Chapter Six: The Noble Families

In his previous life, Cheng Xiaoyu could be considered a non-fussy foodie. He relished flavorful street food cooked with gutter oil, saved up for months to dine at Michelin three-star restaurants in Hong Kong, and toured all the hole-in-the-wall eateries of the provincial capital with friends, giving reasonable and honest ratings. He was also quite skilled in the kitchen, sometimes cooking at home for his own amusement, though his efficiency was notoriously low. Occasionally, when friends came over for a small gathering, he would start prepping at four, begin cooking at six, and usually the last dish wouldn’t be served until eight. By then, he was the only one left eating; his rowdy friends had already eaten their fill while he was still at the stove.

The Su family’s villa was neither the fresh, airy style of old Jiangnan gardens nor the solemn grandeur of European aristocracy. It was a pioneering fusion of neo-European and modernist design—unmistakably the result of Zhou Peipei’s vision and effort.

The first floor of the villa featured expansive panels of elegant white marble from Greece, a rare stone with restricted annual extraction. The second and third floors made liberal use of metal and glass. The house itself was laid out in a horizontal "I" shape, the main entrance on the left, leading to a garage with six spaces. In the front recess of the "I" was a small artificial waterfall, flanked by several palm trees. Snow-white jade columns stood between the first and second floors, lending the noble, elegant structure a majestic presence. At the other end of the "I" was an indented area holding a square swimming pool, with an outdoor wooden deck in the center, planted with a laurel tree and furnished with sofas and a tea table. The villa spanned well over a thousand square meters—just the interior was more than that. Even more luxurious, the butler, servants, and driver didn’t live here, but resided in a neighboring European-style villa of about five hundred square meters.

At that moment, Cheng Xiaoyu was sitting in the dining room with Aunt Zhou, watching the French chef Jean Virey-François standing beside a custom steak cart, explaining his craft.

Virey wore a tall mushroom-shaped chef’s hat—a symbol of skill among French chefs. His Chinese was tinged with a heavy French accent but still quite fluent, clearly not his first time showcasing his talents for distinguished guests from China.

“This is a cut from between the sixth and eighth ribs, the finest part of the cow. Because it’s Kobe beef, it has already rested in a temperature- and humidity-controlled cold storage for twenty-eight days, which has made the texture tighter and improved the flavor. All we need is to take it out of the fridge and let it reach room temperature for two or three hours. To suit Chinese tastes, I’ve marinated this meat with my special seasoning.” Virey then lit the stove and heated the pan.

“Most chefs will tell you to cook steak over medium heat, flipping every two to four minutes. But I prefer high heat.” When a faint smoke began to rise from the pan, Virey gently placed a small piece of butter in. “Butter is better than olive oil for searing steak—it gives a richer aroma and a more appealing color.” When the butter was melted, Virey used wooden tongs to pick up the Kobe beef from the tray, carefully placing it into the pan and sprinkling a little sea salt on top. From a short distance, Cheng Xiaoyu could hear the wonderful sizzling and see the oil dancing on the marble-veined, rosy Kobe beef, unable to stop himself from swallowing involuntarily.

“We wait for the steak to develop a golden crust, then the magic Maillard reaction happens. Haha, a doctor who doesn’t want to be a chemist can’t be a good chef!” Virey demonstrated his French humor at just the right moment.

“The Maillard reaction, specifically for steak, is when proteins and sugars interact to create that meaty aroma.” He took a deep breath, pretending to be intoxicated by the scent.

“I flip the steak about every twenty seconds, letting the fragrant fats seep from outside in. Now the question: beautiful madam, how would you like your steak?” Virey, deftly flipping the steak with wooden tongs, kept up his chatter.

Aunt Zhou seemed entirely unperturbed by the scene, unmoved by Virey’s energetic culinary performance, and answered matter-of-factly, “Medium-well.”

Virey then turned and asked, “And our lovely young master, how would you like yours?”

Cheng Xiaoyu replied, “Well-done, please.”

As he spoke, Virey kept rhythmically flipping the steak, occasionally inserting a metal probe thermometer into the middle. “Generally, medium-well is at sixty degrees, well-done about sixty-five.” With that, he took the steak from the pan, placed it on a silver platter, and covered it. He signaled his assistant to wheel away the cart and bowed slightly. “Beautiful madam and esteemed young master, please wait a moment for your delicious Kobe steak. Freshly cooked steak isn’t yet at its best—please allow me to leave briefly to perfect this gift from heaven.”

Zhou Peipei nodded, “We’ll wait here to enjoy your fine craftsmanship.” The tall-hatted French chef bowed and left the dining room, bringing with him the secrets of his culinary process.

Cheng Xiaoyu was dazzled by the meal—not just the Kobe beef, but the table was laden with a dazzling, abundant array of dishes, if not a full imperial banquet. Bird’s nest and shredded chicken soup, sea cucumber braised with pork tendon, razor clam and radish broth, carp tongue with bear paw, fermented rice with ape lips, Wen Si tofu soup, soft-shell turtle and meat slice soup, premium rice soup bowls, hibiscus eggs, goose gizzard and paw stew, steamed shad fish in rice wine, mock perch liver—an endless display filled the round table.

Cheng Xiaoyu had never witnessed such extravagance and hurriedly said to Aunt Zhou, “Aunt Zhou, isn’t this too much food?”

Aunt Zhou placed a piece of bear paw into his bowl, “Just eat. Bear paw is a rare treat—I hardly ever get to try it. It’s your birthday, your first in China. How could I let you feel slighted? Even if your living situation isn’t perfect, at least you can eat well. Your father doesn’t say much, but he cares. The Kobe beef was arranged by Qiao San, because he thinks you like Western food.”

Cheng Xiaoyu fell silent, almost moved to tears. He thought of many things: the noodles his mother made in his previous life, the braised pork his mother cooked in this one. Eyes reddened, he lowered his head and ate to hide his vulnerability. Zhou Peipei, shrewd as she was, guessed half of his thoughts and said nothing more.

After a quick meal, the butler Qiao San organized the cleanup of the dining room. The leftovers went to the servants’ table, and for the inexperienced Filipino maids, it was a feast they’d boast about for a lifetime.

Cheng Xiaoyu left the dining room with Aunt Zhou, trailing slightly behind her. Passing Su Yuxi’s piano room, Aunt Zhou turned and said, “Even if you’re angry with your father, you shouldn’t neglect your practice. Next year is the college entrance exam. You’ll get into university for sure, but if you want to attend the Shanghai Conservatory, you’ll need to practice harder. Whether you choose piano or composition, Professor Li Yunling is in charge—she’s notoriously strict and difficult to please. You said you’d take your studies seriously last time, so I’ll be watching. Don’t worry about your academic grades, a little lacking is fine, but you must put in more effort for the art exam.”

Cheng Xiaoyu glanced at Su Yuxi’s glass-walled piano room, where a white Steinway concert grand stood. The Steinway itself was valuable, and a white one even rarer. On its body, crystalline imitation petals hung from elegant silver branches, shimmering like fleeting light, refracting rainbow hues and warning strangers to keep their distance.

He felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought of his sister, so lofty and unreachable as Everest. Su Yuxi’s aloofness was much like Su Changhe’s—serious, cold, proud. Polite to everyone on the surface, she kept an unbridgeable distance from all. Suddenly, Cheng Xiaoyu missed the second-hand Yamaha 5 he’d left in San Francisco, a birthday gift from his mother Cheng Qiuci when he was eight. That old piano had accompanied him through long childhood years; he knew every slack key and shallow scratch.

Aunt Zhou seemed to read the complexity in his gaze and smiled, “If you want to practice, go ahead. I’ll talk to Yuxi tonight. Anyway, now that she has to go to the company after school to practice singing and dancing, she doesn’t have much time for piano.”

Cheng Xiaoyu hesitated, averse to facing Su Yuxi’s cold stare. He hated the awkward feeling of being an outsider and replied, “Aunt Zhou, no need to trouble yourself! I love the piano, and for music students like us, we usually don’t like others touching our instrument. Occasional sharing is fine, but frequent use is hard to tolerate. So please don’t ask Yuxi. There’s a piano room at school, I’ll rent one and practice there.”

Aunt Zhou thought for a moment, “Your father won’t let you board at school, so don’t mention practicing there. I’ll convert the billiard room by the garage into a piano room for you! It won’t be as spacious or bright as Yuxi’s, but don’t mind that!” Cheng Xiaoyu felt conflicted—deep down he longed for it, but the expense seemed extravagant and out of place with his humble mindset.

Aunt Zhou didn’t wait for his answer, patting his shoulder, “It’s settled! The billiard room has never been used anyway. You can design your piano room yourself—I'll tell Qiao San to clear it out right away.”

Cheng Xiaoyu was unaccustomed to Aunt Zhou’s decisiveness and hurriedly said, “Aunt Zhou, please don’t rush, let me think about it.”

Aunt Zhou waved it off, “I’m in charge here. If you have any requests, just tell Qiao San. I still have to go back to school this afternoon. Your sister will probably be home after six. If you’re bored, use her piano to practice—but mind the time! If she catches you, I won’t be able to save you!”