Chapter Seventy-Eight: Willing to Give and Willing to Receive

Going through the whole master-disciple routine? Qiu Fengyu couldn’t help but admire this father and son pair. Davis, on the other hand, watched Mikura Masatoshi with genuine interest, as if witnessing something highly entertaining.

Mikura Masatoshi straightened his upper body and said to Qiu Fengyu, “My father has decided to pay you a fee for accepting me as your apprentice. You won’t be teaching me for nothing. We’ve researched the Chinese apprenticeship process and plan to hold a ceremony, inviting many witnesses…”

This fellow had indeed prepared thoroughly.

Qiu Fengyu stroked his chin. There was an apprenticeship fee, though he had never taken on a disciple before and wasn’t familiar with the proper process. Yet the Japanese had investigated everything meticulously—quite thoughtful.

“How much?” Qiu Fengyu hesitated to ask directly, but Davis felt no such restraint. He looked at Mikura Masatoshi, full of anticipation, as if the money were coming to him.

“One hundred thousand!” Mikura Masatoshi, sensing hope, quickly replied, “If that’s not enough, we can negotiate further.” It was entirely a matter of willing buyer, willing seller—they approached the whole thing as a business transaction.

But their business posture was humble enough to make anyone comfortable, raising the likelihood of agreement. Clearly, Mikura Kenzo was a shrewd businessman.

“Are you sure it’s not yen?” Davis’s eyes lit up. One hundred thousand dollars—it was practically daylight robbery.

“It’s US dollars, absolutely US dollars!” Mikura Masatoshi hurried to clarify.

Qiu Fengyu nodded, glanced at Mikura Kenzo, and said, “I can’t give you an answer right now. Tell your father, if he truly wants to learn, I need to speak with him directly. Is that alright?”

“Of course, that’s no problem at all.” Mikura Masatoshi grinned, though his manner was somewhat off-putting—his demeanor was soft, and he liked stirring things up without provocation.

“Should I kowtow now?” Mikura Masatoshi seemed a bit hesitant.

Qiu Fengyu couldn’t help but burst out laughing: “Forget it, we’re doing business, not taking in disciples. Fair trade—money for knowledge, nothing more. Don’t overcomplicate it. I trust your father understands that business is business. Get up, hurry back and tell him.”

Mikura Masatoshi nodded, then got up, nodded to Davis as well, and left the shop.

“One hundred thousand dollars… Boss, we’re rich!” Davis chuckled, highly excited.

“No, I’m rich!” Qiu Fengyu corrected.

“Alright, boss, you’re rich!” Davis said, a bit disgruntled—couldn’t he let me enjoy it a little longer?

As Qiu Fengyu expected, that afternoon, the two Mikura ladies arrived. Mikura Kenzo understood that Qiu Fengyu was fond of little girls, so every time he invited Qiu Fengyu over, Mikura Minami would come along.

Unlike Mikura Ryoko’s solemn bow, Mikura Minami ran straight to Qiu Fengyu, arms outstretched for a hug, then perched contentedly on his arm, using her chubby hands to play with his hair and sniff with her nose.

One wonders what’s so enticing about oily hair.

The little girl could now manage simple English phrases, repeating them to Qiu Fengyu, but the older beauty spoiled the mood.

“Minami, come down,” said the beauty in Japanese. Qiu Fengyu didn’t understand, but the little girl, with a reluctant face and aggrieved eyes, climbed down and, unwillingly, took Mikura Ryoko’s hand.

As she took the beauty’s hand, she saw Qiu Fengyu making faces at her and couldn’t help but giggle, but a stern look from the beauty silenced her, and she looked on the verge of tears.

“Don’t act like that, Minami, it’s impolite!” Mikura Ryoko’s voice was icy. She glanced at Qiu Fengyu and softened her tone, “Please do agree.” She bowed as she spoke.

“I’ll definitely come!” Qiu Fengyu was not one for formalities, then waved goodbye to Mikura Minami.

Seeing the little girl always lifted his spirits. Qiu Fengyu now cherished all things beautiful, and little girls were certainly among them.

As usual, when Tim returned, Qiu Fengyu put him through special training, mainly in combat techniques. Now, Tim could exchange a few moves with him, though still not enough—good against ordinary people, but he’d be no match for real fighters.

After their session, Qiu Fengyu prepared to shower and changed into a shirt.

“Going on a date?” Tim laughed when he saw Qiu Fengyu dressed up.

“You’re crazy!” Qiu Fengyu ignored him, ready to leave. “Lock the shop—now that I’m a man of means, it’ll attract thieves.”

Tim laughed loudly, “You must be going on a date. With whom? Chief Coffin?”

“If I pass that on to Chief Coffin, guess how she’ll deal with you, idiot—” Qiu Fengyu threatened.

The threat was effective; Tim quickly raised his hands in surrender. No one wanted trouble with Chief Coffin.

Qiu Fengyu left, then thought to himself—it was awkward to visit their house empty-handed each time. He ought to bring something along. After a moment’s reflection, he felt this was the right idea and turned back.

The Japanese family had no particular hobbies, as far as he knew—they loved good food, which explained their punctual visits for noodles every day.

Though they hadn’t come today.

Too lazy to ponder why, Qiu Fengyu took the rainbow trout he’d caught from the freezer and began cooking, mainly pan-searing it. The aroma drew Tim over—the guy had been upstairs playing on the computer.

Qiu Fengyu then remembered he should get Tim a computer, and a good phone as well.

Tim grabbed a trout fresh from the pan and ate while smacking his lips, trying for another, but Qiu Fengyu slapped his hand away. “Ow!” Tim yelped and retreated.

“I’ll get you a computer tomorrow,” Qiu Fengyu called after him.

“Fine, and throw in a phone while you’re at it.” The guy was quite shameless.

“You little brat!” Qiu Fengyu cursed in Chinese, then covered the plate of fish and placed it in a basket, heading off to Mikura Kenzo’s house.

As expected, the Mikura family was greatly interested in the basket of pan-seared rainbow trout. After tasting one, Mikura Kenzo was reluctant to eat more, smiling at Qiu Fengyu, “Do you mind if I put this plate away? Such delicacies should be savored slowly, not eaten all at once—that would be a waste.”

To Qiu Fengyu’s astonishment, Kenzo actually had his daughter Ryoko put the plate away.

“Truly moving cuisine!”

Kenzo seemed to still be savoring the taste. Mikura Masatoshi, who had also eaten a piece, wasn’t as expressive as his father, but the flavor was undeniable, and his eyes were full of hope.

If he could master this skill, it would surely benefit the family business.

“Please, Mr. Qiu!” Suddenly, Kenzo knelt upright and bowed deeply to Qiu Fengyu. “Please accept Masatoshi as your apprentice.”

Qiu Fengyu was taken aback, then nodded, “Let’s treat this as a business transaction—it’ll benefit us both.”

“Please, go on!” Kenzo was surprised but, having heard Masatoshi’s account, was not shocked.

“Since it’s business, we’ll proceed accordingly. I’ll prepare ramen and sauce before you and Masatoshi, ensuring authenticity—you may taste for yourself.” Qiu Fengyu explained.

Kenzo listened attentively, Masatoshi’s ears perked up.

“You can record however you like, follow my steps exactly, and I’ll explain each part. Don’t miss a detail, then go home and experiment repeatedly using the recording.” Qiu Fengyu continued, “I simply don’t have the time or patience for teaching apprentices.”

Kenzo was stunned—he hadn’t expected Qiu Fengyu to propose such a method. But, thinking it over, it seemed reasonable. Recording the whole process and following it step by step was a good idea.

Qiu Fengyu went on, “Cooking is personal—even with secrets, some can never make great food, while others have talent and create wonders without much effort. I cannot guarantee your results; it all depends on your talent and diligence. If you agree, we have a deal!”

His words were clear and direct. A hundred thousand dollars meant little to the Mikura family, but if they could truly learn the art of making delicious ramen, it would be a fortune indeed.