Chapter 6 Dating and Dim Sum

The “Great Dough Escape” left the alleyway smelling like a brewery for a week, but Wei had no time for remorse. He was on a mission to “network” the shop into the upper echelons of Shanghai society. His method? A blind date with a woman he met on a high-end food app, whom he had regaled with tales of his “avant-garde culinary installations”.

“She’s the one, Meiling,” Wei said, frantically trying to flatten his hair with a damp kitchen towel. “She’s elegant, she’s sophisticated, and her profile picture was a gold-plated soup spoon.”

Meiling looked up from a tray of wontons. “Wei, please tell me you didn’t invite her here while we still have a dent in the wall from the robot incident”.

“It’s a rustic aesthetic!” Wei insisted.

The door chimed, and in walked a woman who looked like she had stepped directly off a runway on West Nanjing Road. Her name was Lin Chen, and she carried an aura of expensive perfume that briefly went to war with the shop’s lingering scent of chives.

“You must be Wei,” she said, her voice smooth and dangerous.

“The one and only,” Wei replied, attempting a suave lean against the counter that resulted in him accidentally dipping his elbow into a bowl of black vinegar. “Welcome to my laboratory of flavor.”

Meiling pulled Wei aside. “Wei, her last name is Chen. As in, the Chen Group. The rival food conglomerate trying to buy us out”.

“It’s a common name, Meiling! Don’t be so paranoid,” Wei hissed back.

To impress his high-society date, Wei decided to perform a tableside cooking demonstration. He prepared a traditional scallion pancake, but because it was Wei, he couldn’t just flip it—he had to “elevate” it.

“Observe,” Wei declared, holding the pan with both hands. “The trajectory of tradition!”

He tossed the pancake toward the ceiling with the force of a man trying to launch a satellite. It soared upward, missed the vent, and—thanks to the lingering scuff marks from the “Dumpling Master 3000″—took a wild, aerodynamic skip.

Instead of returning to the pan, the pancake descended with gravitational finality directly onto Lin Chen’s head. It wrapped around her perfectly coiffed hair like a delicious, greasy beret.

Silence fell over the shop. A single drop of scallion oil trickled down Lin’s forehead.

“It… it frames your face beautifully?” Wei offered, his voice cracking.

Lin slowly stood up, peeled the pancake off her head with two fingers, and placed it on the table. “My father was right about you, Li Wei,” she said, her eyes flashing with cold amusement. “You’re not a threat to our business. You’re a liability to your own.”

She turned and swept out of the shop, leaving Wei standing in a puddle of vinegar and shattered dreams.

“So,” Meiling said, picking up her rolling pin. “How was the networking?”

“The pancake was perfectly crispy,” Wei whispered. “She just didn’t appreciate the presentation.”