He unexpectedly becomes a father at the start of his life, and the mother of his child is a national

Chen Hao stood in front of the stove and began preparing the pan for frying the fish.

I'll be there in ten minutes.

He took out the marinated cod, then took a piece of butter from the refrigerator, cut off a small piece, and put the rest back in its original packaging.

The gas stove was turned on, and a blue flame licked the bottom of the pot.

The pan is non-stick. After a long time of use, there are a few shallow scratches on the bottom, but it does not affect its use.

He poured oil, corn oil, in a clear glass bottle.

There wasn't much oil, just enough to cover the bottom of the pot.

He spread his palms out, palm down, and held them above the pot.

The distance is about ten centimeters.

The heat rose from the bottom of the pot, fine and continuous.

He felt the temperature of his skin.

Lin Caiwei watched him from the side.

She is also learning.

Watch how he measures the oil temperature and judges the heat.

She remembered how she used to cook, heating the oil until it smoked before adding the vegetables, causing flames to leap half a meter high from the bottom of the pan, which scared her so much that she threw away the spatula.

Chen Hao did not emit any smoke.

The noodles were calm, but you could feel the heat.

He took the cod, skin side down, and gently slid it into the pot.

stab-

The sound was crisp and short, like tearing a piece of paper.

The fish skin shrank the moment it touched the bottom of the pot, the edges curled up slightly, and the color changed from silver-gray to light gold, gradually deepening.

The hot oil bubbled and sizzled around the edge of the fish, making a sound like singing.

He gently pressed the fish with a spatula, and could feel the texture of the fish meat at the bottom of the pot with his palm.

Lin Caiwei moved a little closer.

She didn't realize how close she was.

Her arm was almost touching his arm, and her breath was right next to his ear.

She smelled his scent; it wasn't perfume, but laundry detergent—a faint soapy fragrance mixed with the woody, moist aroma of matsutake mushrooms.

Chen Hao's hand holding the spatula paused slightly.

He didn't turn his head, but he could feel her presence.

Very close.

He was so close that he could tell the frequency of her breathing, which was slightly faster than usual.

"Um..." Lin Caiwei noticed too, took a half step back, and twirled the end of her hair with her fingers, "I wanted to see when you were going to flip it over."

Her voice was lower than usual, as if she was afraid of waking someone.

"Oh, almost there." Chen Hao steadied his wrist, his eyes fixed on the fish in the pot. "Wait until the center of the fish turns white, about three minutes."

He turned the firepower down one level.

The flames softened, and the temperature at the bottom of the pot gradually decreased.

The edges of the fish skin were fried until golden brown, and it could slide smoothly on the bottom of the pan when gently pushed with a spatula.

There is no adhesion.

The fish meat turns white from the edges, its translucency diminishes, and the color spreads layer by layer towards the center.

We'll be there in three minutes.

With a flick of his wrist, the cod was flipped over.

The fish skin is facing up, golden and crispy, with a glossy sheen.

The fish was pan-fried for less than a minute, until the surface was slightly browned, revealing its snow-white flesh.

If you gently poke it with the tip of a chopstick, a little juice will seep out, just the right amount.

He put in the butter.

The butter melted quickly in the hot pan, changing from a solid to a liquid state and producing fine bubbles.

He scooped up the butter from the bottom of the pan with a spoon and poured it over the fish from a height.

Once, twice, three times.

Hot butter, infused with the aroma of a wok, is poured over the fish again and again.

With each spoonful, a faint hissing sound could be heard.

As the fish is soaked in butter, it gradually cooks through, its color changing from snow-white to warm white, and its texture becoming clearer.

This is how it's prepared in French cuisine.

He had seen it in videos before and tried it many times before he mastered it.

The oil should not be too hot, the pouring speed should be even, and your hand should be steady.

[Ding! Cooking skill experience points +420]

Lin Caiwei leaned over to look again.

This time she deliberately stood a little further away than before, about half an arm's length away.

But my gaze remained fixed on Chen Hao's hands, from the way he held the spoon to the trajectory of the butter as it fell.

As the butter foam in the pan subsided, he turned off the heat and carefully scooped the cod into a plate.

"Then Sisi came along," he said. "Being a cook was too busy, I couldn't take care of her."

Lin Caiwei remained silent.

She watched him place the fried cod on the counter and begin preparing the asparagus.

His movements remained steady, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

It was as if what he just said was merely stating a fact, requiring no response.

She took the asparagus spears out of the plastic bag one by one and rinsed them under the tap.

The water is a little cold.

Her fingers were slightly red from the cold, with a pale pink tinge at the knuckles.

The buds at the tips of the asparagus were very tender, so she didn't dare to rub them too hard. She just gently brushed them with her fingers to wash away the tiny specks of dirt.

"The hot water tap is to the right."

Chen Hao's voice came from behind, neither too close nor too far.

Lin Caiwei said "Oh" and turned the faucet to the right.

As the water gradually warmed up, her frozen fingers slowly thawed.

Wash the asparagus thoroughly and lay it on the cutting board.

The small white section at the base is the aged part.

Chen Hao took the knife, aimed at the root, and made a clean and decisive cut.

The cut is neat, the cross-section is moist, and it is a fresh, tender green color.

"Cutting off two centimeters is enough," he said. "It's such a waste and a pity."

Lin Caiwei nodded.

She took the box of sterile eggs out of the refrigerator.

Six eggs.

The eggs gleamed softly under the light, their yolks plump and their whites thick, making a dull thud when poured into the glass bowl.

She used chopsticks to beat the eggs, but her wrists started to ache after a few strokes.

Chen Hao took the chopsticks.

His method is different.

Instead of poking up and down, use the tip of your chopsticks to draw circles in the bowl, expanding outwards from the center.

The egg mixture swirls in rhythm with the chopsticks, gradually blending and creating fine bubbles.

"I add milk to make it more tender," he said, taking a milk carton from the refrigerator and pouring in two spoonfuls.

"Whispered cream tastes better, but we don't have any at home today."

Lin Caiwei watched him mix the milk and egg mixture.

Heat the pan and add butter.

The butter melted even faster than before, covering the bottom of the pot with a light yellow layer and starting to bubble.

He poured in the egg mixture.

The egg mixture spreads quickly across the bottom of the pan, solidifying at the edges first and turning a light yellow color.

He started promoting it.

It's not stir-frying.

It's a push.

Using a spatula, push the solidified egg mixture from the edge towards the center, keeping it close to the bottom of the pan.

Push it once, pause for half a second to let the raw egg liquid flow to the bottom of the pot, then push it again.

The movements were rhythmic, neither hurried nor slow.

The egg mixture changes from liquid to semi-solid, from transparent to light yellow, and from thin to thick.

Seven-tenths solidified.

He turned off the fire.

I bought the black truffles this morning at an imported supermarket. It was a small jar and not cheap.

He unscrewed the lid, scooped out a pinch the size of a fingernail with a spoon, and sprinkled it evenly on the surface of the scrambled eggs.

Black fragments fell onto the golden egg, like stars in the night.

The residual heat brings out the aroma of the truffles.

It's strong, but not pungent.

It smells of earth, of forest, of autumn.

Lin Caiwei took a deep breath, and the fragrance entered her lungs through her nasal cavity, making her feel weak all over.

[Ding! Cooking skill experience points +380]

"It smells so good," Lin Caiwei said.

Sisi lifted her head from her mother's cherry tomato project, her nose twitching.

"Dad's eggs are the most delicious!"