To outsiders, fried sauce noodles—zhajiangmian—might seem like one of the simplest specialties from China's capital city. A humble dish. Familiar. Straightforward.
But those who only scratch the surface of food rarely understand its soul.
Zane had seen the misunderstanding firsthand. He remembered an episode of a cooking channel on Bilibili, where a bright-eyed content creator earnestly taught "authentic" zhajiangmian. To "reduce the saltiness," they added sugar to the sauce.
Zane nearly choked on his tea.
Adding sugar?
To fried sauce noodles?
Blasphemy.
He had to shut the video off before his blood pressure spiked.
It wasn't just about a cooking choice—it was about respecting generations of taste memory. A simple dish like zhajiangmian carried centuries of capital flavor, of household nuance, of seasonal balance, of identity.
And people were ruining it in the name of palatability.
Fried Sauce Noodles: One Name, Infinite VariationsIn truth, no single recipe could be crowned as the only authentic version of zhajiangmian. Each household had their own tweaks—some sweetened slightly, some added star anise, others fried the pork belly into crispy bits first.
Even neighboring Korea had their own version—jajangmyeon—dark, glossy, and leaning heavily into sweetness.
But true connoisseurs knew: while methods vary, the essence remains the same.
Zane understood this deeply. For today's breakfast, he aimed not only to recreate the nostalgic taste—but to elevate it, while still paying homage to its roots.
Three pillars defined the dish:
The Noodles — chewy, smooth, and cold-rinsed.
The Sauce — rich with umami, glistening with fat.
The Toppings — fresh, seasonal, and harmonizing.
Toppings were where the creativity could shine.
Some homes added just a few strands of cucumber.
Others prepared an elaborate medley of vegetables. In Beijing, this variety was jokingly called:
"Seven plates and eight bowls."
Of course, it wasn't literally 15 dishes. It was an idiom—symbolizing abundance, like a festival of freshness dancing around the richness of the sauce.
In spring, fragrant radish leaves were prized. In winter, blanched cabbage was preferred. A real gourmand knew to align the plate with the season.
Once the moment passed…
You had to wait another year.
Morning Rituals, Soulful SauceZane's version was both generous and respectful.
For raw toppings, he laid out shredded cucumber, thin radish slices, chopped green garlic, and even a few fresh garlic cloves, peeled and pungent.
For the cooked ones: celery bits, blanched spinach, soybeans, green peas, bean sprouts, and lightly stir-fried cabbage.
As he plated them around the noodles like petals surrounding the heart of a flower, Hisako walked over, eyes wide.
"That many toppings?" she asked, stunned. "All for fried sauce noodles?"
Zane chuckled, wiping his hands. "You bet. I made some improvements—wanted you to try it out for breakfast. And hey, if you think it needs changes, don't hold back."
Hisako brightened. "Breakfast, huh?"
She pulled up a chair, picked up her chopsticks, and took a moment to admire the colorful bowl in front of her.
"Alright then. I'll taste it seriously—as a customer," she said playfully.
She mixed the noodles gently, distributing the glossy sauce among the springy strands and the toppings. At the end, she placed a couple of raw garlic cloves on top.
And then—slurp.
A Mouthful of Memory and MasteryHisako's eyes widened immediately.
The rich aroma of fermented soybean paste mingled with the meaty perfume of slow-rendered pork belly. The sauce coated the noodles without overwhelming them—salty, but not aggressively so; rich, but not greasy.
"Mmm! This sauce is…" she took another bite, then sighed. "So full. Deep. But somehow not heavy."
She paused, then looked up.
"You can feel… the history in this dish."
Zane tilted his head, curious.
"I mean, I can taste the past. The craftsmanship. The balance. Like… this sauce was perfected across centuries, passed from mother to daughter, father to son."
Her words made Zane pause. It wasn't just praise. It was reverence.
"The toppings lighten it up. Every crisp bite resets the palate. And the garlic… the garlic just punches you awake."
Hisako closed her eyes for a second, smiling.
"It's like nature and culture are dancing in my mouth."
Zane smiled, heart warm.
But there was more.
Even beyond ingredients and flavor, she could taste something else—"wok hei". The elusive breath of the wok. The heat control. The movement of the chef's spirit across flame and oil.
Zane had given himself fully to this bowl.
It showed.
Bittersweet ReflectionAs she ate slowly, a small shadow passed over Hisako's face.
This place… this tavern… feels like home.
A dangerous thought.
Because she knew she couldn't stay.
She was a Totsuki student—and not just any student. She was Erina's aide, her confidant, her lifeline.
Without her…
Erina would falter. That much she knew.
She stared down at the last few strands of noodles, her throat tightening.
"Miss Erina…"
Zane looked over, surprised. "You okay? Why bring her up all of a sudden?"
Hisako looked down, cheeks red and voice low.
"She's coming to intern here tomorrow."
"I'm worried."
She sniffled softly.
"I don't know if she'll understand what this place is… what it means. Or what you've done for me."
Zane placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll help you reconcile," he said firmly. "Leave it to me."
Hisako's heart thudded, then softened.
"Thank you," she whispered, wiping her eyes with a sleeve.
Meanwhile, at Totsuki Academy...Across the city, the towering halls of Totsuki Academy stood like silent sentinels.
Inside the highest tower, Director Senzaemon groaned, putting down his pen and stretching stiff limbs.
"Ack… this old back of mine…"
He winced and rubbed his waist, sighing deeply.
"The Autumn Elections nearly killed me, and now there's hands-on training on top of it?"
He glanced at a stack of student files.
"Erina… still too young for the chair," he muttered.
Once, he'd pinned hopes on his son Mana. But fate had other plans.
Now, the succession question weighed heavily once more.
Soma's New BattlefieldAt the SHINO'S Tokyo branch, a familiar red-haired boy stood nervously at the entrance.
"Hello, Senior Shino! I'm the intern from Totsuki—Soma Yukihira!"
Inside, Shino Kojiro, former Totsuki prodigy and stoic culinary perfectionist, glanced up.
His expression tightened.
"I told them to send someone from the top of the Autumn Selection," he said coldly. "And they send you?"
Soma winced, but kept his smile.
"Yeah… I was surprised, too."
"Barely qualified," Shino muttered.
"...Thanks?"
Shino relented after a pause. "You're here. Fine. But if you're not useful, I'll kick you out."
"Understood."
"Then start with the floors."
Soma froze.
"...Cleaning the floors?"
Kirinoya's Warm WelcomeElsewhere, in the stylish yet cozy Kirinoya Restaurant, a tiny wind chime rang as the front door opened, ushering in morning sun.
In the kitchen, Hisako was hard at work—now in full sushi chef mode.
Rice steamed in the pot. Once done, she transferred it to a wooden basin, adding vinegar and fanning it evenly to cool.
She sliced fresh fish precisely, cut vegetables into matchsticks, and rolled them together into tightly packed sushi rolls.
Then—slice, slice, slice—the perfect round pieces appeared.
Each one was uniform. Balanced. Artful.
Beside her, Inui Hinako, the restaurant's warm-hearted owner, beamed.
"Hisako," she said gently. "I've been watching you for a long time. Even back when you helped Director Shino… I saw it."
"Saw what?" Hisako asked, surprised.
"Your sincerity."
Hinako took Hisako's hands in hers.
"That sincerity is what changed Shino's heart. And that's why I'm glad you're here."
Touched, Hisako bowed deeply.
"I'll do my best, Senior Hinako. I won't let you down."