I Awakened to a Farming TALENT

## Chapter 11: Cured Pork and Vegetable Rice – Absolutely Delicious

By the time Qi Cong’s family made it to Fenghuang Mountain Scenic Area, the May Day holiday was almost over.

Qi Cong’s father didn’t really believe that some farmhouse restaurant by the scenic area could be any good. His work often took him to high-end hotels and those hard-to-book private dining spots—he’d pretty much tried everything.

He’d never even heard of Qionghua Restaurant.

But his precious son rarely praised any restaurant, so he wasn’t about to spoil the fun. No matter how busy he was, he decided to take a day off and go eat there as a family. He silently resolved that no matter how ordinary the food was, he’d pretend to enjoy it.

When the family of three walked into the restaurant, it was midday, but the entire dining hall was empty.

Jiang Tingyun was alone at the front desk, lying on a reclining chair, dozing off.

“Boss, I’m back. What’s on the menu today?” Qi Cong poked his head in and asked.

Jiang Tingyun tapped the chalkboard behind her. On it was written a single line: *Cured Pork and Vegetable Rice Set Meal.*

Qi Cong immediately cried out, “Boss, are you even trying to stay in business? You used to have several dishes every day. This is just lazy!”

Jiang Tingyun scratched her head sheepishly.

After May Day passed, the crowds at Fenghuang Mountain Scenic Area dropped off sharply. Only a few repeat customers trickled into Qionghua Restaurant each day, and no new faces showed up.

She couldn’t be bothered to prep a bunch of dishes. Naturally, the menu kept getting simpler.

Plus, after the beginning of summer, the plants went wild. Cowpeas and cucumbers started climbing everywhere. She had to build trellises, pull weeds, add compost, and fertilize—she didn’t have time to fuss over the menu.

And most importantly, the *qingcai* were growing like crazy too. One batch after another—she couldn’t eat them all. She had to find ways to use them up every day.

Qi Cong was thoroughly annoyed. He’d dragged his parents all the way here, boasting about how good the food was, and the boss was just slacking off—giving them nothing but rice as a meal.

He pressed on. “Just the rice? What about those noodles from last time? And those two sauces?”

Jiang Tingyun laughed. “It’s already summer. There are no locust flowers left. They’re all gone.”

Qi Cong’s mother tugged her son’s sleeve. “We’ll take three orders of the cured pork and vegetable rice set meal.”

The cured pork and vegetable rice was a deceptively simple dish. She soaked salted pork and cured sausage in water, diced them, mixed them with rice, and cooked it all in a large pot like regular rice.

While the fire slowly burned, she chopped the *qingcai*. The trick was to squeeze out the excess water before stir-frying, then add a little lard and a pinch of salt. Right before the rice finished cooking, she threw the vegetables in. The fragrant cured pork and vegetable rice was done.

The rice had already been cooked. The embers in the clay stove hadn’t fully died out. After awakening her talent, Jiang Tingyun could always bring out the most appropriate natural flavor of vegetables. Her timing on this rice was absolutely masterful. The moment she lifted the lid, the aroma was enough to make a person jump with joy.

Jiang Tingyun scooped three large bowls, added a boiled egg and a glass of juice to each.

“Smells wonderful!”

As soon as the rice was set down, Qi Cong’s mother couldn’t help praising it. Though she was wealthy now, she’d started from nothing. Compared to delicately plated gourmet dishes, she still loved this kind of rustic, countryside flavor.

Qi Cong’s father took a sip of the juice first. It was sweet and sour, very fresh. But the flavor was familiar yet hard to describe. He asked, “What is this juice?”

Jiang Tingyun poured him a glass. “It’s just wild berry juice—made from whatever we foraged.”

The mountain had recently become covered with these red, wild-raspberry-like berries. Some were *penglei* (wild mulberries), some were raspberries. Locals didn’t make a distinction—they just called them all *shanpao’er* (wild berries). Sweet and sour, very flavorful.

When she first saw them, she was thrilled. She’d made Jin Feifan build her a simple berry-picking tool and picked basket after basket. But there were just too many. Eventually, she got sick of them. Lately, she couldn’t stand to eat another one, so she just juiced them and sold them as part of the set meal.

Qi Cong’s mother glanced over and exclaimed happily, “*Shanpao’er*? I haven’t eaten these in years! Boss, where did you get so many?”

“From the mountain behind us.”

“Let’s eat first. It’ll get cold. We’ll take some of those berries home later,” Qi Cong’s father said, eager to pick up his chopsticks. The rice smelled too good.

He scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

*Damn. This place has something special. This rice is amazing!*

The rice was dry but perfectly tender. The salted pork and sausage were fine, but the *qingcai*—cooked right in the rice—was still bright green and incredibly sweet.

Every ingredient was ordinary, but together they created perfect harmony. He could honestly say he’d had similar rice at five-star hotels, but the texture had never been this spot-on.

Without realizing it, the family of three stopped talking entirely and just focused on eating.

“I’m so full.” Qi Cong’s father set down his spoon first and let out a satisfied sigh.

When had he last felt this content? The rice looked glossy and rich, yet tasted clean and light. When the bowl was empty, there wasn’t a drop of oil left at the bottom—proof of the cook’s skill.

He couldn’t quite believe it. “Little boss, did you really make this rice yourself?”

Jiang Tingyun smiled. “Absolutely. I cooked it with firewood this morning.”

“Firewood rice! No wonder it’s so fragrant!” Qi Cong’s mother sighed with appreciation. Then she pointed at the egg in the set meal, which they’d overlooked until now. “This egg is so delicate. There’s even a pattern on the shell.”

It was called a “Beginning of Summer egg” (a traditional Chinese seasonal egg dish). Jiang Tingyun hadn’t known about it either, but Uncle Liu had been going on about how they should hang eggs at the start of summer, how eating an egg was good for your health.

She’d watched some videos online and learned to make them. It wasn’t complicated: boil red broth with onion skins and spices, press mugwort leaves onto the eggs, wrap them with gauze, then boil them in the red broth.

When they were done, the shells were dyed red, leaving behind the pattern of mugwort leaves—adorable and beautiful.

Jiang Tingyun just said, “It’s just a fun little novelty. The taste is nothing special.”

Qi Cong’s father looked around the restaurant. The decor was very plain, inside and out. He thought about how skilled the boss was but that she didn’t have many customers.

He couldn’t resist offering, “Little boss, you’ve got amazing cooking skills but not many customers. I’d really like to invest in your place. We could renovate, do some branding—it’d take off. We could even turn it into a chain.”

Jiang Tingyun didn’t look particularly thrilled. Her cooking relied on ingredients and her talent—there were no secret recipes. It couldn’t be mass-produced or replicated.

And she’d already realized that cultivating her talent meant actually farming—working the land with her own hands. She couldn’t put the cart before the horse and become a full-time chef.

So she just shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s fine as it is.”

Qi Cong’s father was a little disappointed but didn’t press it.

He thought to himself: *With skills like hers, this girl won’t stay ordinary forever. Better to stay on good terms. Who knows, it might come in handy someday.*