Chapter Twenty-Nine: Is There Even a Need for Comparison?

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Is There Even a Need to Compete?

The final group of guests, Zhang Yao and Liang Bin, had arrived, including the actors from Treasure Island. They completed the journey in less time than Chen Fang and Lin Yang, perhaps because they carried less luggage and hadn’t taken any wrong turns.

With all four groups present, Zhang Le and Yang Xiner, as the pair who finished in the least time, were rewarded with accommodations noticeably better than the other three groups. Yet, in truth, there was little to praise about this hotel.

Coming to Paris for the show, it was only natural that the program would be woven around the city’s famous sights—at least, that was Zhang Le’s guess. The show advanced through a series of tasks.

The night passed quietly. The next morning, Zhang Le rose early, intending to practice a set of martial arts, but was called down by the production crew. At that moment, Lin Yang, Liu Zheng, and Liang Bin also made their way downstairs.

The three of them yawned frequently; Lin Yang, in particular, sported dark circles under his eyes, clear evidence of a poor night’s sleep.

“Zhang, you look remarkably energetic! Don’t you suffer from jet lag?” Liu Zheng asked, glancing over at Zhang Le.

“I adapt pretty easily, I suppose,” Zhang Le replied with a smile.

“If we’re talking about adaptability, who can match me?” Lin Yang yawned. “Yesterday, after the exhausting trip from the airport and that dreadful room, you think someone less adaptable could have managed? Out of sympathy for my hardships, could you all show me some mercy today?”

The others just laughed and shook their heads.

As the four of them exchanged complaints, Lin Yang turned to the director, “Are we splitting into men and women today?”

“No,” the director replied. “The four ladies are still resting. The reason you’ve been called down early is that you have a task, and this one concerns your breakfast.”

“A task?” The four of them looked at the task cards handed over by the staff, puzzled.

“You must be joking—are we supposed to make breakfast?” Liang Bin’s face fell upon seeing the card.

“Liang, don’t tell me you’ve never cooked at home?” Zhang Le teased, reading his expression.

“If there’s no need, there’s no reason! Men don’t need to cook at home, do they?” Lin Yang declared, trying to sound righteous, though his confidence wavered.

If a man isn’t required to cook at home, naturally, he won’t know how.

“We’re real men—big, tough men!” Liang Bin exclaimed, throwing his arm around Lin Yang’s shoulders.

“Then I suppose Zhang and I are the ‘little men’ here,” Liu Zheng said with a laugh, a hint of mockery in his tone. “Big men, little men, all real men—but it looks like big men won’t be eating today!”

“What’s this?” Zhang Le asked, accepting a handful of small bills from a crew member. “Don’t tell me we have to go buy groceries?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Liu Zheng’s face paled.

“That’s right. You’ll need to buy your own ingredients from the market, which is just two hundred meters from here,” the director explained.

“I don’t know French, and my English is barely passable. You expect me to go out shopping on my own? You must be joking!” Liu Zheng protested. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You city folks really do know how to play! But as it happens, I speak French. I can be your interpreter,” Zhang Le offered with a smile.

“You speak French?” The other three looked at him, surprised.

“Is that allowed, Director?” Zhang Le asked.

“Yes, but you must each make your own breakfast by yourselves—no helping each other,” the director stipulated.

Liu Zheng grinned at this, while whatever schemes Lin Yang and Liang Bin had been plotting were dashed. If they couldn’t cook, they could have asked someone else, but that route was now closed.

When Yang Xiner and the other three ladies woke up, Zhang Le and the others had already returned from the market and were busy in the kitchen.

“Is it just the four of us? Where are the others?” Chen Fang asked.

“They’re each making breakfast for you,” a staff member replied.

“You mean actually cooking, not just collecting prepared food?” Zhang Yao asked quickly. Seeing the staff member nod, her face fell. “Well, that’s it—we’re going to go hungry this morning.”

“Zhang, doesn’t Liang cook at home?” Chen Fang asked in sympathy.

“It’s not that he doesn’t—he simply can’t,” Zhang Yao replied, shaking her head.

“We’re in the same boat,” Chen Fang sighed. “I’ve never seen Lin Yang cook either.”

“Does Liu cook at home?” Yang Xiner asked Xu Min.

“He does all the cooking at home,” Xu Min replied with a smile. “What about Zhang?”

“Of course he does. And it’s delicious,” Yang Xiner said, suddenly realizing how attractive a man who can cook really is.

Once all four men had finished preparing breakfast, the women were called to the table, and the men brought out their dishes.

Zhang Le’s breakfast was a feast, unconstrained by the limited funds. Though it was supposed to be breakfast, his meal consisted of stir-fried dishes and rice—closer to lunch or dinner.

“Isn’t this a bit much? It’s only breakfast!” Chen Fang remarked when she saw the spread Zhang Le had prepared.

“Well, eat a hearty breakfast, a good lunch, and a light dinner, right?” Zhang Le replied, laughing. “With the way the crew is playing things, who knows if we’ll have lunch today!”

Liu Zheng’s offering was much more typical—simple, but nutritious and fragrant.

As for Lin Yang and Liang Bin, they served up nothing but instant noodles. Zhang Yao and Chen Fang were speechless at the sight. The comparison left them both a little embarrassed for their men.

“If you can’t cook, at least get some milk and bread—it would be more nutritious,” Chen Fang complained.

“We could buy milk, but the crew said the bread had to be homemade!” Lin Yang protested.

“If we hadn’t argued with them, they would have made us cook the noodles ourselves,” Liang Bin added.

“If you can’t cook, you might as well get some fruit,” Zhang Yao grumbled.

“Was there any fruit at the market?” Liang Bin asked Lin Yang, giving him a meaningful glance.

“Of course not. It was a market, not a fruit shop,” Lin Yang replied earnestly.

“How are we supposed to eat this?” Chen Fang stared at the instant noodles, completely unappetized.

“If you don’t mind, why not join us?” Zhang Le offered, exchanging a glance with Yang Xiner.

Zhang Yao and Chen Fang didn’t hesitate for a moment, abandoning their noodles and hurrying over to Zhang Le’s table.

“Seriously? We put our hearts into those instant noodles. For one meal, you abandon us—what about sharing hardship and joy?” Lin Yang protested, though he too quickly abandoned his noodles and joined Zhang Le’s table.

Though Zhang Le had made plenty, it wasn’t enough for six. In any case, the crew had prepared additional breakfast off-camera; all this was for the sake of filming—the roles they played were, after all, just themselves.

After breakfast, the next task arrived.

Upon reading it, Yang Xiner laughed. “Remember the landmarks and the route we took, and then retrace the path in order. Isn’t this just a memory test? Is there even a need to compete? The championship is as good as ours.”

“My memory isn’t bad either,” Lin Yang said. Actors, after all, usually have excellent memories.

“We’ll see,” Liang Bin chimed in.

“Is that so? Don’t take it the wrong way, but Zhang can memorize entire books after a single reading, let alone a few landmarks and a route. The championship is ours; you can fight for second place if you wish,” Yang Xiner said, beaming with pride.

“Let’s keep a low profile,” Zhang Le replied with a modest smile.