AGN -Chapter 128 Hot

In the afternoon, Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan boldly tried a rough, makeshift version of the guo’er.

It was a great success.

Efficiency was very high.

As long as they let go of the psychological burden that what they were making was actually a “fruit pastry,” and instead approached it with an open mindset—telling themselves this was just how guo’er should be, that appearance didn’t matter as long as it looked roughly like a fruit, and color didn’t matter as long as it was vibrant enough—then speed increased dramatically.

After all, wrapping filling in dough and shaping it into a ball, then casually brushing on color with beet juice using a brush—these were simple steps anyone could handle. Even Chen Huihong could do it.

No, actually, Chen Huihong still couldn’t. When making guo’er, one had to control the thickness of the dough during wrapping, ensuring no filling leakage, no oil seepage, and that the wrapper wasn’t too thick.

These were basic requirements for making buns.

The rough, makeshift guo’er were extremely popular during the afternoon tasting and rush sale.

Since guo’er was destined to become a permanent menu item, whether or not Qin Huai could produce a B-grade buff version, this pastry would definitely be added permanently. If he couldn’t make a B-grade version, then he would have to practice. Practicing through random afternoon drops was practice, and placing it on the permanent morning menu would also be practice—so it made sense to announce it in advance.

Regular customers already had experience with this.

In their eyes, fermented rice buns had followed the same path to becoming a permanent item.

At first, they appeared as random afternoon drops. Over time, they gradually made their way into the permanent morning menu. Many residents in the community still regretted not cherishing the time when fermented rice buns were randomly available.

Random drops were great—new items appeared intermittently in the afternoon, outside peak dining hours, making it impossible for office workers to all skip work just to queue.

If you were lucky and arrived when there was no crowd, you could buy not just one bag, but two! Carrying two large bags of fermented rice buns through the community would double your visibility, bringing not only pride but also making you the hero of your household.

As long as the buns weren’t finished that day, the household would continue to tell the legend of how a hero stormed Yunzhong Cafeteria and came home with two bags of fermented rice buns.

But those days were gone. The good times were over.

Fermented rice buns had become a permanent item, sold at fixed times every morning. Residents of the community, office workers, students, and even passersby all competed to buy them.

They were usually sold out almost instantly upon coming out of the steamer—forget buying two bags, you couldn’t even secure one. Now there was a limit: each person could only buy two from the first batch each morning.

Why was someone surnamed Ding so disliked? Wasn’t it because she could always casually walk around the community carrying a bag of fermented rice buns thanks to her connection with blossom honey?

Carrying a bag of fermented rice buns while strolling around the community—even in late summer heat over 30°C—she wasn’t afraid of overheating.

Thus, on the first day of the guo’er tasting, residents of the neighboring community were still observing, while residents of Yunzhong Community had already begun calling friends and forming queues to rush the purchase.

All afternoon, long lines formed in the cafeteria, filled with eager, loyal customers waiting for guo’er.

By coincidence, Qu Jing, who had just finished her day shift, happened to catch the final batch of guo’er coming out of the steamer.

It was also the best batch.

Earlier batches used fillings stir-fried by Qin Huai. While not disastrous, they were at best mediocre.

When Qin Huai stir-fried the fillings, he felt uncomfortable—he hadn’t used a wok in years. It was like someone who had always been beaten with a coat hanger suddenly being switched to a rolling pin—the technique might exist, but the feel was off.

However, the skill itself was there. With some adaptation, the rolling pin could still deliver the same result as the coat hanger.

Similarly, Qin Huai’s heat control had genuinely reached an intermediate level. While not high, it was still much better than beginner level. Moreover, he practiced heat control daily, so there was no chance of major failure.

If anyone felt his fillings were subpar, it was likely because they had just eaten Zheng Siyuan’s version.

Qin Huai practiced making guo’er in the afternoon to improve his heat control and hand techniques. For this, he even skipped making soup and ignored Master Huang’s online course. Master Huang didn’t mind—since Zheng Siyuan was already providing in-person instruction, pausing the online lessons was fine. He happily went fishing instead.

The guo’er made with Qin Huai’s fillings in earlier batches were only D-grade, at best D+, never reaching C-grade.

Although D-grade items were modest, the guo’er itself had a strong foundation. It was originally a B-grade dish that had been downgraded to D-grade due to lack of skill—not a typical D-grade, but a delicious one.

Combined with Qin Huai’s low pricing, generous size, and filling, each guo’er was about the size of an apple and packed with meat. Fresh out of the steamer, it was extremely fragrant. Since it was sold as a practice tasting item at a random drop price of only 10 yuan each, customers who managed to buy them never left negative reviews.

Of course, the final batch wouldn’t be sold at such a low cost price.

The final batch used fillings stir-fried by Zheng Siyuan. Before the steamer lid was even opened, Qin Huai could already see its quality:

[Apple Guo’er — C Grade]

As expected of Zheng Siyuan—formally trained professionals were truly versatile.

If a C-grade guo’er were still sold at 10 yuan, it would be disrespectful to the filling he personally prepared.

Facing the customers outside the window, Qin Huai announced, “Everyone, this is the final batch of guo’er. The price is slightly higher—25 yuan each. There are 35 pieces in total. Please queue orderly. Sister Xi, please distribute the queue numbers. Anyone beyond number 35 does not need to line up.”

A passerby who had just joined the queue asked, “Why is this batch so expensive? Weren’t they 10 yuan earlier?”

No one answered him. The crowd surged forward to queue.

The person who got number 35 was an office worker who had heard about the afternoon random drops and deliberately skipped work to come. He almost cried with joy, clutching his number and squatting down in tears.

However, most of his tears were not from securing a spot, but because he had just checked his phone and found out he had been caught skipping work and was fined 200 yuan.

After the queue numbers were distributed, a disappointed customer explained to the passerby:

“This means the final batch is worth the price.”

“Huh?” The passerby didn’t understand. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

“You must be new,” said an older woman, looking somewhat wistfully outside. “Little Qin, the chef here, is also the owner. He doesn’t really set fixed prices. During practice periods, what he sells depends on availability—he sells when he feels like it and keeps it for himself when he doesn’t.”

“He sets prices randomly too. The better the quality, the higher the price; average ones are cheaper; bad ones are even given away for free.”

“There are free ones too?” the passerby asked in surprise.

The woman smiled faintly. “Once you eat something free, you’ll understand what ‘you get what you pay for’ really means.”

“I’ll never forget the duck soup Xiao Ou had.”

The passerby: ?

Although he didn’t get a queue number, he stayed in the shop, curious to see the difference between the 25-yuan guo’er and the 10-yuan ones.

Meanwhile, the staff quickly packed the guo’er into bags. As they were doing so, Qu Jing entered the shop.

Qu Jing was somewhat of a familiar face among the regulars. The frequent elderly customers recognized her and greeted her warmly.

“Doctor Qu is here! Didn’t see you this morning.”

“Aunt Huang, I was on the day shift today, so I couldn’t come in the morning.”

“Xiao Qu, you just made it! Little Qin is selling a new pastry this afternoon. He said once perfected, it will be a fixed morning item. The earlier ones were 10 yuan, but this batch is 25 yuan!”

Hearing this, Qu Jing quickened her pace to the window and peeked inside, where she saw the rather unattractive guo’er.

Qu Jing: …

What kind of strange aesthetic does Little Qin have? What is this round thing with patches of red and white?

Is it some kind of red fruit?

“Oh, Qu Jing, you came at the right time. I just messaged Mr. Luo to have Zhang Shumei come pick up some pastries. Since you’re here, could you deliver them for me?” Qin Huai said.

“Sure,” Qu Jing nodded, not minding running the errand. “I was planning to visit Mr. Luo anyway.”

Qin Huai handed her two guo’er.

From the final batch, Qin Huai had kept five: one for Ou Yang, one for Chen Huihong, one for Luo Jun, and two for Luo Luo. Since the portions were large, Huihui didn’t need a separate one—she could share Chen Huihong’s.

Now that Qu Jing had arrived, he simply allocated one of Luo Luo’s to her.

“By the way, you mentioned in the hospital last time that you wanted red date yam sticky rice cake flavor. I’ve been busy these past few days and haven’t had time to make it. Once I’m free, I’ll look into it. I remember you’re on the night shift the day after tomorrow—send me a message that morning before coming, and I’ll prepare it in advance,” Qin Huai said.

As Qu Jing took the packaged guo’er and tried to place it into a larger bag, the guo’er accidentally touched her elbow.

Even though she was wearing long sleeves and the guo’er was wrapped in a paper bag, Qu Jing still recoiled as if burned and almost cried out.

“They’re freshly out of the steamer—be careful, they’re hot,” Qin Huai said, startled by her reaction. “Do you want to rinse it with cold water? Were you burned?”

Qu Jing inhaled sharply. Her mask covered most of her face, making her expression hard to read, but her movements and eyes clearly showed she was in pain.

She shook her head. “No need. I don’t think I’m burned. I’m just more sensitive to pain. It’s not boiling water—how could it burn me? I’ll go deliver these guo’er and come back later for the other pastries and dried tangerine peel tea.”

With that, she left.

Qin Huai glanced at the others. Some customers, unable to wait due to hunger, had already started eating, sucking in breaths of air between bites, some even hopping in place in exaggerated reactions.

Freshly steamed guo’er, even after sitting for one or two minutes, were still very hot.

But not to the point where merely touching them would feel like being scalded by boiling water.

“What’s wrong?” Zheng Siyuan noticed Qin Huai spacing out. “Let’s wrap up and get off work. I still think something was off with the filling I made earlier—I want to study it more when I get back.”

“Nothing,” Qin Huai murmured. “I was just wondering… is it really possible for someone to be that sensitive to pain?”