thank you!"