AGN -Chapter 137 Rice Cake Soup

The apartment Chen Huihong rented to Qu Jing was in Building E, Room 1101—a fully furnished one-bedroom unit.

When Qin Huai, carrying a housewarming gift he had just bought that morning from a nearby mall, ran into Chen Huihong in the elevator, the two looked at the boxes in each other’s hands and fell into an awkward silence.

How to put it… they were oddly in sync.

Both had bought air purifiers—and even the same brand.

“Sister Hong,” Qin Huai broke the silence first, “how did you end up buying so many apartments in this complex back then?”

Qin Huai knew Chen Huihong owned several units in Yunzhi Residential Complex, but he hadn’t expected such a complete range of layouts.

Chen Huihong herself lived in the same type as Luo Jun’s unit, the two-bedroom Qin Huai’s family lived in had been lent to Qin Congwen for free, and now the one rented to Qu Jing was a one-bedroom.

Qin Huai hadn’t even known there were one-bedroom apartments in the complex—he’d thought his place was the smallest.

What kind of developer designs a residential complex like this? Was the idea to make sure everyone could find a suitable layout? If so, couldn’t they also lower the housing prices a bit?

“At the time, I just happened to have some spare money and thought I’d buy a few units to rent out as an investment,” Chen Huihong said. “Later I ran into some troublesome tenants and shady agents, so I just gave up.”

“How much did you pay for that air purifier?” she asked.

“599.”

“That’s expensive. When I stocked up, they were only a bit over 300.”

“Stocked up?”

“Next time someone moves and you need a gift, just grab one from my place. I still have seven or eight in the storage room.”

“Next time?”

Chen Huihong nodded calmly. “I still have several apartments on hand, right? If the next one you unlock isn’t from our complex, we’ll just use the old trick—move them in!”

“I don’t think it’ll be someone from this complex. If there were other spirits here, Luo Jun would’ve noticed already.”

As she spoke, Chen Huihong stepped out of the elevator holding the air purifier, and Qin Huai followed.

They rang the doorbell.

Qu Jing opened the door. Perhaps because she was at home and only familiar people were visiting, she wasn’t wearing a mask or gloves for once.

She wore a loose, light-colored long-sleeve loungewear set. There was a bit of color in her lips, and she looked much better than the day at the hospital. The skin on the back of her hands was fully exposed, the scars plainly visible in the air.

The apartment’s decor was very “Instagram style”: fabric sofa, light-colored curtains, a white dining table and chairs, and even a flower vase on the sideboard—though it held no flowers, and its purpose was unclear.

Luo Jun had already arrived. He sat on the sofa watching TV. On the cabinet in the living room was an unopened air purifier.

He glanced at the air purifiers in Qin Huai and Chen Huihong’s hands, then smugly turned back to the TV.

Apparently, his was more expensive.

Qu Jing brought them slippers. “The food will be ready soon. Please sit in the living room and watch some TV for a bit.”

After speaking, she hurried back into the kitchen—it was clear her “battle” with cooking had reached a critical stage.

Qin Huai took a deep breath. There was no obvious burnt smell.

Seems like Qu Jing’s cooking skills were decent—at least better than Chen Huihong’s.

Qin Huai sat on the sofa and glanced at the TV.

As expected, it was Luo Jun’s favorite—xianxia dramas.

“The fruit pastries this afternoon were much better than yesterday’s,” Luo Jun said as soon as Qin Huai sat down.

“Thanks for the compliment.” Qin Huai smiled. The pastries he’d sent over today were made using Zheng Siyuan’s successful filling—naturally better than yesterday’s.

“But they’re still far inferior to what Xiao Jiang makes,” Luo Jun added, casting Qin Huai a slightly disdainful look. “You couldn’t complete the side quest when you didn’t know the item. Now that you do, you still can’t complete it.”

Qin Huai: …

Did Bifang eat gunpowder today? Why is he firing at me the moment we meet?

Chen Huihong chuckled and tried to smooth things over. “I think Xiao Qu is in great condition now! At least she can live eight more years!”

Qin Huai: “…Is there any chance we’re not at your house, Luo Jun? Qu Jing is still in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen here has excellent soundproofing. Once the door is closed, nothing outside can be heard,” Chen Huihong said. “I think Luo Jun just doesn’t want you to see his final memory. According to the usual storyline, that last memory should reveal how he became what he is now.”

“So he’s deliberately mocking you—telling you not to practice fruit pastries and to focus on making rice cakes for Xiao Qu instead.”

Luo Jun didn’t respond—clearly she had hit the mark.

Even plant spirits can expose Bifang’s little schemes sometimes.

Qin Huai knew it was time to express his stance. “Mr. Luo, don’t worry. I do things in an orderly way. Step by step. I can handle multiple things at once.”

“I’ll make rice cakes, and I’ll keep practicing fruit pastries.”

Luo Jun: “…Go ahead and practice. Let’s see when you can reach Xiao Jiang’s level.”

That made Qin Huai curious. He leaned forward slightly, looking at Luo Jun with a faint smile.

“I remember when I first read the quest description, I asked you what the item was. You said you couldn’t remember clearly—that it was a kind of fruit pastry, but not a normal one. At the time, I believed you. But now, I think you actually remember quite well.”

Chen Huihong also looked at Luo Jun.

Without changing expression, Luo Jun replied, “At that time, I really didn’t remember.”

“Have you ever flipped through a photo album?”

The question came so suddenly that both Qin Huai and Chen Huihong paused, then shook their heads.

“My family was poor when I was young. We couldn’t afford photos,” Chen Huihong said honestly.

“The orphanage I grew up in was poor too. No money for photos either,” Qin Huai added bluntly.

Luo Jun was momentarily speechless. “If you’ve ever looked through an album, you’d know—there are many things that exist in your memory, but you just can’t recall them until you see the photos. In your mind, there are only vague impressions and shadows. Only when you see the pictures can you remember clearly.”

“I don’t even have the album right now. It’s with Qin Huai. If he doesn’t look at it, how would I know?”

“What album?” Qu Jing pushed open the kitchen door, carrying two dishes. “Time to eat.”

The three took their seats.

The dishes were simple: stir-fried cabbage, minced pork tofu, eggplant with green beans, a plate of steamed braised pork hock, and soy sauce duck.

The pork hock and duck were clearly bought from a deli.

Last to be served was a large bowl of red bean rice cake soup.

“It’s a bit simple. I’m not good at cooking meat dishes, so I only made two basic vegetable dishes and bought the rest from a deli. This soup is red bean rice cake soup. When I moved last time, I cooked this at home and ate it with Director Qu. The rice cakes aren’t as good as the ones Qin Huai makes by hand every day—I bought them from the supermarket at noon today,” Qu Jing said apologetically.

“Mr. Luo, just have some of the soup for the flavor. Glutinous rice is hard to digest at night for elderly people—it can cause stomach pain.”

Luo Jun looked at the soup. “I don’t like boiled rice cakes.”

Chen Huihong enthusiastically encouraged her. “This is already great! Much better than me! Xiao Qu, I didn’t expect you to have such good cooking skills hidden all these years!”

Qu Jing served herself a bowl of soup. “I don’t cook much usually. I mostly eat at the hospital cafeteria or Qin Huai’s pastries.”

“Now that you’ve moved here, it’s even more convenient—you can just eat at Xiao Qin’s cafeteria,” Chen Huihong said, ever the promoter of Yunzhi Cafeteria.

Qin Huai also quietly served himself a bowl.

To be honest, he hadn’t eaten rice cake soup much before.

In the Qin household, rice cakes were never cooked in soup. They were either pan-fried with sugar, grilled into crispy cakes with sauce, or sliced and stir-fried with eggs—savory dishes.

Rice cake soup…

It probably wasn’t even in Zhao Rong’s recipe book.

Qin Huai took a sip.

Qu Jing hadn’t used soaked red beans—she used store-bought red bean paste. The soup was very sweet. Stirring it brought up the thick paste from the bottom, giving it a grainy texture. The rice cakes were cut into small pieces, and likely cooked too long—they were almost dissolving, making the soup slightly thick and sticky.

Warm and comforting—perfect for winter.

Very homely, and somehow perfectly suited to the occasion.

“This soup is really good,” Qin Huai said. “If we serve this as breakfast on winter mornings, it’d probably be very popular.”

“It’s getting colder soon. I’ll try it in a couple of days,” he added.

Qu Jing held her bowl, looking at the simple dishes on the table, then at the scars on the back of her hand, and finally at everyone else.

Luo Jun, who had initially only planned to taste the soup, was secretly scooping two pieces of rice cake—only to be immediately exposed by Chen Huihong.

Qin Huai laughed and smoothed things over, saying it was fine to eat a couple—Luo Jun had eaten plenty before.

No one cared about her differences.

No one criticized her cooking.

Everyone was simply sitting together, happily sharing a meal.

For Qu Jing, a scene like this—eating freely with friends without hiding anything—felt as distant as a past life.

The weather didn’t require air conditioning, but wearing long sleeves indoors still felt a bit warm.

Qu Jing rolled up her sleeves slightly, lifted her bowl, and said:

“Then I’ll definitely come support the cafeteria more this winter.”