Zhou Yi took a moment, surveying the array of ingredients still remaining after the initial seafood triumph. He allocated nearly six kilograms of the marbled, Grade A prime beef ribs to the cutting board, storing the excess in a vacuum-sealed compartment he had built into the kitchen island—a silent testament to his meticulous nature.
For this cut, a knife was insufficient. The beauty of beef short ribs lay not just in the tender meat, but in the intricate network of firm cartilage and delicate tendons woven through the flesh. Slicing would ruin the texture and cause essential juices to bleed out. The required method was far more elemental: pounding.
He selected an antique, heavy-duty rolling pin—an heirloom of domestic power—and began his work. This was not mere physical labor; it was a demonstration of kinetic mastery. Zhou Yi used his augmented strength to deliver a continuous, rhythmic barrage of blows, each impact measured to the micron level.
The rolling pin became a truly magical tool. He fractured the fibrous cartilage, broke down the tougher muscle fibers, and fused the entire mass into a single, cohesive unit. A thousand strikes transformed the ribs into a shimmering, gelatinous mince, the rich beef fat, tendons, and muscle juices perfectly emulsified within the mixture.
Once the beef achieved this sublime, juicy consistency, Zhou Yi began seasoning. He infused the mince with coarsely ground black pepper, sea salt, a daring amount of finely chopped Sichuan chili flakes, fragrant green onions, and cubes of fresh shiitake mushrooms.
The final mixture was kneaded with a focused application of telekinesis, ensuring the spices were evenly distributed and the entire mass was imbued with the perfect, chewy texture required for pan-fried dumplings.
He finished by whisking half a dozen high-quality eggs into a rich, thick wash. With all preparations for the spicy beef dumplings and their pan-fried counterparts completed, he set the fillings aside. Like the steamed shrimp dumplings, they demanded immediate consumption upon cooking to preserve their integrity, so their construction would wait until the guests were seated.
Zhou Yi moved on to the third and most delicate course: sea bass and chicken broth dumplings—a form of xiao long bao where the fish and chicken stock provided the savory burst. This required a base of purified, rich broth.
He pulled the eight-kilogram sea bass from the ice. The fish, nearly half his arm's length, was magnificent. With a flash of the cleaver, he made a single, precise incision along the belly.
The removal of the internal organs was a display of bold and determined technique; his hand moved like a surgeon's, reaching deep and pulling the organs out in a single, clean unit, preventing any contamination of the delicate flesh. This process preserved the fish's flavor to the maximum extent.
Next, the filleting. Zhou Yi's cleaver was a blinding silver blur, a whirlwind of speed and precision. Large pieces of pristine white fish meat fell onto the cutting board, each flake perfectly sized and proportioned. He stripped the fish clean down to the bone, leaving behind a thick pile of sea bass flakes.
Fish meat, being naturally looser than beef or shrimp, required binding. He folded in a few eggs, finely diced bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, a touch of salt, and cooking wine. This combination created the fish stuffing.
The broth was the true challenge. He placed the entire, still-intact heritage chicken, along with the cleaned sea bass bones, ginger slices, and green onions, into a tall clay pot. The pot was set to simmer over the lowest possible heat. This broth needed to be absolutely clear, a process traditionally achieved by painstaking skimming.
Zhou Yi, however, used a faster, more effective method. He constantly added small amounts of whipped egg white to the simmering liquid.
More crucially, he engaged his mental strength—a fine, telekinetic sieve—to monitor and extract impurities at the molecular level, pulling fat globules and particulate matter from the boiling liquid the instant they rose to the surface.
It was a tedious, minute-by-minute application of power that ensured the resulting stock would be golden, clear, and intensely flavored—perfect for the xiao long bao filling.
With the soup base simmering under his telekinetic guardianship, Zhou Yi focused on the centerpiece: the Mountain-and-Sea Clay Pot. This dish would feature the largest remaining French Blue Lobster, along with the carefully selected array of mountain delicacies.
He meticulously removed all the meat from the largest lobster, mixing it with ginger powder, a small amount of egg white, black pepper, and salt. He beat the mixture by hand until it formed dense, perfectly uniform shrimp and lobster balls, each the size of a ping-pong ball.
The pre-soaked mountain delicacies—the elusive bamboo mushrooms, monkey head mushrooms, matsutake mushrooms, tree ear mushrooms, and the classic shiitake—were placed into a clean clay pot. He added sliced sweet potato and white radish for root sweetness, covered them with a rich vegetable stock, and brought it to a slow, steady bubble before dropping in the lobster balls.
This particular dish was an exercise in purity. Clay pots draw out the most authentic flavors, but the ingredients themselves release various impurities.
To ensure the delicate lobster and mountain fungi flavors were not tainted, Zhou Yi had to maintain the constant mental monitoring and removal of impurities—a focused, ongoing process that tethered his attention to the kitchen.
He glanced at the time. A quick check of his internal chronometer and a brief message exchange with Sharice confirmed they were just leaving the main thoroughfare into Long Island. It was shortly after 6:30 PM.
With a few spare minutes, he prepared a dark, savory dipping sauce. He peeled and diced onions and tart apples, sautéing them in a wok with butter and a generous splash of dark rum.
After adding a rich demi-glace, various exotic spices, and water, he reduced the mixture until it became a thick, glossy jus, which he then poured into a small, elegant saucepan and kept warm.
Finally, the remaining two blue lobsters were decapitated, leaving only the pristine tail meat. He coated the tails in a finely textured crust of starch and crushed hazelnuts and dropped them into boiling oil.
The lobsters instantly sizzled, transforming into a beautiful, crackling golden brown. The aroma, a blend of roasted nuts, sea air, and hot oil, filled the villa.
As Zhou Yi placed the last fried tail onto a clean plate, the quiet hum of his home's sophisticated lock mechanism activated. The heavy front door slowly swung inward, recognizing the voice of Sharice.
Zhou Yi quickly stripped off his apron, walking toward the hall to meet his guests. The contrast between the quiet intensity of his cooking and the sudden influx of dynamic personalities was jarring.
He saw Ororo Munroe and Jean Grey first, radiating an aura of disciplined power and academic authority. Trailing behind them were Sharice, along with the tall, muscular, slightly reserved young man, Pete, and her two female classmates, Katie and Vivien Leigh.
"Welcome back, Sharice," Zhou Yi said warmly, before turning his attention to the adults. He offered a respectful but familiar nod to Ororo and then moved toward Jean. "Professor Grey, Professor Munroe. It is truly a pleasure. Thank you for ensuring the security of my sister's passage."
He then focused on the teenagers. "Katie, Vivien, welcome back. I believe this gentleman is a new face. I'm Zhou Yi, Sharice's overly concerned older brother." He extended a firm hand to the quiet boy.
The young man met his gaze calmly. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Zhou Yi. I'm Pete. Thank you for the invitation—I hear your sister can be quite persuasive."
Zhou Yi returned his gaze, an almost imperceptible spark of recognition passing between them—a recognition of potential power hidden beneath the shy demeanor. He patted Pete warmly on the shoulder.
"The honor is mine, young man. Please, ladies and gentlemen, make yourselves at home. It is a bachelor's residence, but I hope you find it comfortable."
As the group moved past him, Zhou Yi gently restrained his sister with a discreet grip on her arm, pulling her back for a private consultation.
"Alright, Sharice. Who is this Pete? Don't tell me, after all that talk, you've finally settled on a sweetheart you neglected to inform me about?" Zhou Yi lowered his voice, affecting the protective, slightly overbearing elder brother persona, though his eyes were sharp with amusement.
Sharice rolled her eyes dramatically, a playful challenge in her expression.
"Oh, please. You're becoming so meddling now that you've domesticated yourself. Pete and I are simply casual acquaintances. He is clearly infatuated with Katie. I've merely engineered this evening as an opportunity for them to finally make a move before the end of term. Think of me as a relationship strategist."
Zhou Yi couldn't help but breathe a faint sigh of relief, though he maintained his facade. "Sharice, has anyone ever told you that your level of calculated manipulation is truly despicable? You are a menace to the natural order of social dynamics."
In response, Sharice pinched the soft flesh at his side, her grip surprising for such a small gesture, though it had no physical effect on his augmented body. He grimaced, playing along.
Satisfied, Sharice smiled slyly and darted off, her long braid swinging as she chased after her friends.
Zhou Yi watched the younger students ascend the grand staircase, Pete glancing back shyly before following Katie. He turned to the two powerful women who remained in the hall.
"Professors," Zhou Yi said, rubbing his side dramatically. "I hope you find the domestic welcome less stressful than the current international affairs. Sharice knows the house well; she's taking them to the entertainment wing. If you find this main hall too dull, feel free to join them. My collection of artifacts and systems should keep you occupied until dinner."
He caught Ororo's eye, whose demeanor was a mixture of annoyance and professional composure, and then Jean's, who stood with her arms crossed, observing him with the keen, telepathic intensity she often struggled to suppress.
"Jean, Ororo," Zhou Yi continued, his gaze lingering briefly on the redhead. "If you're concerned about the students' location, don't be. I'll ensure they are sufficiently distracted until the moment the food hits the table."
He then reached out and placed his hand gently on Ororo's lower back, a gesture of assumed intimacy that instantly triggered her defensive mechanism.
Ororo immediately slapped his hand away with a fierce but controlled motion, her eyes flashing an icy blue warning. "Don't push your luck, Yi. The chaperones are still here. I am in the role of a guardian tonight, not a conquest."
Jean Grey, hearing this, turned her head slightly toward the landscape painting on the wall, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Don't mind me. I'm simply admiring the scenery." The implicit meaning was clear: I am observing your dynamic, but I will not interfere with your personal conflict.
Ororo's face flushed slightly with embarrassment. In front of her closest friend, the ambiguity of her relationship with Zhou Yi was intolerable. She hated being placed in a position of uncertainty or vulnerability, especially by a man she knew was intellectually and emotionally manipulative. It stiffened her resolve to keep him at arm's length.
Zhou Yi immediately surrendered, raising his hands in theatrical defeat. "Alright, alright, the territorial boundaries have been established. It is entirely my fault. But ladies, the fried lobster is losing its perfect crispness. I genuinely require assistance in the kitchen. I am a master of firepower, but a novice at the communal assembly line."
"I'm experienced with pasta," Jean offered immediately, her voice calm and intellectual, eager to pivot the conversation from personal conflict to professional assistance.
"That is remarkably simple, Jean. I need someone to master a complex, three-dimensional folding technique. You'll have to learn." Zhou Yi took Ororo by the arm and led both women directly into the brightly lit, immaculate professional kitchen.
Ororo surveyed the extraordinary amount of prepared food, the shimmering mounds of mince, and the array of exotic fungi with genuine surprise. For a man who had been out of the house for over a year, this dedication was shocking.
"Yi, I admit I am impressed. For the first time, I realize you possess an undeniable talent for this level of culinary artistry. It's professional-grade."
"Trust me, it is beyond professional grade," Zhou Yi corrected, smiling. He took a thick piece of the large dough rope, placed a perfectly measured spoonful of the spicy beef filling inside, and with five fingers working in perfect, blur-like unison, he expertly sealed and folded the dumpling, creating a flawless crescent. He did this five more times in the space of two seconds.
Ororo stared at the perfect row of dumplings. "You call that speed achievable by mere practice? That's not a human skill, Yi. That's a controlled kinetic outburst."
She attempted to mimic his folding motion with her own hands but, with a groan of frustration, merely compressed the delicate wrapper, bursting the savory beef filling onto the cutting board.
"You've ruined the tensile strength of the wrapper," Zhou Yi observed, suppressing a smirk. "You just need to practice more. It truly is the easiest thing."
Ororo threw the remaining wrappers down. "Forget it! I'd rather conjure a blizzard in the living room. Is there something less dextrous I can help with?"
Zhou Yi grinned. His plan to isolate Jean was working perfectly. "As a matter of fact, yes. I realize I have no appropriate non-alcoholic beverages for the younger crowd. I only have wine and the boring milk delivery. Would you be so kind as to drive to the nearest large store and procure a selection of juices and sodas? I don't want the little ones complaining about my hospitality."
"Consider it done," Ororo replied, seizing the opportunity for a temporary, stress-relieving escape. She snatched her keys and exited the kitchen, her steps light and purposeful as she walked toward the garage. The air instantly became quiet and heavy, leaving Zhou Yi alone with the single most complicated element of the evening.
Zhou Yi turned to Jean, who was still trying to salvage her broken dumpling wrapper, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Well, Jean," he said, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone. "From the look on your face, I believe you are now ready for the specific assistance that only I can provide."
The silence was charged, heavy with unspoken desires and telepathic conflict. He knew exactly what she was struggling with—not the dough, but the decision to be alone with him.
Now that Zhou Yi and Jean Grey are alone, what specific, non-culinary assistance does Zhou Yi require, and how will this direct, private confrontation force Jean to finally address the suppressed feelings she has for him?