The dating reality show host just wanted to give up, but the rich girl fell for him.

Last night's massive online traffic storm completely blocked the entrance to this quiet alley.

The restaurant has very strict rules; it opens at noon sharp, without fail.

Moreover, only twenty tables of guests are served at noon and in the evening; no more than one table will be served.

This outrageous and unfair contract term, which is considered "outrageous" by the entire internet, not only failed to deter diners but also thoroughly aroused the public's curiosity.

In order to secure one of the only twenty spots available at noon, some people even started queuing at the alley entrance before dawn, bundled up in thick cotton-padded coats.

It was nearing noon, and the autumn sun was shining brightly.

The diners at the front of the line rubbed their slightly cool hands and anxiously checked their watches frequently.

Meanwhile, the man in number twenty-first place was squatting in the corner in despair, his face full of frustration and a sense of hopelessness.

Inside the courtyard house, separated by just one door.

Lin Mo remained as detached as ever, as if the noise and long queues outside didn't exist at all.

On the stove in the back kitchen, a large black pottery casserole was being placed.

Lin Mo rolled up his sleeves and slowly put the chopped pork belly into the pot.

With a soft "sizzle," the hot oil and fat collide violently, releasing an intensely rich aroma of meat.

He held a long-handled wooden spoon in his hand, casually tossing in a few rock sugar crystals, his movements as relaxed as if he were watering flowers in his own yard.

The caramel coloring melts rapidly under high temperature, evenly coating each piece of meat, instantly bringing that most comforting, smoky flavor to its peak.

The overpowering fragrance squeezed out through the cracks in the wooden door, spreading rapidly in the chilly autumn wind.

The people queuing outside couldn't help but swallow hard, their stomachs rumbling with anticipation.

"This smells so good! Just smelling it makes me want to eat two bowls of rice."

"It's twelve o'clock! It's finally time! Open the door, boss!"

As a not-so-loud sound of a door opening came from inside the courtyard, the lucky winners of the first twenty tables poured into the courtyard like tigers descending a mountain.

Just then.

A sudden roar of an engine brutally shattered the cheerful atmosphere of the alleyway.

A black Hongqi sedan sped up from the street corner.

With a piercing screech of brakes, the large tires left a distinct black mark on the cobblestones before coming to a steady stop on the outskirts of the crowd.

The car door was suddenly pushed open from the inside with such force that even the heavy door shook.

Zhou Yang, a 56-year-old master of traditional Chinese painting, stepped off the car like a firecracker with a lit fuse, his head of white hair disheveled by the wind.

After seeing that half-second screenshot of the live stream last night, Zhou Yang couldn't sleep a wink all night.

He paced around his study hundreds of times, barely making it to noon, before forcing the driver to rush the car here.

Zhou Yang didn't even glance at the line that stretched for dozens of meters, and walked straight toward the half-open wooden door of the restaurant.

"Hey sir, don't you know the rules? We've already given out all the tickets for today!"

"Exactly, just because someone is older doesn't mean they can just barge in?"

Several young diners, who hadn't gotten a table and were seething with anger, began to complain and tried to stop people.

But Zhou Yang seemed to suffer from selective deafness, not even lifting his eyelids.

He aggressively stretched out his age-spotted hand and roughly pushed aside the diners blocking his way.

"Get out of the way."

He squeezed out two words through gritted teeth, and then he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the small restaurant.

With a dull creaking sound, the interior of the small restaurant came into view.

This was just as the first wave of diners had taken their seats.

The courtyard house was crowded with people around the eight-immortal tables.

The first few hot dishes and piping hot broth were served.

Steaming hot noodles and bright red stewed meat paint a vivid picture of everyday life in the city.

The diners were all eating with their mouths full of oil, not even bothering to lift their heads, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on their foreheads.

This unparalleled delicacy, enough to make anyone set aside their pride and indulge, was met with an undisguised snort from Zhou Yang.

vulgarian.

They are all a bunch of vulgar people who only know how to satisfy their appetites.

In his world, only brush, ink, paper, and inkstone are the supreme art; these things covered in the smell of cooking oil will only dirty his eyes.

Zhou Yang forced himself to endure the strong, meaty aroma that kept wafting into his nostrils.

His eyes were sharp, scanning the hall rapidly like a high-precision radar.

His gaze instantly swept past the crowd of people wolfing down their food.

Finally, they locked onto the piece of paper hanging on the wall behind the cashier.

It was a piece of raw Xuan paper with slightly yellowed edges, which looked quite old.

The words "Today's Menu" were written in bold ink above.

Below that are a few lines of slightly smaller dish names, the handwriting exuding a proud and sharp edge.

found it!

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted, and his breathing paused briefly.

He strode towards the cashier, his fine leather shoes making a dull thud on the blue bricks.

He was walking so fast that the hem of his clothes almost knocked over a spice jar on the table next to him, but he didn't even notice.

I rushed to the solid wood carved cashier counter.

Zhou Yang pulled out a strangely shaped object from the large pocket of his Tang suit.

It was an antique magnifying glass with a miniature spotlight, and the handle was carved from top-grade Hetian mutton fat jade, making it priceless.

With a soft "click".

The miniature light was switched on instantly, and a blindingly bright white light shone directly onto the yellowed Xuan paper.

Zhou Yang leaned forward, bracing himself against the counter with both hands.

He practically plastered his wrinkled old face completely onto the surface of the rice paper.

At home, if any of his apprentices dared to breathe so heavily in front of him, he would have already given them a hard whack with his cane.

But now, his own breathing was heavy, like a leaky, broken bellows.

The magnifying glass lens moved slowly, inch by inch, following the ink marks on the paper.

From the seemingly casual beginning of the character "今" to the sharp and assertive ending of the character "单".

As his gaze shifted, Zhou Yang's face, which had been flushed with excitement, gradually darkened.

The fervor in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by deep contempt and anger at being fooled.

"The characters look weak and unnatural! The starting strokes are contrived!"

Zhou Yang suddenly straightened up and abruptly raised his voice.

His booming voice exploded in the slightly noisy little restaurant, drowning out all the chewing and talking sounds.

The sudden reprimand startled the diners in the hall.

Several people, their chopsticks holding meat suspended in mid-air, turned their heads and stared at the strange old man holding a magnifying glass as if he were a madman.

Zhou Yang didn't care about other people's opinions at all; his mind was filled with anger at being deceived.

Last night, even through the blurry screen, he was awestruck by that sharp aura, thinking he had witnessed a miracle.

But now, upon closer inspection, the texture of the paper and the ink bleeding are clearly the result of poor modern craftsmanship.

"It's clearly a poor imitation, a clumsy attempt!"

Zhou Yang snorted loudly while banging heavily on the solid wood tabletop of the cash register with a magnifying glass, making a dull "thump thump thump" sound.

"I knew it, I knew it."

"How could a hole-in-the-wall restaurant tucked away in a run-down alley, reeking of cooking fumes, possibly display an authentic copy of Emperor Huizong's 'Slender Gold' calligraphy?"

He pointed to the menu on the wall, filled with righteous indignation, as if he had seen something dirty that had defiled the supreme art.

"This is clearly a fake, deliberately aged with inferior tea, presented to attract attention!"

"These days, businesses will resort to any despicable means to grab attention; it's utterly disgraceful!"

Zhou Yang's cursing echoed in the courtyard, and the diners looked at each other in bewilderment, forgetting to eat for a moment.

Just as Zhou Yang was angrily criticizing this "fake" painting and preparing to give a long explanation to everyone,

A clear, languid, yet highly penetrating female voice came from the curtain leading to the backyard.

"Sir, have you finished your performance?"

In the shadows beside the cashier, Jiang Ruoyun slowly walked out, carrying a cup of warm lemonade.

Today she was wearing a minimalist beige knit sweater, and her hair was casually tied back with a sandalwood hairpin.

She wore no superfluous adornments, yet exuded a relaxed and sophisticated air cultivated in the world of the elite.

She didn't need to deliberately adopt a certain posture; just by standing there, the restless atmosphere around her seemed to quiet down.

Jiang Ruoyun was just peeling garlic for Lin Mo in the backyard.

She had just washed her hands when she heard someone in front of her spouting nonsense, and what's more, it was the calligraphy her husband had written that was being smashed.

Those beautiful peach blossom eyes, which were always filled with smiles, were now devoid of warmth, filled only with a cold scrutiny.

She seems easy to talk to normally, but deep down she's fiercely protective of her own, especially Lin Mo.

When others praise Lin Mo's cooking, she may outwardly dismiss it as just so-so, but inwardly she's overjoyed.

But if anyone dares to come into the store and point at Lin Mo's things, that would definitely be touching her sore spot.

Jiang Ruoyun walked steadily to Zhou Yang.

Her brows furrowed slightly, and her eyes held an undisguised mockery.

"This old gentleman."

Her red lips parted slightly, her voice was soft, and her tone was relatively polite, but the words she spoke were as sharp as knives.

"If you have poor eyesight, you should wear a pair of stronger reading glasses when you go out, instead of using a magnifying glass to pretend to be a ghost here."

Zhou Yang was taken aback by this sudden, mocking remark. His old face stiffened, and his white beard twitched.

Before he could react, Jiang Ruoyun stretched out her fair and slender fingers and pointed to the so-called "fake" on the wall.

"The signboard outside and the menu on the wall were all written by our boss this morning."

She paused, her tone carrying an air of self-righteous dominance.

"I used ordinary Xuan paper that costs ten yuan a stack. It's not a fake, and I didn't intend to pass it off as anyone's original work."

Jiang Ruoyun crossed her arms over her chest, raised her chin slightly, and gave the order to leave without any politeness.

"If you're here for lunch, I'm sorry, all the lunch slots have already been given out."

"If you're not here to eat and are just here to cause trouble, then please turn back the way you came."

"Please don't disturb our business here and affect other customers' dining."

Jiang Ruoyun's words were crisp and to the point, without using a single dirty word, yet they left Zhou Yang stunned and speechless for a long time.

Zhou Yang suddenly turned his head and stared intently at the excessively beautiful young woman in front of him.

His eyes were wide open like copper bells, and his breathing became unusually heavy.

What did he hear?

The owner of this run-down restaurant just wrote this this morning?!

He used cheap Xuan paper that cost ten yuan a stack to write the artistic conception of the Slender Gold style that made his heart race at first glance.

absurd!

That's absolutely ridiculous!

In the calligraphy world, everyone knows that the Slender Gold style is the most difficult to master and requires the most talent.

Without decades of arduous practice with a suspended wrist, and without copying thousands upon thousands of famous calligraphers' works, one cannot even write the shape of the first stroke.

Not to mention that sharp and indomitable spirit that shines through the paper!

A young chef hiding in the back kitchen, chopping vegetables and tossing the wok, could write such characters with a casual flick of his wrist?

Zhou Yang felt as if he had heard the most absurd and ridiculous joke he had ever heard in his fifty-six years of life.

Looking at the woman in front of him with such a confident tone, his anger surged exponentially.

He exposed the forgery of these uncultured, vulgar people who didn't understand art.

Not only did they not feel guilty and admit their mistakes, they even dared to make up such outrageous lies to insult his intelligence!

"Okay, okay!"

Zhou Yang was so angry that he laughed and said "good" three times.

His facial wrinkles twitched slightly with anger, and his voice became sharp and shrill due to extreme agitation.

"How dare a mere child speak so arrogantly!"

"Today, I'm going to strip away this fake's disguise and convince you all!"

As he spoke, he sneered and once again shoved the expensive antique magnifying glass in his hand at the word "meat" on the menu.