There are many Chinese dishes that showcase the mastery of knife skills. However, while Classic Tofu might not claim the top spot, it undoubtedly ranks among the finest displays of precision in culinary artistry.
A Test of Skill
First, Zane retrieves a block of firm tofu.
Soft tofu is too delicate—prone to crumbling under the blade. But firm tofu, with its finer texture and elasticity, offers the perfect balance between structure and tenderness.
He wets the blade of his knife, a subtle yet crucial step.
With his left hand stabilizing the tofu, he moves the knife steadily backward. Then—
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
The rhythmic sound of the knife echoes through the tavern. To the untrained eye, Zane's movements seem almost reckless—his blade rising and falling at an astonishing speed.
Yet, despite the rapid succession of cuts, the tofu remains seemingly untouched, its shape unchanged.
Anne narrows her eyes in confusion.
"Strange… After so many cuts, why does it still look intact?"
As a WGO first-class executive, she has evaluated many Chinese chefs and seen countless renditions of Classic Tofu. Yet, the precision in Zane's technique—his effortless mastery—feels unreal.
A Moment of Revelation
"Next," Zane announces, "don't blink."
With a gentle motion, he lifts the tofu and lowers it into a pot of water.
At first, nothing seems to change.
Then—like a flower blooming underwater—countless fine strands unfurl, transforming the block into a delicate chrysanthemum of tofu.
"Huh?"
Anne's breath catches.
"Is… is this still tofu?"
The strands are impossibly thin, almost thread-like, yet each one holds its shape.
Anne covers her mouth in shock.
How many years of training would it take to achieve this level of knife work?
Ten? No—fifteen at least!
She turns toward Zane, curiosity burning in her eyes.
"How old are you?"
Zane shrugs. "The day this tavern opened, I turned twenty."
"…Twenty?" Anne freezes.
A twenty-year-old with this level of knife mastery?
The Purpose of Precision
Zane moves on, slicing mushrooms, bamboo shoots, chicken breast, and greens with equal finesse.
He sets a pot on the stove, brings a rich chicken broth to a boil, and adds the ingredients one by one.
In another pot, he carefully boils the tofu strands. When they rise to the surface, he transfers them into bowls and ladles the golden broth over them.
The result? A bowl of Classic Tofu—simple, yet mesmerizing.
Anne stares at the dish, expression conflicted.
"You cut the tofu so finely," she murmurs, "but… does that actually enhance the taste?"
A Lesson in Taste
Zane chuckles.
"For a first-class WGO executive, I expected a more insightful reaction. But your understanding of this dish seems… quite shallow."
Anne flinches.
His words aren't mocking—at least, not entirely.
Still, something nags at her.
She lifts a spoonful of tofu strands and inspects them closely.
Then—her eyes widen.
"Wait… How is this possible?"
Each strand has been simmered at high heat, yet none have dissolved, broken, or fallen apart.
Zane's mastery isn't just in his knife skills.
It extends to his understanding of texture, heat, and timing.
Unable to resist, Anne takes a bite.
At first, the taste seems subtle—almost too subtle.
Then, as the tofu melts in her mouth, she realizes—
This isn't about flavor alone.
It's about texture.
The way each delicate strand dissolves effortlessly, the way it carries the warmth of the broth—
Anne puts down her spoon, hands trembling slightly.
"No…"
"This feeling…"
"I… I can't take it!"