The man with glasses chuckled. "Close. This one's from some community culinary program in the west. No big academy behind them."
Fu Pei let out a bark of laughter. "Ah, perfect. Let me guess—special skill: peeling garlic in under ten seconds? Or maybe their family's noodle stall gave them the courage to apply here." He shook his head and plucked the file off the desk like it was contaminated.
"These people have no shame. This isn't a hobby contest, it's the Culinary Association. Standards exist for a reason."
The woman with the neat bun giggled into her hand. "Fu Pei, don't be so cruel."
"Cruel?" Fu Pei raised an eyebrow, flipping through the file. "I call it realistic. Better they hear it from us now than embarrass themselves on the stage."
Zhang Rui kept his focus on his letters, though the tension in his jaw gave away his irritation.
