Chapter 1 — From Chef God's Wife to Master Chef Champion

Married for three years, his favorite dishes are black fried eggs and salty instant noodles. I soon resigned myself to thinking he was born without "culinary cells". Until I came across a nostalgic culinary show: #Searching for the Legendary Lost Chef# In the show, that genius chef did not show his face from beginning to end, only relying on a pair of ecstatic hands to conquer the judges. Comments were mixed: "In this life, will I still be able to see the hands of 'Kitchen God' Luc Yen?" When the lens depicted those hands, I suddenly sat up straight. 【See the scar on his tiger mouth? The crescent moon shape is the sign of Luc Yen!】 My husband's name is also Luc Yen. He also has an identical scar on his hand. He said it was cut when he was naughty when he was young. I tremblingly searched for his name.

"Luc Yen, the youngest chef in history to achieve Michelin 3 stars, and 'Dessert Princess' Co Ngu Bang are considered legends in the culinary world."

“That year, because of Co Ngu Bang, I created the restaurant 'Hanging Garden in the Sky', a place that was difficult to find."

“Unfortunately, the night before the restaurant opened, there was a sudden fire, and since then Luc Yen has disappeared from the world, what a pity!”

1. I held the phone, comparing those hands over and over again. Same—long, well defined knuckles. Similar—scar, crescent moon shape. I tried to suppress the storm in my heart and walked into the kitchen. Luc Yen was wearing the Pooh Bear apron that I bought, humming an off-key tune while clumsily cracking eggs. Egg juice splashed everywhere. He frantically cleaned up, turned around and saw me and smiled shyly.

“Wife, please wait a little longer, today I'll make sure the scrambled eggs don't burn!”

He raised one hand and swore very seriously. It's that hand. The crescent-shaped scar on the tiger's mouth, under the warm light in the kitchen, felt like it was cutting into my eyes and causing pain. I walked over, picked up another egg, and gently tapped it on the rim of the bowl.

“Let me do it.”

He seemed to receive a general amnesty and immediately took off his apron.

“Okay, my wife has worked hard!”

I looked at the oil in the pan sizzling.

“Luc Yen, do you really not know how to cook?”

He scratched his head, his face gentle and foolish.

“Yes, these hands of mine were not born to do those things.”

“Is that so?”

I smiled softly, pouring the perfectly beaten eggs into the pan, the golden edges emerging with a beautiful lace edge.

“But why do I see, these hands... were born to hold kitchen knives, right?”

Luc Yen's smile stiffened on her face. I turned off the stove, scooped a perfect fried egg onto a plate, and pushed it towards him. Then, I turned the phone screen towards him—on it was the encyclopedia entry “Kitchen God Luc Yen”.

"Luc Yen, the youngest chef in history to achieve Michelin 3 stars."

“For the ‘Dessert Princess’ Gu Yubing, build the ‘Hanging Garden in the Sky’.”

“Unfortunately… disappeared without a trace.”

I read every word. His face gradually paled, little by little. I pointed at the black gloved hands on the screen.

“These hands, do you recognize them?”

“This scar, does it look familiar to you?”

“And this name—Luc Yen—is you, right?”

He opened his mouth, his throat rolled, but he couldn't utter a word. The pair of "clumsy hands" that used to stir the pan on fire, chop vegetables until the other hand was cut, were now clutching the hem of their shirt. I suddenly felt very funny. We were married three years. I keep I thought I was marrying a normal man, a bit clumsy. Who would have thought that I would marry a legend living in lies.

"So the fried eggs are black, the instant noodles are salty... are you all pretending?"

His lips moved, finally able to squeeze out a few words.

“Miao Mieu, I…”

“Don't call me Mieu Mieu!”

“Why do you even have to disguise your identity?”

"Who are you? Why did you lie to me?"

2. Luc Yen bowed her head, like a child caught in battle.

“Sorry.”

Sorry again. For the past three years, he has only been able to say those three words every time. I used to think it was regret. Now I understand, that was just a joke.

“I don't want to hear an apology, I want to hear the truth.”

He was silent for a long time, so long that I thought he would continue to pretend to be stupid. Then he slowly spoke:

"I'm Luc Yen, that chef."

“But it's all in the past.”

His voice was calm, as if he was telling a story that had nothing to do with him.

“The past?” I laughed coldly. “Is the past so bad that you have to act for three years?”

“I don't act.”

He raised his head, there was pain in his eyes that I couldn't read.

“I really… don't want to touch those things anymore.”

“Because of Co Ngu Bang?”

I bluntly punctured the name he hid in the bottom of his heart. His body shook strongly.

“It has nothing to do with her.”

“It has nothing to do with her?” I pressed each step.

“You built a restaurant because of her, you disappeared from the world because of her?”

“And what was that fire all about?”

His face immediately turned white, his eyes avoided.

"It's all over, Mieu Mieu, don't ask anymore."

“Aren't we living very well now?”

Very good? I felt like I heard a giant joke. I'm a top food blogger, researching recipes every day to recreate famous dishes. My closest husband, a true "kitchen god", played the role of "kitchen assassin" in front of me for three years. I excitedly shared the newly made dish with him, he just said "delicious" and "okay". I thought you didn't know how to enjoy it. It turned out that in his eyes, those works I was proud of were probably just childish toys. What kind of “very good” is that? Obviously a satire to the core! Just as we were struggling and no one gave up, his phone rang. A name flashed on the screen — Co Ngu Bang. He instinctively wanted to turn off the phone, but the moment he met my eyes, he hesitated.