Chapter 57: Racing Forward

Chapter 57: Full Throttle

A black Kaiyue 450rr motorcycle pulled into Yatai's parking lot, its silhouette aggressive, every crease catching a cold glint, the exoskeleton's lines sharp as knife cuts, the low-slung front sweeping back like a black arrow nocked and ready to fly.

The engine note gradually died down as the young man took off his helmet, revealing a face that didn't give a damn.

Zhao Yu had paid nearly twenty thousand for this bike, and it was second-hand at that, but the Kaiyue's looks spoke for themselves—he was hooked the second he laid eyes on it. It got him to work and back, and on his days off, it was his joyride machine.

Yatai's lot wasn't exactly hurting for luxury cars. Two spaces over sat a Porsche, the woman behind the wheel rolling down her window, taking off her shades, and not being able to take her eyes off him.

Zhao Yu had been recovering well lately. Muscle had started to fill back in, his shoulders stretching the loose black T-shirt, his six-foot frame no longer gaunt, his short crop giving him a rugged, wild look.

He was a far cry from the washed-up drunk he used to be.

Helmet under his arm, he turned and cut across the lot, vanishing through Yatai's side door in a few strides. The woman snapped out of it, kicking herself for not asking for his number.

Zhao Yu changed quickly and walked into the kitchen, and got hit with a wall of stares.

He'd been on leave for over half a month, and word around the kitchen was that he'd bailed under Chef Cao's pressure. No one expected him back.

Cao Xu wasn't around at the moment, so Che Shijie walked over. "Why such a long leave? Everything good at home?"

Zhao Yu said, "Yeah, all taken care of."

Che Shijie clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling. "Good to hear. Work hard from here on out. You've been gone a while, so Chef Cao might have a bone to pick with you—don't sweat it, I've got your back."

At the obvious provocation, Zhao Yu knocked his hand away. "If my mentor's got a problem with me, then I haven't done my job right. Besides, you and my mentor are both head chefs—how exactly are you gonna cover for me?"

Zhao Yu had always been polite to Che Shijie before, mindful that this job had come through Gu Hansheng's connections and he couldn't tarnish his name. With that tie gone, Zhao Yu said exactly what he thought—and he'd been sick of Che Shijie for a long time.

Che Shijie was taken aback by the retort.

The rest of the kitchen stared at Zhao Yu, looking uneasy. Talking to a head chef like that—the guy had to be out of his mind.

But Che Shijie was all about keeping up appearances. He smiled and said, "Looks like you and Chef Cao are tight. That's good. I respect that."

Zhao Yu ignored him, scanning Cao Xu's usual station for something to do. Che Shijie's smile didn't budge, but his eyes had gone cold.

Before long, Cao Xu walked in with two delivery guys hauling seafood, pointing them to the cold storage.

Zhao Yu had texted Cao Xu before his shift, so the chef didn't bat an eye. He waved him over. "Perfect timing. Get this batch of seafood prepped."

"On it, Chef." Zhao Yu pulled on rubber gloves and an apron, heading over.

"Look at you—nice new haircut." Seeing him looking sharp, Cao Xu cracked a rare smile.

Cao Xu really thought highly of Zhao Yu. When he'd first arrived, Cao Xu had held no expectations—several apprentices before him had already quit, kids with a little talent who got too big for their britches, chasing secret recipes and connections instead of nailing down the basics.

Then Zhao Yu showed up, and Cao Xu saw himself at that age. Hands rubbed raw from knife practice, calluses forming and tearing open again, grinding through every dirty, thankless job in the kitchen without a single complaint.

Zhao Yu had a pure, laser-like focus—something you can't have unless you genuinely love cooking.

On top of that, his palate was sharper than most, and he picked things up fast. This guy was born for the trade.

So when Gu Hansheng came to him asking to talk some sense into Zhao Yu, he said yes without a second thought. Watching a promising talent wreck himself would've been a damn shame.

Seeing Zhao Yu crack open lobster shells with practiced ease, his technique as sharp as ever, Cao Xu nodded in approval and turned to plan the day's menu.

Che Shijie watched the two of them, simmering with resentment.

If he couldn't have Zhao Yu, then Cao Xu sure as hell wouldn't.

Che Shijie called the pudgy kid aside, muttered some instructions, and sweetened the deal with a few perks. The kid nodded eagerly.

The day's menu was heavy on seafood—sashimi was a summer staple. Zhao Yu plated the lobster sashimi, set it aside, and turned to prep another dish. It wouldn't go out until Cao Xu's dipping sauce was ready.

The kitchen was a constant blur of bodies. The pudgy kid walked past the lobster sashimi and, in one quick motion, squeezed a heavy dose of lemon juice all over it.

Cao Xu didn't notice. He finished the sauce, set it on a tray, and had someone take it out.

Half an hour later, the manager walked back into the kitchen carrying the lobster sashimi platter, his face grim. "Chef Cao, Chef Che—we can't serve today's lobster sashimi. The ingredients might be off."

Che Shijie said, "Chef Cao checked the seafood when it came in. That shouldn't be the case—what's going on?"

Cao Xu frowned too. The lobsters were lively when they came in; there was no way they were stale. He looked at the sashimi on the plate, picked up a slice, and tasted it. His expression shifted. "Zhao Yu! Get over here!"

Zhao Yu set down his work and walked over. "What's up, mentor?"

"Lemon juice on lobster sashimi—is that how I taught you to do it?!" Cao Xu slammed the plate on the counter with a loud clatter.

For all his admiration of Zhao Yu, Cao Xu was ruthless in the kitchen. He'd trusted Zhao Yu with this task, and the sashimi had come out wrong—disappointment crept in. "If you're not in the right headspace, go home!"

Zhao Yu was baffled. He picked up the plate, sniffed it, then tried a piece. The sour lemon juice had altered the texture, making the crisp bite slightly tough.

Maybe the average diner wouldn't notice, but Yatai's clientele were connoisseurs of fine dining—hyper-sensitive to ingredients. The slightest off-note and they'd refuse to pay.

Zhao Yu hadn't squeezed any lemon juice. The plate had been sitting on the counter, and more than one person had passed by. He scanned the room, seeing it all clearly. With the blond kid's dirty tricks as a precedent, nothing anyone did surprised him anymore.

He said, "I didn't squeeze lemon juice. But the sashimi was my work, so I'll take responsibility for it. Manager, whatever penalty you see fit, I'll accept it."

The manager said, "A fine, then. Chef Cao, what do you think?"

Hearing Zhao Yu's explanation, Cao Xu began to piece it together. Zhao Yu wasn't the careless type. He paused in thought, holding back his anger. Finally, looking at the lobster meat on the plate, he said, "Fine. Follow procedure."

Zhao Yu quietly collected the plate and swallowed the injustice like a ripe persimmon.

Later that afternoon, Cao Xu called Zhao Yu behind the curtain of his break area for a dressing-down, his voice loud enough for the entire kitchen to hear.

The pudgy kid snickered nearby, and Che Shijie was thoroughly pleased.

Making trouble for Zhao Yu was child's play. As long as Zhao Yu and Cao Xu developed a rift, he'd either come crawling to Che Shijie or get fired by Cao Xu. Che Shijie knew Cao Xu's temperament well—he tolerated no flaws. A few more mistakes from Zhao Yu, and Cao Xu would never keep him.

Zhao Yu had been so defiant this morning—Che Shijie had thought the kid had some spine. But when trouble hit, he just bowed his head like everyone else.

Come to think of it, last time when the blond kid stirred up trouble, Zhao Yu had stepped forward but hadn't dared throw a punch, getting shoved to the ground without fighting back.

Che Shijie mulled it over and concluded that Zhao Yu was all bark, no bite. Not much guts after all.

At dinner service, Zhao Yu didn't let his own dishes out of sight for a second—from firing to plating to handing off to the runners.

He was meticulous, and no one got the drop on him that night. But he knew the saboteur would strike again.

When his shift ended, rain had started falling outside.

Summer storms always came out of nowhere. The rain was light, so Zhao Yu threw on a black waterproof jacket, strapped on his helmet, and prepared to ride home through it.

The black Kaiyue's wheel carved a circle in its parking spot, spinning in place and kicking up a spray of water.

Zhao Yu eased out of the lot, about to take a corner and accelerate, when a silver Mercedes-AMG sports car cut across his path in a wave of heat.

Raindrops pelted Zhao Yu's helmet as he lifted his visor, wondering what this car was doing driving like a maniac in the dead of night—or whether the guy in a million-dollar ride was really trying to mess with a biker.

Until the window rolled down, revealing a familiar face and a familiar tone: "Get in."

Short and to the point—that was Gu Hansheng's style.

No explanation of why he was there, no mention of where they were headed—same as always.

Zhao Yu didn't give a damn about whatever business he had. He snapped his visor down, cut a sharp turn, and slipped around the AMG with ease, hitting the main road.

Even so, Zhao Yu spotted the AMG tailing him stubbornly in the rearview mirror. He gunned the throttle, letting the exhaust scream through the empty streets. The Kaiyue 450rr tore ahead like a black bolt of lightning, metal glinting under the streetlights.

The silver AMG wasn't about to be shaken. Its sharp body lines cut through the light and shadow, the waterfall grille bristling like fangs. As it tore through the night, raindrops burst into smears of neon, the car slicing through the air like a silver arrow.

The two vehicles raced through the rain, one after the other. After passing an intersection, the black Kaiyue suddenly veered off, slipping into a narrow alley like a shadow and vanishing from sight within seconds.

Only after shaking off the trailing car did Zhao Yu emerge from the other end of the alley and continue toward home.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the neighborhood and slowed to a stop—only to find the silver AMG already parked at the main gate. He ground his teeth, lifted his visor, and looked at the man stepping out of the car.

"Since you already found out where I live, why chase me all the way here?" Zhao Yu said. "Mr. Gu must be pretty bored, huh?"

Gu Hansheng didn't hold an umbrella. The drizzle soaked into his clothes, leaving dark blotches here and there.

Zhao Yu still had his helmet on, so Gu Hansheng could only see the eyes revealed beneath the visor. Zhao Yu's pitch-black pupils stared at him coldly, devoid of any emotion.