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Suning does not plan to open a branch of "Yihe Restaurant". It is just to expand the operation of "Yihe Restaurant" and intend to use the name of "Yihe Restaurant" to enter the ready-made food industry. It should be noted that the United States was the first country to accept ready-made food.

Therefore, when Suning proposed to open a pre-cooked food factory, Chen Yongren and the Wufu Gang were very supportive.

Then, with the help of the Five Blessings Gang, "Yihe Catering Culture Company" was established, and a food factory was purchased in the suburbs of Los Angeles.
Jennifer Wu, the regional purchasing director of Whole Foods, stared at the bag of frozen food in front of her, her expression a mix of amazement and disbelief.

The packaging features the three Chinese characters "颐和轩" (Yihexuan) in gold foil, with the English text below reading "Five Elements Health Series: Wood - Spring Liver-Soothing Package".

Especially with the official Michelin three-star certification, it's definitely a top-tier product.

“Are you sure this can sell for $29.99?” She tapped the sample packaging with her finger. “The most expensive ready-made meals in the frozen food section are no more than $15.”

Suning sat at the other end of the conference room at Whole Foods Market headquarters, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his well-defined forearms.

Compared to the chef hiding in the kitchen six months ago, he now exudes a more composed and entrepreneurial air.

“This is not your average pre-cooked meal.” He showed a test report. “Data from the UCLA Nutrition Lab shows that our product retains more than 85% of the nutrients found in freshly made meals, far exceeding similar products on the market.”

Emily picked up the conversation, dressed in a sharp Max Mara suit. She tapped her fingertips lightly on her tablet: "The more important thing is differentiated positioning. The healthy food market is growing at 18% annually, but there's still a gap in the market for convenient foods that incorporate traditional Chinese medicine concepts."

She pulled up a set of charts, saying, "Our target customers are urban elites who are willing to pay a premium for organic food."

Jennifer raised an eyebrow: "It sounds like you've already done market research."

"Not only that." Su Ning opened the insulated box he carried with him and took out three vacuum-packed samples. "These are our pilot products. Now, please taste 'Water-based Winter Kidney-Nourishing Soup'."

When the microwave oven dinged, the entire conference room was instantly filled with a peculiar aroma...

It tastes like pine wood and snowmelt from a winter forest, with a subtle, almost imperceptible sweetness.

Jennifer took a small sip, and her eyes widened immediately.

This taste...

It was almost identical to the version she ate at the Summer Palace restaurant!

The thick, black broth perfectly blends the flavors of shiitake mushrooms, sea cucumber, and some kind of medicinal herb, and after drinking it, a comforting warmth immediately rises in your stomach.

“My God! How did you do that?” She put down the paper cup, her voice filled with disbelief. “Normally, frozen and reheated soup loses at least half of its flavor profile.”

Suning and Emily exchanged a knowing glance.

The answer to this question is precisely the problem they have been working on day and night for the past three months.

Three months ago, after the celebration banquet for the three Michelin stars at the Summer Palace restaurant.

"Pre-made food?" Emily nearly spilled her champagne. "You mean something like frozen dumplings?"

Suning stood on the restaurant terrace, the Los Angeles night wind ruffling his hair.

He wasn't holding a wine glass, but a package of Chinese fast food he'd bought from a convenience store.

“Look at the ingredient list.” He pointed to the densely packed list of additives on the packaging. “The United States consumes 120 billion pre-made meals every year, and Chinese food accounts for 27% of the market share, but the vast majority of them are this kind of junk.”

Emily gradually understood what he meant: "You want to turn the dishes at Yihexuan... into high-end pre-prepared foods?"

“Not all dishes,” Su Ning shook his head. “We selected ten of the most suitable medicinal dishes and improved the recipes to suit industrial production.”

His eyes gleamed in the night. "Imagine a Wall Street banker working late into the night, able to pull out a truly healthy 'pure lotus seed soup' from the refrigerator, instead of 'General Tso's Chicken' piled high with MSG."

Emily's mind was already racing: "No need for additional stores, leveraging the existing brand premium, diminishing marginal costs... this is much smarter than opening branches."

She suddenly frowned. "But a Michelin three-star restaurant making frozen food? What will the media say?"

“A true healer doesn’t discriminate based on wealth.” Su Ning quoted her father’s words: “Good medicine should be affordable for more people, and so should good food.”

They drafted a preliminary plan that very night, but soon ran into their first obstacle...

Industrialized production would completely disrupt the delicate balance of medicinal cuisine.

The first batch of "Poria and Yam Cake" produced on the small-scale production line was as hard as a brick, while the "Lily Calming Soup" turned into a brown paste during the sterilization process.

“Traditional methods won’t work.” In the R&D lab, Su Ning stared at the tenth batch of failed samples, his eyes adorned with heavy dark circles.

Emily handed him a cup of ginseng tea: "Perhaps we should consult a professional?"

This "professional" was eventually identified as Dr. Lin, an old acquaintance of Chen Yongren, a professor at MIT specializing in food science, and also the "technical advisor" of the Five Blessings Gang.

“An interesting project,” Dr. Lin said after testing the samples. “The problem lies in the heat sensitivity of the medicinal ingredients. Conventional high-temperature sterilization will destroy the active substances, while low-temperature treatment cannot meet the shelf-life requirements.”

He proposed a bold solution: to process the ingredients and medicinal components separately.

"Segmented extraction technology" - the essence of medicinal herbs is extracted into a concentrated liquid at low temperature, and then injected into pre-made meal packs in the final stage.

This method is costly, but it preserves the effectiveness to the greatest extent.

“It’s worth a try,” Su Ning decided immediately.

For the next six weeks, the lab became his second home.

Emily often found him hunched over a microscope at 3 a.m., recording the changes in the components of medicinal herbs at various temperatures.

"What do you want my kitchen for?" Fatty Wang stared at the "technical consultant" contract in front of him, his voice rising eight octaves.

In the kitchen of the Kinmen Hotel, several former colleagues stopped what they were doing and looked over curiously.

Suning deliberately chose to visit during the afternoon closing time to avoid the embarrassment of talking in public.

“It’s not asking, it’s hiring,” Suning explained patiently. “We need traditional craftsmanship to determine the flavor benchmark for industrialized products. The compensation is very generous, and there are also equity incentives.”

Fatty Wang slammed the contract on the chopping board: "Mr. Su, I respect your skill. But now you're turning what our ancestors passed down into mass-produced instant noodles."

The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly became tense.

Kitchen helper Xiao Li quietly took a step back, afraid of being drawn into the argument.

“Brother Wang,” Su Ning picked up a tomato and twirled it in his hand, “which do you think is more meaningful: letting a thousand people eat a Chinese meal that scores 70 points, or letting ten people eat a meal that scores 100 points?”

“Of course it is…” Fatty Wang suddenly stammered.

“Four million Americans eat pre-made Chinese food every day,” Su Ning said softly. “Most of them have never tasted what real dried tangerine peel should taste like, nor do they know the layers of flavor a good broth should have. I want to change that, instead of making Yihexuan just another brand that only the wealthy can afford.”

Fatty Wang stared at his rough hands for a long time before finally letting out a long sigh: "What do you want me to do?"

And so, Suning assembled a unique technical team...

Fatty Wang represents traditional craftsmanship, Dr. Lin is in charge of modern technology, and he himself is the bridge between the two.

Emily, on the other hand, leveraged her business expertise and began engaging with high-end channels such as Whole Foods Market and Trader Joe's.

The meeting at Whole Foods Market had reached its third hour when negotiations stalled.

"Exclusive distribution rights are our bottom line," Jennifer insisted. "Otherwise, we can't guarantee shelf space and promotional efforts."

Emily's fingers gently touched Su Ning's knee under the table...

This was a pre-arranged signal, meaning "Let me do it."

“Jennifer,” she suddenly switched to Chinese, “does your mother still drink that terribly bitter Chinese herbal tea?”

Jennifer was visibly taken aback: "How did you know...?"

“Typical ABC mother habits,” Emily smiled. “I guess she’d rather endure the bitterness than take Western medicine because she believes Chinese medicine treats the root cause, right?”

Jennifer's expression softened, and she replied in Chinese, "Every time I catch a cold, she has to go to Chinatown to get medicine and brew it..."

“Our target customers are people like your mother,” Emily continued, “They yearn for traditional wisdom, yet are held hostage by the fast pace of modern life. Yihexuan pre-prepared meals were created to address this contradiction.”

She paused for a moment, then said, "Exclusive distribution would limit the product's reach to more consumers like these. Can you bear to do that?"

Jennifer fell into deep thought.

Ten minutes later, the two sides reached a compromise: Whole Foods Market would obtain an exclusive East Coast distribution right for the first six months, with further negotiations to be conducted based on sales performance.

After the signing ceremony, Suning and Emily returned to their car and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"How do you know about Jennifer's family situation?" Suning asked curiously.

Emily blinked: "Doing your homework before negotiations is a basic skill. She mentioned her mother's fondness for traditional Chinese medicine in an interview with Asiaweek last year."

She started the car. "Where to now? The R&D center or the restaurant?"

“I’m not going,” Su Ning suddenly said. “I’m taking a break today.”

Emily turned to look at him in surprise...

Since we met, Suning has almost never offered to "take a break".

"Really? Then you want to..."

“Let’s go to the beach.” Suning looked at the blue sky outside the windshield. “I’ve been in America for almost a year, and I haven’t seen the Pacific Ocean yet.”

"..."

The sunset at Santa Monica Beach is breathtaking.

The orange-red sun slowly sank below the horizon, casting long, long shadows of the two people.

“When I was a child, I was most afraid of taking bitter medicine.” Su Ning suddenly said, holding a box of fish and chips in his hand—one of the few times he compromised on “American food.” “My father would grind the medicine into powder and mix it into sesame paste for me to eat.”

Emily chuckled: "I'm the opposite. When I was ten, I had a fever, and my father saw three Western doctors but couldn't cure me. In the end, an old Chinese medicine doctor in Chinatown saved me with acupuncture."

She gazed at the distant horizon, thinking, "Perhaps that's the seed that fate has sown."

Su Ning turned to look at her.

The setting sun cast a golden glow on Emily's profile, and the sea breeze tousled her newly cut short hair.

He suddenly realized that this once arrogant gangster princess had now become an indispensable partner in his business.

"Emily, about our marriage..."

"Watch out!" Emily suddenly lunged forward and pushed him away.

An out-of-control beach volleyball flew past Suning's ear and slammed heavily against the railing behind him.

The two of them collapsed onto the beach, with Emily pressing down on Suning so close that she could count her eyelashes.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still, leaving only the sound of each other's heartbeats and the gentle lapping of the waves.

"Thank you," Su Ning said softly, without pushing her away.

Emily looked away first, then stood up and brushed the sand off her pants. "No...you're welcome." Her earlobes were as red as if they had been dyed by the setting sun. "It's getting dark, let's go back. We have a meeting with the packaging supplier tomorrow."

On the way back, the two of them were unusually quiet.

The car radio was playing the Eagles' "Hotel California," with lyrics like, "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave..."

The lyrics echoed in the small space, inexplicably fitting the occasion.

When the car stopped at the back gate of Yihexuan, Su Ning finally broke the silence: "Emily, if one day you no longer need this marriage..."

“We’ll talk about that later.” Emily quickly interrupted him, her voice trembling slightly. “Right now… we still have the pre-cooked food production line to debug, remember?”

Suning nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

But as he watched Emily drive away, he already had a vague answer in his heart...

Perhaps some relationships are no longer fake.

……

At 5:45 p.m., the last rays of sunlight slid down from the spire of Los Angeles City Hall.

Suning stood at the window of his office on the third floor of the "Summer Palace Restaurant," witnessing the city's magical moment...

The boundary between day and night is so distinct here, it's as if someone has cut the day in two with a knife.

Outside the window, on Santa Monica Boulevard, white-collar workers in suits are hurrying toward parking lots and bus stops.

The women tucked their bags under their arms, and their high heels tapped the ground a beat faster than usual; the men glanced back every now and then, their loose ties swaying around their necks.

Everyone tacitly abides by the unwritten survival rule of Los Angeles: you must be back in the safe zone before dark.

"What are you looking at?" Emily pushed open the door and came in, holding today's financial statements in her hand.

“Let’s see how people run away.” Suning pointed to a jewelry store outside the window that was locking up. The owner was an Asian man in his sixties, and his movements were so nimble that he didn’t look his age at all. “Like a flock of sheep that has heard a wolf howl.”

Emily walked to the window, her perfume mingling with the exhaust fumes drifting in from outside: "Los Angeles in 1980 wasn't like this."

Her voice suddenly sounded distant, “I remember when I was little, my father would take me to Sunset Boulevard for a late-night snack.”

Suning knew that turning point...

The economic bubble following the 1984 Olympics, the cocaine epidemic, and the deepening racial divisions.

Los Angeles today is like a cake cut in half: the daytime belongs to the angels, and the nighttime belongs to the devils.

“Dad will be here in ten minutes.” Emily glanced at her watch. “He says he wants to take you to see ‘the real Los Angeles’ himself.”

Su Ning frowned: "What do you mean?"

Emily's fingernails unconsciously dug at the paint on the window frame: "Father believes... that a person who wants to do big business must understand all the rules of this city. Including those written in the dark."

As the black Cadillac slowly drove past Seventh Street, Chen Yongren rolled down the window.

Hot air, carrying the smells of marijuana, urine, and cheap perfume, filled the carriage, while police sirens sounded in the distance, making it unclear whether they were approaching or receding.

“Los Angeles in 1988.” Chen Yongren spoke in Chinese with an old Shanghai accent. “People on the East Coast thought this was paradise, but they didn’t know that paradise also has different classes.”

He pointed to the homeless tents flashing past the window, “See those blue tarpaulins? That’s the dome of the deepest level of hell.”

Suning gripped the car door handle tightly.

The car was driving through a block covered in graffiti, with walls covered in exaggerated letter combinations... "WSB", "F13", and grotesque skull patterns.

Several young Black men in oversized basketball uniforms stood at the alley entrance, warily eyeing the luxury car that shouldn't be there.

“The dividing line between the Blood Gang and the Crippled Gang’s territories,” Chen Yongren explained like a tour guide. “It’s more precise than the map of the city hall. The left side sells crack cocaine, and the right side sells heroin, just like Chinese restaurants and Mexican restaurants each do their own business.”

The car stopped at a red light.

On the roadside, a gaunt white woman was lifting her skirt to give another man an injection. Her arms were covered with needle marks, like tree bark eaten by insects.

"Don't the police care?" Su Ning couldn't help but ask.

Chen Yongren smiled.

As if in response to this question, a black and white LAPD police car slowly drove by, the police inside not even glancing in their direction.

"Manage?" Chen Yongren waited for the green light to come on. "Last year, the average police response time in the South Central District was 48 minutes. Do you know why?"

He answered his own question, "Because police officers are also human, and they are also afraid of dying."

As the car turned into Koreatown, the scene changed abruptly.

The shops had their iron gates tightly closed, but at each intersection stood guard armed Asian men wearing bulletproof vests and walkie-talkies on their waists.

“The South Korean Merchants’ Self-Defense Force.” Chen Yongren’s tone was tinged with admiration. “Ever since that South Korean shop owner was beaten to death by robbers in 1982 but was acquitted, they have stopped trusting the police.”

Suning recalled a report he had read in a domestic newspaper...

Korean shop owners in Los Angeles have spontaneously organized armed patrols and even deployed snipers on their rooftops.

I thought it was an exaggeration at the time, but now that I've seen it with my own eyes, I realize it's a necessity for survival.

"Get down!"

Chen Yongren suddenly pressed Su Ning's head down.

Almost simultaneously, a series of gunshots rang out, bullets hitting a garbage truck behind them with a piercing metallic tearing sound.

The Cadillac accelerated sharply and turned into a small alley.

Having seen many big scenes, Su Ning felt particularly excited. In the rearview mirror, several dark figures were exchanging fire at a street corner, the muzzle flashes particularly dazzling in the twilight.

"It's just routine." Chen Yongren straightened his collar, as if he had just passed a speed bump. "The Mexican gang and the El Salvadoran gang are fighting over territory. This happens every Friday, payday."

The car eventually stopped in front of a nightclub called "Golden Dragon".

Half of the neon sign was not lit, and only the "moon" radical of the character "dragon" was flickering forlornly.

Four burly men in black suits stood at the door, their waists bulging with obvious gun-shaped bulges.

"Welcome to Chinatown at night." Chen Yongren stepped out of the car, and the shadows of the entire street seemed to tremble slightly at his appearance.

The nightclub's interior was surprisingly elegant.

A mahogany screen divides the space into semi-enclosed booths. On the stage, a woman in a cheongsam is playing the guzheng, while the guests below are talking in hushed tones, creating a bizarre contrast with the violent world outside.

"Mr. Su!" Several Chinese faces stood up and greeted him.

No one regards Suning as that illegal immigrant anymore. You know, the son-in-law of the Five Blessings Gang in Chinatown is still quite powerful.

He recognized one of them as the vice president of a Chinese chamber of commerce, whom he had just met at a charity dinner last week.

"Confused?" Chen Yongren led Su Ning to the innermost private room. "Why would someone so well-dressed during the day appear in a place like this at night?"

The waiter brought out the tea set, and Chen Yongren personally brewed the tea with fluid and graceful movements.

The soundproofing in the private room was excellent, making the sound of the guzheng sound hazy and dreamlike.

“Because this is a neutral zone.” Chen Yongren poured out amber-colored tea. “The five major gangs have agreed that no fighting or trading is allowed inside the Golden Dragon Nightclub; only business discussions are permitted.”

He took a sip, “Just like Switzerland is to Europe.”

Su Ning suddenly understood the significance of this trip.

Chen Yongren was showing him a different set of operating rules in Los Angeles...

That dark order, which is not bound by law but is much stricter.

"Your pre-made food factory is located in Compton," Chen Yongren suddenly changed the subject, "Do you know why I was able to get such a cheap land price?"

Suning shook his head.

That abandoned cannery was indeed suspiciously cheap.

“Because that’s a lawless area where three gangs meet,” Chen Yongren smiled. “And I happen to be a partner of all three gangs…”

The door to the private room was pushed open, and Emily hurried in.

Her face was pale, and she clutched a note in her hand: "Father, Zhang Jin just..."

Chen Yongren raised his hand to stop her and turned to Su Ning: "That's all for today's lesson. Remember, in Los Angeles, the rules after sunset are simple—either find your Switzerland or become the rule-maker."

On the way back, Emily's knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Suning watched the street scene rushing past the window, the neon lights casting distorted reflections on the rain-soaked pavement.

The lights of police cars and ambulances flashed in the distance, like signal flares from another world.

"Who is Zhang Jin?" Su Ning finally asked the question she had been holding back all the way.

Emily's jawline tightened: "The second-in-command of the Chaozhou gang once... proposed to me."

She paused, then said, "He's now threatening to destroy your pre-made food factory."

Su Ning recalled the man Emily slapped on the day the restaurant opened.

In the darkness of night, a homeless man pushed a supermarket shopping cart past, the cart containing all his belongings.

"why?"

“Because he discovered that our marriage was…” Emily suddenly slammed on the brakes, nearly hitting a drunk man who rushed out of the bar.

The man urinated on the front of the car and then staggered away.

“Fake?” Su Ning finished speaking for her.

Emily did not answer.

But in this divided city, some answers are already self-evident...

Like day and night, like truth and lies, they are clearly distinct yet interdependent.

As the car entered Beverly Hills, the streets suddenly became bright and clean.

The patrolling private security guards smiled and saluted them, as if the hell on earth beyond that invisible boundary was nothing more than a distant nightmare.

...(End of chapter)