Time turns back.
International Hotel's kitchen.
It's mealtime, and the kitchen is bustling.
The stoves are burning hot, fire tongues happily licking the pot bottoms, oil-smeared dishes singing merrily in the blaze, while chefs in white uniforms deftly stir fry with their woks.
Maneuvering pots and pans.
Producing delicious dishes, which are then taken by the waitstaff to the diners' tables.
As the Head Chef, Ma Qingxiong's main duties involve coordinating various kitchen sections such as cold dishes, pastries, steamer, preparation, and stir-frying, yet he still maintains the habit of stepping in to cook whenever needed.
In his own words: he considers himself the kitchen's fix-it guy, going wherever he's needed.
At this moment.
He's still weaving through the kitchen, checking on the chefs' cooking progress, occasionally offering some guidance.
Suddenly, his phone rings.
It's a takeaway call.
His heart skips a beat.
Could it be that he couldn't get it again?
