Chapter Twenty-One: Eggs

Day after day passed. Though Feng Xue, having grasped the heart of cuisine, showed little advancement in his culinary techniques, the dishes he created were now utterly transformed. It was as if he had opened a door leading straight to the summit of the culinary arts; bursts of inspiration flooded his mind. No matter how tricky the challenge, Feng Xue could now complete it with remarkable speed. He was no longer the mere craftsman with only basic skills and no personal style.

In the blink of an eye, evening on the third day arrived. According to custom, the Polar Star Dormitory group was gathered in Zenji Marui’s room, tormenting the already physically frail, bespectacled boy, when a sudden emergency notice came: they were to assemble immediately in the grand hall.

Upon arrival, they realized that all the remaining students had been summoned as well. Yet at this late hour, everyone seemed weary and dispirited.

“Seriously, why are we being called together so late…” Yuki grumbled.

Just then, as Gin Dojima ascended the stage, Feng Xue began to sense what storyline was about to unfold. In the “Training Camp” arc, there was a breakfast buffet challenge centered around eggs. He couldn’t recall the exact day, but evidently, it would be the fourth—tomorrow morning.

“There’s nothing out of the ordinary about calling you here,” Gin began. “I simply want to inform you about tomorrow’s assignment…”

The students grew even more puzzled. “Tomorrow’s assignment?”

“Why announce it now?”

“Are they giving us time to prepare because the elimination rate was too high before?”

But Gin did not provide the answer they anticipated.

“The task is to create a new breakfast dish for Totsuki Resort! Breakfast is the hotel’s face, the start of a guest’s new day. I want you to craft dishes that will satisfy and surprise our guests! The theme is ‘eggs’—any style, Japanese, Chinese, Western, as you wish.

The breakfast buffet begins at six o’clock tomorrow morning and lasts two hours. The minimum requirement to pass is to serve 200 plates. That’s all. You’re free to rest or to continue practicing; the kitchen and ingredients remain open… Dismissed!”

At these words, the already exhausted students let out wails of despair.

After a day-long battle, everyone was indeed drained, but now was not the time for rest.

Feng Xue, however, left the hall with composure. He did not rush to experiment in the kitchen. As a foresighted outsider, if he still needed to cram at the last minute, he’d hardly be worthy of his knowledge.

Early next morning, he arrived at the buffet hall almost at the stroke of the hour, retrieved his chosen ingredients from the storeroom, and couldn’t help but marvel at the resort's extravagance—ingredients costing hundreds, even thousands of yen per gram were at the students’ disposal.

He checked the pantry; stock levels were sufficient. Only then did he calmly wait for the start.

Soon, the announcement sounded. Gin’s voice came over the speakers: “Time’s up! Over the next two hours, you must serve at least 200 creative breakfasts themed on ‘eggs’ to pass. Now, let’s welcome our ‘judges!’”

As his words faded, the buffet doors swung open. First to dash in were several children of about ten, followed by a mixed crowd of all ages and genders.

Gin explained, “As in previous years, we have invited representatives of our partner suppliers, resort staff, and their families to be our ‘judges.’ They will be the fairest, for they will only eat what they wish… The rest is up to you!”

With that, everyone sprang into action. Though pre-preparation was allowed, serving finished dishes would be risky without a warming cabinet, as optimal taste would be lost and the opportunity to draw in guests through the cooking process would be squandered.

At the same time, dishes that could be completed swiftly had the advantage of attracting guests early and seizing the initiative.

Among the first wave, Takumi’s “Italian Frittata Salad” stood out. Frittata is a classic Italian dish: eggs mixed with cheese, small sausages, bell peppers, cherry tomatoes—all chopped and baked together. While appetizing, it wasn’t exactly “innovative” or “surprising.” To add a twist, Takumi cut the frittata into small blocks, tossed them with fresh fruits and vegetables, then added balsamic vinegar—the famed “Italian black vinegar” (though, to be honest, I can’t appreciate its appeal, perhaps I’m just too unsophisticated; I generally dislike most Western condiments, caviar included—other than a pleasant texture, its odd flavor pales compared to carp roe)—and Parmesan.

Such a fresh salad naturally appealed to the younger crowd, especially young women, who were quickly drawn to his creation.

Others chose a more comforting route, relying not on dazzling presentation or flashy technique, but on warmth. For instance, Megumi Tadokoro’s oden. Since the theme was “eggs,” and quick-witted students sought alternatives to chicken eggs, Megumi chose quail eggs.

Considering that in the morning, older guests preferred lighter fare, avoiding anything greasy, Megumi presented quail eggs and a medley of bite-sized vegetables, fish tofu, and mushrooms in a comforting oden broth.

This won the favor of many older guests, especially the three most senior supplier bosses, who were delighted by her oden.

Some, however, let their cleverness backfire, preparing dishes ill-suited to the occasion. For example, Yuuki made a meat-stuffed omelet similar to omurice. The flavor was light, with white wine vinegar and a semi-liquid yolk enhancing the veal inside, but the portion was too heavy for breakfast. Though it attracted some attention at first, interest soon waned. Only when Yuuki quickly shifted to flavors better suited to children’s morning appetites did her fortunes recover.

As for Feng Xue, he chose to draw in guests with his cooking process.

He set a pot of water to boil, then began to peel eggs. With his right thumb and middle finger pinching either end, he made a long stroke across the table. Instantly, the egg spun upright between his fingers.

Eggshells are fragile; too much pressure and they crack, but the real challenge was to keep the egg spinning swiftly between two fingers, without friction causing it to stop—a feat requiring delicate, almost illusory control.

Any force, and the egg would stop; too little, and it would slip to the floor.

This display immediately caught the crowd’s attention, but what happened next truly astonished them. Feng Xue’s index finger began to tap rapidly over the egg, as deft as an embroiderer’s needle through silk.

Setting aside the question of finger dexterity, with each tap, the egg in his hand began to emit the faint sound of cracking.

Amid this subtle but audible cracking, the first fragment of shell fell away.

Then the second, third, and more, raining down like droplets.

The shell fell away rapidly, and as the spinning slowed, the egg’s surface was soon nearly bare, save for a patch still pinched between his fingers.

This technique of shattering the shell was inspired by a scene from “A World Without Thieves,” which had once dazzled audiences. It was rumored that masters of internal martial arts could achieve such feats, but true experts would never perform them, and novices couldn’t; thus, the legend remained unproven.

Now, however, with a mind as calm as still water, Feng Xue wielded his control with precision, aided by his mastery of ripple energy. In moments, he had peeled an egg perfectly intact.

He placed the egg, now only covered by its inner membrane, into cold water to rest, and, without pause, began the process anew—this time with both hands, peeling two eggs at once.

As the number of peeled eggs in his bowls grew, so did the crowd around his station. Soon, he had more than a dozen bowls beside him, filled with over two hundred peeled eggs.

By now, the water had reached a rolling boil, bubbles like fish eyes rising in strings—about 95°C, the perfect temperature for brewing black tea.

Feng Xue produced a stash of black tea from the resort’s supplies—legendary Keemun spring tea, with single grams costing upwards of a thousand yen (even ordinary grades cost hundreds, lesser ones dozens, and the finest over three thousand per gram—well beyond my means, and genuine ones are near impossible to find).

Without hesitation, he tossed large handfuls into the pot, steeping them in boiling water. Connoisseurs, catching a whiff of the aroma, would have wanted to throttle him.

But the next step was even more shocking: Feng Xue added star anise, cinnamon, and other spices to the brewing tea, returning the pot to the heat.