Chapter Twenty-Three: QQ Candy (Third Update, Please Vote)

Jiang Lan was beginning to have reservations about Huang Zejun. She wasn’t someone who ignored practicality; she had noticed Tang Zhichu’s proficiency in the kitchen and genuinely wanted to seize this opportunity to learn something new. Technically, they were still on the clock—filming the dating show—so acquiring a skill during working hours was hardly a bad thing. Maybe Huang Zejun would be displeased, but they weren’t close enough for her to care much, and Jiang Lan had her own temperament. She could tolerate his lack of tact once or twice, but why should she always have to? They were all adults; she wasn’t his mother.

So, after leaving the kitchen with Huang Zejun, Jiang Lan found an excuse to slip away to the bathroom. Running? If she followed him to jog and left the kitchen unattended, wouldn’t the viewers tear her apart online? When Jiang Lan returned to the kitchen, Tang Zhichu was standing at the stove, stirring something in a small round pot with a little spatula.

As Jiang Lan approached, she saw that the fruits from earlier had vanished, replaced by several bowls of fruit juice.

“What’s this?” she asked curiously.

Tang Zhichu pointed to some plastic-looking molds on the side and replied, “I’m making candy.”

“Candy?”

“Yes, fruit jelly candy.”

Jiang Lan suddenly understood—so that’s why they bought so much fruit. But could he really make fruit jelly candy? In truth, Tang Zhichu was making what, in his previous life, was called QQ Candy. In this world, though, there was no such name; the closest equivalent was fruit jelly candy, sold in large bags and at a high price.

“That looks amazing—was it complicated?” Jiang Lan asked, intrigued.

Tang Zhichu shook his head. “It’s very simple, and healthy too—no additives.”

“Can I learn?” Jiang Lan had always been interested in cooking, though she was often too busy. But candy wasn’t a dish—it was a snack, and snacks were her specialty. She was genuinely interested.

“Of course. It’s not complicated—just like you saw earlier. Juice the fruit, but don’t use overly acidic ones, or the texture won’t be right. Then add rock sugar and maltose, followed by this powder—I’m using lotus root powder, but others work too…” Tang Zhichu began to explain, simmering the fruit syrup until thick and fragrant, then using a dropper to collect the syrup and slowly squeeze it into the molds.

This was the method Tang Zhichu had learned for QQ Candy in his previous life, a trick to woo girls, though there were other ways to make it, such as steaming, but they lacked the flavor of the simmered version.

Watching the tiny, colorful candies solidifying in the molds, Jiang Lan found it fascinating. Her own specialty was meat snacks—she had always focused on perfecting that niche. But seeing how easily Tang Zhichu made a popular fruit candy, she suddenly sensed a business opportunity, and thought it over carefully.

If this episode aired, wouldn’t this scene be a ready-made advertisement? Jiang Lan’s entrepreneurial instincts kicked in, and she asked Tang Zhichu, “Can I take some pictures?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you suddenly decide to make candy?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. Was this what chefs did nowadays?

Tang Zhichu replied softly, “Yangyang seems to like candy.”

The idea had struck Tang Zhichu like a flash; he remembered the day at the cinema, when Chen Siyang had taken out a candy bar, something like a Snickers. So he’d decided to make some candy.

After dripping the fruit syrup into the molds, Tang Zhichu placed them in the fridge to chill, then washed out the pot and poured in juice from another fruit.

His answer left Jiang Lan stunned. For some reason, she sighed quietly. She had always thought the odds of Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang ending up together were slim, that Tang Zhichu couldn’t handle someone like her. Chen Siyang was beautiful—an industry standout—and had just signed with a major company. If Tianhe weren’t so busy, her career would already be soaring. How could an ordinary person even hope to be with a girl like that? Even if Tang Zhichu did win her over, Jiang Lan had always thought he’d be getting the better end of the deal.

But at this moment, Jiang Lan’s view shifted. What was so wrong with Tang Zhichu? Wasn’t he excellent in his own right?

Jiang Lan picked up her phone and snapped a picture of Tang Zhichu as well. In the photo, the man in an apron was focused intently on simmering his fruit syrup, captured in profile, his prominent Adam’s apple visible.

“But this candy shouldn’t be called fruit jelly candy,” Tang Zhichu suddenly remarked.

“What should it be called then?” Jiang Lan asked.

A mischievous impulse came over Tang Zhichu. “QQ Candy—cute little QQs.”

“QQ Candy?” Jiang Lan repeated the name, committing it to memory.

...

Chen Siyang came home a bit late that day, having met up with a long-lost friend—He Jin, who, like her, was now signed with Tianhe. The difference was that He Jin had always been an artist under Tianhe, while Chen Siyang had only signed after her girl group disbanded.

As she opened the door, a delicious aroma greeted her.

She greeted Yang Jiaxing and Zhou Yun, who were sitting in the living room, then tilted her head toward the kitchen, just catching Tang Zhichu’s gaze.

They smiled at each other, and Chen Siyang naturally walked over. But first, she called out, “Lan-jie.”

Jiang Lan waved, “Yangyang, you’re back. Tired? If not, come help!”

“I’m not tired. What are you making?” Chen Siyang asked.

Jiang Lan didn’t answer, but cast a knowing look at Tang Zhichu.

Tang Zhichu replied, “A spicy chicken with peppers, steamed Yangtze catfish, spicy crayfish, pickled chili chicken feet—those are mine. The rest are Lan-jie’s.”

With each dish named, Chen Siyang’s eyes sparkled brighter. She really loved bold flavors—otherwise, her limited cooking skills wouldn’t be focused on Sichuan cuisine. Especially crayfish; she could eat three pounds alone.

She knew Tang Zhichu must have done his homework again. He always played the field, even sneaking into her fan group.

“And what’s this?” Chen Siyang pointed to a few mesh trays holding small candies in yellow and blue, with a fan blowing on them.

Tang Zhichu smiled mysteriously. “You’ll find out soon.”

“All right, Lan-jie, let me help you.” With that, Chen Siyang rolled up her sleeves.

Jiang Lan looked around and laughed, “Glad you’re back. Let’s start stir-frying. I’m worried we’ll run out of garlic—mind helping me peel some?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

After a date together, Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang had developed more chemistry. Now, Chen Siyang could approach Tang Zhichu openly in front of everyone, and Tang Zhichu seemed equally at ease.

In Jiang Lan’s eyes, this couple was truly shippable now.

But there were still things Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang chose to ignore. For example, Chen Siyang believed Tang Zhichu didn’t like career-driven women, not realizing that Tang Zhichu also thought career mattered more than romance.

Two ambitious souls, perfectly content to overlook this aspect—or perhaps, each was quietly encouraging it.