HDRDTH -Chapter 40 You Want Me on the Spring Festival Gala?

In the kitchen of Jinshui Bay Villa, the exhaust hood rumbled heavily.

Yu Xian wore a SpongeBob apron, holding a spatula steady in his right hand while casually lifting a bottle of Shaoxing rice wine with his left.

In the wok, the pork belly had already rendered out excess fat. It glowed a rich golden color, its edges slightly curled, releasing an irresistible aroma of caramelized meat.

For this dish, the best pork belly must be layered in a “golden ratio”—three layers of fat, two layers of lean.

In his past life, after living to fifty-five, Yu Xian had tasted countless delicacies at high-end banquets in the business world. But in the end, what truly soothed the soul was still this simple, richly sauced home-style cooking.

“Splash—”

A ladle of rice wine slid along the edge of the wok, instantly releasing a burst of fragrance that completely wiped away any remaining meatiness.

Yu Xian sprinkled in a handful of rock sugar, flicking his wrist as he watched it melt, bubble, and transform into a deep, translucent amber color.

This was caramelizing the sugar.

One second too long, the meat would turn bitter. One second too short, the color would be dull.

To Yu Xian, this precise control of heat was no different from timing the perfect stock market entry.

“Xiao Yu, how much longer is this meat going to take? XiXi is practically about to chew her chopsticks in half,” Su Wanyi said from the kitchen doorway, looking relaxed and lazy after surviving the recent chaos.

After the Xingmang Entertainment incident was resolved, she had visibly loosened up.

Though the outside world was still going crazy over “Mr. Yu’s” name, in her eyes, this man in an apron—whose mind was only filled with braised pork—was the most real and reassuring anchor.

“What’s the rush? Slow-cooked food needs time. If the heat’s off, the meat will be tough,” Yu Xian replied without turning around.

He tossed star anise and cinnamon into the pot, then lowered the heat to a gentle simmer.

Turning back, he glanced at Su Wanyi.

“Still needs forty minutes. Go set the table.”

“Hah, you’re acting like the head of the household now, ordering me around so smoothly,” Su Wanyi huffed playfully, though she still obediently went to work.

But just as the aroma of the braised pork began to fill the villa—and even drifted faintly out through the exhaust vent—the doorbell rang urgently.

“Dafu again? Didn’t that fatty just leave?” Yu Xian muttered.

Wang Dafu had only left earlier after finishing Xingmang Entertainment’s aftermath. He should’ve been celebrating somewhere by now.

Su Wanyi went to open the door—and froze.

Standing outside was not Wang Dafu.

It was an old man wearing a black down jacket, a baseball cap, thick-framed glasses, and an outdated scarf around his neck.

He was holding two bottles of poorly packaged liquor, peeking inside like a thief, sniffing the air nonstop.

“Smells amazing! Damn, that smells incredible!” the old man blurted out, eyes lighting up.

Then he coughed awkwardly, took off his hat, revealing a face instantly recognizable across the entire country.

“Uh… sorry for the intrusion, Miss Su. My surname is Feng—Feng Dagang.”

Su Wanyi froze.

Feng Dagang?

The legendary director who had made hit after hit, the “King of New Year Films,” someone even the Spring Festival Gala production team had to beg for cooperation?

“D-director Feng?” Su Wanyi stammered.

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” Feng Dagang grinned, face full of wrinkles, looking like an old gourmet drawn by scent. “Heard Mr. Yu is here, so I shamelessly came over to ask for a drink… and mainly, for the braised pork. Ahem—also for business!”

At that moment, Yu Xian walked out of the kitchen holding a spatula.

Seeing the old man at the door, his eye twitched slightly.

In his previous life, he had dealt with Feng Dagang more than once. He knew this man was a director on the surface—but deep down, a ridiculously picky foodie with a face thicker than city walls.

“Director Feng, do you have radar in your nose? My food isn’t even done yet and you’re already here on time?” Yu Xian said flatly.

“Hey! Brother Yu!” Feng Dagang immediately kicked off his shoes and walked in as if it were his own home. “I flew in from Beijing, went straight to Jiangcheng from the airport, even skipped the Qin family’s welcome banquet just to see you—and, well… smell your cooking.”

He plopped the two bottles of liquor on the table and sat down on the sofa.

“Brother Yu, I watched what happened in the Maldives. I also saw that CCTV live broadcast.”

His expression turned serious.

“I’m not here personally. I represent the Spring Festival Gala production team.”

Yu Xian’s heart skipped.

The Spring Festival Gala?

That massive national New Year broadcast everyone watched while enduring family gatherings?

“Nope,” Yu Xian replied instantly. “I’m not going.”

Without hesitation, he turned back toward the kitchen.

“I’m just a fisherman. A place like that is too high-profile for me.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Feng Dagang panicked and followed him to the kitchen door. “Listen to me! The station gave a strict order—we must create something different this year. Su Xi’s song Invisible Wings is already a national favorite. She has to appear on stage!”

“And I want a new song. One that’s uplifting, inspiring, and grounded in real life!”

He stared at Yu Xian, almost pleading.

“Brother Yu, everyone says you’re the ‘Star of Justice,’ the ‘Criminal Nemesis.’ But in my eyes, you’re someone who truly understands life and people. No one else can write that kind of song. Only you.”

Yu Xian lifted the lid.

The braised pork was nearly perfect—each piece coated in a glossy red glaze, shining under the light.

He poked it gently with chopsticks.

Soft, tender—but not falling apart.

“You overestimate me,” Yu Xian said calmly. “I only wrote songs by accident, just to make my daughter happy. Spring Festival Gala is too restrictive. Too tiring.”

Feng Dagang swallowed hard, staring at the dish’s aroma like it was attacking him directly.

Then suddenly, his eyes lit up.

“Brother Yu… I heard you like fishing?”

Yu Xian paused.

“I know an old official who owns a private forest estate outside Beijing,” Feng Dagang whispered. “There’s a lake there, sealed off for thirty years.”

“An imperial garden relic. The wild carp inside are this big—”

He stretched his arms exaggeratedly.

“And the place is completely off-limits to the public. If you agree to write the song and let Su Xi perform on the Spring Festival Gala, I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“I’ll prepare top-tier fishing gear. No interruptions. You can fish however long you want.”

Yu Xian fell silent.

A lake sealed for thirty years.

An imperial garden relic.

For a man whose fishing career was filled with constant “empty hooks,” this temptation was even greater than five million in cash.

“Director Feng… this is emotional manipulation using fishing,” Yu Xian said with a half-smile.

“As long as I can invite you, I don’t mind losing face!” Feng Dagang quickly added. “So? Deal?”

Yu Xian looked at the perfectly finished braised pork, then at the eager faces of Su Xi and Su Wanyi.

Finally, he sighed.

“Let’s eat first. We’ll talk about the song after dinner.”

Feng Dagang was overjoyed. He immediately grabbed the bowl and chopsticks from Su Wanyi.

“Deal! Brother Yu, even if I camp here for this meal alone, it’s worth it!”