AGN -Chapter 131 The Real Secret

In the kitchen, Zheng Siyuan had already kneaded several batches of dough. The helpers at the welfare home were the same familiar faces from last time—none of them particularly skilled at cooking, but all decent with knives. Zheng Siyuan assigned them to chopping vegetables and assisting, and the sound of meat and vegetables being chopped echoed everywhere.

Everyone was busy, and at a glance, it felt a bit like a countryside banquet.

The welfare home kitchen even had traditional rural stoves and large iron woks. Today, Qin Huai planned to challenge himself by stir-frying the filling in a big wok.

Of course, he also had a plan B. He had asked Director Qu to prepare plenty of ingredients for cabbage-and-pork buns, intending to rally the children in the afternoon to help make buns just in case.

Stir-frying filling required high heat—meat into a hot wok, stir-fried rapidly.

Using bold movements and wok-tossing techniques, part of the fat would be rendered out first, then the heat lowered to control the oil precisely. Early on, the filling needed to be broken apart; later, it needed to be stirred evenly—uniform, but not mushy.

Qin Huai had a complete plan in mind. His claim about coming to the welfare home to “find the feeling” was nonsense he told Zheng Siyuan, but it was true that cooking here felt as comfortable as being at home.

Because he knew the children here would never be picky eaters.

Qin Huai picked up the spatula.

He felt like he was fighting on his home ground.

A large basin of filling was poured into the wok.

Sizzle—

He stir-fried quickly.

Finding the right moment, Qin Huai tried to imitate Zheng Siyuan’s wok-toss from yesterday.

Flip—

He flailed awkwardly with the spatula, trying his best to make the filling turn over in the wok.

Zheng Siyuan watched silently from the side, patting the dough, completely unfazed.

Just moments ago, when Qin Huai had picked up the spatula so confidently, Zheng Siyuan had actually felt a bit of anticipation. Qin Huai was the intuitive, talented type—maybe he’d pull off something impressive here.

Now?

What exactly had he been expecting?

Not far from Qin Huai, a staff member chopping cabbage and another mincing meat commented: “Chef Xiao Qin’s skills are really something. That meat smells amazing!”

The one chopping meat nodded vigorously. “Things have been easy these past few days—the kids are definitely eating better. You didn’t see it earlier—Congcong, who usually can’t even speak clearly, saw Chef Xiao Qin outside and called him ‘Bao-bao brother’ so clearly!”

“I wish I had Chef Xiao Qin’s skills. I’d go back home and open a bun shop—it’d be better than anything,” the cabbage chopper said enviously.

Zheng Siyuan: …

Alright then. The people here were truly very tolerant. No wonder Qin Huai was willing to come.

Meanwhile, Qin Huai’s filling had transitioned from ordinary stir-frying into stewing.

A large-wok stew, with rich stock Qin Huai had specially brought from the cafeteria added in. The rich aroma of meat spread throughout the kitchen.

Now even the ones chopping cabbage and meat were amazed. Even Director Qu looked astonished and quietly asked Zheng Siyuan if this was really bun filling—how could it smell this good?

It felt like a waste to use such fragrant filling just for buns. Why not eat stewed meat filling with noodles tonight and use the dough for cabbage buns? Extra dough wasn’t a problem—they could always make buns tomorrow.

Zheng Siyuan didn’t know how to respond and simply continued kneading dough in silence.

Once the filling cooled slightly, it was time for the exciting part—shaping the guo’er.

Hearing that Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan were making a new cafeteria item—a special fruit-shaped pastry resembling red fruit—everyone gathered around curiously.

After practicing all afternoon yesterday, the two had mastered a fast, “good enough” shaping method.

As long as you believed it was an apple, anything you shaped was an apple.

What? You say this doesn’t look like an apple, just a round lump?

Exactly—it’s not an apple.

Their fingers moved quickly, shaping dough in the blink of an eye into slightly irregular round “fruits” that vaguely resembled apples—but honestly, not really.

“Wow!” the onlookers exclaimed enthusiastically, fully supportive.

Zheng Siyuan expressionlessly made another.

“Wow! It looks the same!” the crowd exclaimed again.

Zheng Siyuan broke the rhythm, letting Qin Huai continue shaping while he went to mix beet juice for coloring.

The first ugly fruit pastry was born in his hands.

“Wow!” The exclamations came one after another.

Zheng Siyuan felt this business trip was going great—worth extending, even making it a regular weekly thing. If Qin Huai thought it was too far, he could even drive.

Watching from the side, Qin Huai nearly burst out laughing.

Zheng Siyuan really was a pastry chef who loved getting direct, on-the-spot praise from customers.

No wonder he’d been fooled by the disappointed looks of the elderly in the neighborhood—starting work earlier and earlier, from 7 a.m. to 6 a.m., and finishing later and later, from noon to after lunch plus another batch before teaching.

Qin Huai cooperatively gave Zheng Siyuan the spotlight, focusing only on shaping dough while leaving all the coloring to him.

Even such ugly pastries earned genuine cheers from the staff—it showed how hard it was for Director Qu to recruit volunteers, and how much everyone wanted Zheng Siyuan to stay.

After finishing the first batch, the two divided tasks again—one seasoning the filling, the other kneading softer dough for buns.

The staff also went about their duties. Director Qu went to set up tables and rally the children to come help make buns.

But after leaving, she didn’t return.

The kitchen had everything ready—filling and dough—but no children.

They called her—no answer.

“Maybe some donors came, and Director Qu is busy receiving them. She usually doesn’t check her phone when she’s talking,” someone guessed.

“I’ll go check her office. I also need to grab those documents for Mr. Luo—I forgot earlier,” Qin Huai said.

A staff member kindly pointed him toward the office, worried he might get lost.

Then they continued praising Zheng Siyuan.

“Wow, Chef Xiao Zheng, your dough skin is amazing—it feels different just holding it!”

Qin Huai: … At this rate, Zheng Siyuan might really become a permanent volunteer.

Great—another advantage for matchmaking: very compassionate.

Qin Huai walked toward the office. The door was half-closed—probably shut earlier but not fully latched. It looked older than Qin Luo; not closing properly was normal.

Voices came from inside.

As Qin Huai approached to knock, he realized the voices were familiar.

It was Qu Jing.

“Why have you started again?!” Director Qu’s voice was sharp in a way Qin Huai had never heard before. Realizing her tone, she took a deep breath and softened it.

“Have you been writing papers recently?”

Qu Jing didn’t respond.

“Since you became friends with Xiao Qin and the others, haven’t you stopped this? Didn’t you say going to his shop every day, buying pastries and tangerine peel tea, made you feel happier? That you were getting better?”

“Last time, Xiao Qin even said he’d introduce you to someone. I thought once you improved, with today’s medical advances—even burn scars can be repaired—yours should be treatable too.”

“You’re still young. Plenty of people marry in their 30s. Jingjing, one day you can live a normal life.”

“Why are you…” Director Qu’s voice choked.

Qu Jing spoke softly, “I’m sorry, Mama Qu. I’m a monster.”

“Don’t say that. It’s my fault—I didn’t take you to the hospital when you were sick as a child. I caused this.”

Outside the door, Qin Huai was stunned.

He couldn’t understand—what illness did she have?

Did she really have a UV allergy?

He shifted slightly and peeked through the crack.

What he saw left him speechless.

Qu Jing wasn’t wearing gloves.

Nor sun sleeves. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, exposing her arms.

Her hands, wrists, and arms were covered in scars—old and new layered over each other. Pink scars twisted grotesquely across her skin, making it look horrifying. Some areas weren’t even flat, as if chunks of flesh had been carved out.

The newest wound was on her arm, wrapped in bandages—likely from yesterday’s burn.

Qin Huai realized he had just seen her true secret.

And he also knew he now faced a choice with no turning back.

Pretend he knew nothing?

Or knock and walk in, pretending he had just arrived—polite, but not too polite?

He took a deep breath, calming himself.

He wasn’t sure if he was close enough to her yet—but with her obsession like this, without a strong intervention, she might never recover.

At this rate, he feared one day she might cut her wrists.

Qin Huai knocked heavily twice.

“Director Qu.”

Without giving them time to react, he pushed the door open.