Mianmian walked Zhang Rui to the door, the sound of his polished shoes tapping softly against the floor.
Outside, the midday sun spilled over the quiet street, and he gave her one last polite nod before heading toward the corner, his black suit disappearing from sight.
She stood there for a moment, the warm breeze brushing against her cheeks, then turned back inside, her steps light.
Cheongsam was leaning on the counter, lazily flipping through a stack of newspapers. He looked up at her expectantly.
"Well?" he asked.
Mianmian's lips curved into a grin. "If I pass this, my standing as a chef will rise. This isn't just about cooking anymore, it's about recognition. People will have to take me seriously."
Cheongsam chuckled, tossing the papers aside. "So, does this mean we're celebrating?"
"Of course!" she laughed. " We'll close the restaurant a little earlier. I'll make something special tonight."
He arched a brow. "Special as in…expensive fish?"
