With the "family strike" crushed and her reputation at the factory solidified, Lin Xi had a war chest of nearly five hundred yuan. In 1983, this was a small fortune, but not enough to buy a prime location in the Capital.
"There is a place," Xiao Wang whispered as he walked Lin Xi through a narrow alley near the bustling Dongdan market. "But everyone says it's 'unlucky.' Three owners in two years. One went bankrupt, one ran away, and the last one... well, he said the walls were weeping."
Lin Xi stood before a two-story gray brick building. It was covered in grime, and a "For Lease" sign hung crookedly on the door. It sat at the intersection of a residential district and the new commercial zone—a goldmine of foot traffic.
"The walls aren't weeping," Lin Xi said, touching the damp brick. "The drainage pipe is blocked. And the owners didn't fail because of ghosts; they failed because their food was forgettable."
She signed the lease that afternoon. The landlord, desperate to get rid of the "cursed" property, gave it to her for a pittance.
But there was a catch.
"To run a private restaurant of this size," the landlord warned, "you need a Grade-A Culinary Certificate from the City Catering Bureau. Without it, the Secretary will shut you down for 'unlicensed operation' before you can even light the stove."
The Culinary.
The Catering Bureau's testing hall was a cavernous room filled with the clatter of knives and the scent of charcoal. Lin Xi stood in her simple white apron, surrounded by fifty middle-aged men with thick callouses on their hands—the "Old Guard" of the state-run hotels.
"A girl?" one of the judges, a man with a heavy belly and a "Master Chef" badge, sneered. "Little sister, this isn't a home kitchen. We are testing for the National Banquet standards. Go home and fry some eggs."
Lin Xi didn't blink. She laid out her personal set of knives—honed to a mirror finish—on the wooden bench. "The fire doesn't care about your age, and the wok doesn't care about your gender. Shall we begin?"
The task was a classic: The Chrysanthemum Tofu.
The chefs had to slice a block of soft, silken tofu into a thousand delicate strands that bloomed like a flower in a bowl of broth, without breaking a single thread. It required the steady hand of a surgeon and the soul of an artist.
The room went silent. The other chefs used heavy cleavers, their foreheads beaded with sweat.
Lin Xi moved with a terrifying, fluid grace. She didn't look at the tofu; she felt the resistance of the water. Her knife blurred a silver streak in the dim light.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
When she finished, she placed her bowl before the head judge. At first, it looked like a plain block of tofu in clear water. But as she gently tapped the side of the bowl, the tofu exploded into ten thousand shimmering, hair-thin white petals.
The judges gasped. "This... this is the 'Heavenly Bloom' technique! Even the Master of the Great Hall of the People can only do this with a specialized blade!"
"I don't need a specialized blade," Lin Xi said, cleaning her knife. "I just need to know the grain of the world."
But the exam wasn't over. The second stage was "Innovation with Scarcity." Each chef was given a basket of "trash" ingredients: chicken feet, potato peels, and sour wine.
The other chefs tried to hide the flavors with heavy salt and spice.
Lin Xi did the opposite. She used the potato peels to create a smoky, earthy broth. She deboned the chicken feet with a single twist, stuffing them with a paste made from the marrow and the sour wine, which she had "corrected" with a pinch of charred sugar.
When the head judge tasted it, he dropped his spoon. "This doesn't taste like trash. It tastes like... a memory of a feast. How?"
"Because in the 80s, nothing should be wasted," Lin Xi said, her voice echoing in the hall. "A true chef doesn't need bird's nest and shark fin to prove their worth. They only need to respect the ingredient."
The "Master Chef" judge, who had mocked her earlier, stood up and bowed. "I have taught for thirty years. Today, I am the student. Grade-A Certificate... granted."
The Grand Opening: The "Xi Garden"
Two weeks later, the "cursed" shop was transformed. The walls were scrubbed white, the drainage was fixed, and a simple wooden sign hung over the door: Xi Garden.
Lin Xi didn't invite the press or the local officials. She didn't need to.
As the sun set, a line of sleek black military vehicles pulled up to the curb. Gu Shaozheng stepped out, looking regal in his dress uniform. Behind him were the generals from the Northern Command and the directors of the largest factories in the city.
"You've caused a stir, Lin Xi," Gu Shaozheng said, handing her a bouquet of red peonies the symbol of prosperity. "The Secretary is furious. He tried to block the certificate, but the Bureau judges threatened to strike if he did. You've become a hero to the common chefs."
"I'm not a hero," Lin Xi said, leading him to the best table in the house the one by the window. "I'm just a woman who's very good at getting what she wants."
"And what is it you want now?" Gu Shaozheng asked, his voice low, his eyes fixed on her.
Lin Xi leaned in, the scent of jasmine and star anise swirling between them. "I want the Capital to know that the 'Lin Family' is just a footnote. And I want the man sitting across from me to realize that his 'protection' was just the appetizer."
As the first plates of "Golden Silk Crisps" were served, a flashbulb went off. A journalist from the Capital Daily was standing in the doorway.
The next morning's headline would read: The Ghost of the Alley: A New Queen Rises in the Kitchen.
But as the celebrations continued, a figure watched from the shadows of the alleyway. It was Lin Jiaojiao, her eyes bloodshot, clutching a letter. Her father, the Secretary, had been demoted due to the "Sanitation Scandal," and she had been expelled from the university for her role in the poisoning.
"You think you've won?" Jiaojiao hissed, her voice trembling. "I've contacted the 'Old Master' in the South. The man your father really owed money to. He's coming, Lin Xi.
And he doesn't care about your certificates."