AGN -Chapter 147 Cannot Tarnish the Reputation

After finishing the welcome banquet, Qin Huai felt as if the food had risen all the way to his throat. He just wanted to go back and lie down quickly, not even feeling like talking—because the moment he opened his mouth, it seemed like the flavors of three-flavor duck, crab roe tofu, fragrant oil eel shreds, squirrel-shaped mandarin fish, and braised chopped silver carp head were all surging upward.

The food itself was quite delicious, but mixing everything together made him feel a bit nauseous.

This feeling is commonly known as being overly full.

Qin Huai realized that in the past twenty-odd years of his life, he had never been this full before.

Dong Shi was worried that Qin Huai might not be able to find the apartment Zheng Da had rented for him on his first day, so he volunteered to escort him back.

Qin Huai felt he was overthinking it. The residential complex across from Huangji Restaurant was a standard old neighborhood—six floors, no elevator. The green area was large, and although the facilities were quite dated—many unit number plates at the entrances were even missing—the layout was still quite straightforward.

The apartment Zheng Da rented for Qin Huai was Building 1, Unit 102, very easy to find.

“Qin Huai, are you really going to be responsible for the staff desserts?” Dong Shi couldn’t stop talking no matter the situation. “Let me tell you, our restaurant has a lot of staff. You already met the kitchen staff today, and there are even more front-of-house servers. Everyone eats together. If you’re planning to steam buns, you’d probably need to triple today’s afternoon quantity and still not be enough.”

“Speaking of which, the fermented rice buns you made this afternoon were really good. They tasted just like what Uncle Zheng makes. But Uncle Zheng usually doesn’t cook much—he only makes desserts once or twice a year. Fermented rice buns… I think I only had them once, maybe the year before last.”

Hearing this, Qin Huai was somewhat shocked. He knew Zheng Da’s main business now was commerce, and that he wasn’t very interested in cooking or willing to personally get involved—but he didn’t expect it to be to this extent.

No wonder, a few months ago at Yunzhong Canteen, Zheng Da diligently worked for two weeks and then started finding excuses—skipping mornings, slipping away in the afternoons. It turned out he had already completed ten years’ worth of dessert-making in just those two weeks.

Qin Huai even felt a bit moved. Zheng Da had really worked hard.

Wait—why wasn’t Zheng Da at tonight’s welcome banquet? Was no one informed?

“Is Chef Zheng not in Gusu? I didn’t see him today,” Qin Huai asked.

“Uncle Zheng went to Hangcheng,” Dong Shi replied. “Seems like there was an issue with a production line over there. He left suddenly last night and probably won’t be back for a few days.”

Qin Huai nodded and didn’t ask further.

The neighborhood was right across from Huangji Restaurant. Qin Huai asked again whether he should start work at 9 a.m. tomorrow and, after getting confirmation, they walked to the entrance of the complex.

One of the streetlights at the entrance was broken—nearby areas were visible, but farther away were only dark silhouettes.

“Xiao Dong? Getting off work this late?” An elderly man returning from shopping ran into Dong Shi at the entrance and greeted him with a smile.

“Just finished dinner,” Dong Shi replied familiarly. “Uncle Qian, this is Qin Huai, our new pastry chef, specializing in white-case desserts. He’ll be here for about one or two months of exchange. You must come by tomorrow and support us!”

The old man squinted at Qin Huai, then nodded with a smile. “So Huang Restaurant is finally willing to hire a new white-case chef. It’s about time. Back when Master Jing was around, that state-run restaurant served both desserts and main dishes.”

“Xiao Zheng had high ambitions and wanted to make money, so he went into business. Your master felt that quality should never be compromised and only wanted to hire dessert chefs who matched Xiao Zheng’s standards—afraid of tarnishing Master Jing’s reputation.”

“If you ask me, it’s been so many years—who still remembers Master Jing except us old folks? You’ve never even met your grandmaster. Hiring other dessert chefs to make ordinary desserts isn’t shameful at all. Your master is just too stubborn.”

Dong Shi didn’t respond: “Master just feels that there are no skilled dessert chefs in our restaurant, and that talented ones would be wasting their potential here.”

The old man smiled and walked away.

Listening from the side, Qin Huai felt somewhat puzzled. He knew who Master Jing was, but wasn’t Huangji Restaurant owned by Huang Shengli? What did it have to do with Master Jing?

“Why doesn’t Master Huang hire new white-case chefs just to avoid tarnishing Master Jing’s reputation?” Qin Huai asked curiously.

Dong Shi hesitated unusually for a moment. After thinking for two minutes, he explained:

“Qin Huai, have you noticed that the area around our restaurant is all old residential neighborhoods, with no shopping malls?”

Qin Huai nodded. He had already noticed that.

Although the neighborhood Zheng Da rented for him was an old one, compared to others nearby, it was already relatively new and well-maintained.

“This area is part of the old district. Huangji Restaurant used to be a state-run dining hall. After it went bankrupt, my master didn’t want it to close down, so he bought it with his own money and reopened it at the original site. As business grew, he gradually acquired surrounding shops and expanded it into what it is today.”

“Two years ago, it was called Huangji Jiu Jia. Later, Brother An Yao felt the name sounded more like a place selling alcohol, so it was changed to its current name. Master agreed. But many people still habitually call it Jiu Jia, though most just call it Huangji.”

“There used to be many state-owned factories around here. Two streets over was the cotton mill, but it has long since closed.”

“Many residents nearby are longtime customers. They don’t eat often—maybe once a month—but they’ve been coming for years. Some, like Uncle Qian, used to be accountants at the cotton mill. Master said they’ve been living nearby since Huangji was still a state-run dining hall forty years ago. These people have all tasted my grandmaster’s craftsmanship.”

“Master believes he only inherited about 60% of grandmaster’s skills, which he considers already embarrassing. Uncle Zheng may have only learned five or six tenths.”

“Master said that since he reopened Huangji on the original site, the customers who first came were there because of grandmaster’s reputation. He cannot bring shame to that legacy.”

“So he is very strict with chefs. Our restaurant mainly focuses on hot dishes, and white-case chefs don’t really have much future here—they can’t earn fame or big money. It’s hard to hire truly top-tier talent.”

“Three years ago, our white-case chef, Chef Zhang, retired and returned home. After that, we couldn’t find anyone to satisfy Master, so we simply shut down the white-case section and relied on Brother Siyuan when needed.”

Hearing this, Qin Huai suddenly felt nervous and almost walked into the wrong building.

“Then wasn’t it a bit hasty for Master Huang to just ask me to come over and start working in uniform?” he asked.

Although he didn’t know Master Jing, Zheng Da, Huang Shengli, and Zheng Siyuan were all very good people. Despite their brief acquaintance, they had shared their knowledge generously. If he underperformed and embarrassed Huangji, wouldn’t that indirectly tarnish Master Jing’s reputation?

Dong Shi clearly didn’t understand: “Hasty? Not at all. Qin Huai, your skills are so good—if you didn’t already have your own community canteen in Shancheng, I’d have asked you to join our restaurant directly.”

“I think your skills are on par with Brother Siyuan’s. Some of your desserts are even better.”

As he spoke, Dong Shi smacked his lips. “By the way, can you make fermented rice buns for the staff meal tomorrow? Tell me honestly—what else are you good at?”

“……How about sesame flatbread and crab shell pastries? These two have been very popular at my canteen. One of my friends can eat one or two pounds at a time,” Qin Huai said, a bit confused by the topic shift, as he took out his keys and opened the door, trying to steer the conversation back.

“Brother Siyuan’s skills… are they really that good?”

Qin Huai knew Zheng Siyuan was certainly among the best of the younger generation, and Siyuan himself had said so too. But in Qin Huai’s mind, culinary skills should improve with age. The top of the younger generation would still be ordinary when placed among true masters.

After all, Qin Huai had his own evaluation of Siyuan’s skills: overall, Siyuan was stronger than him.

But Siyuan was somewhat specialized—mainly skilled in Su-style desserts. His best dishes could reach A-level, his normal performance ranged from B to C, and unfamiliar dishes could easily drop to D-level.

However, Siyuan rarely made things he wasn’t familiar with—he preferred sticking to what he was good at.

As for Qin Huai’s inherited recipes:

A S-level hawthorn-flower bun from Jiang Chengde (made to cheer up his sister)

An A-level longevity noodles dish that failed due to distraction

A B-level fermented rice bun from Qin Wan

A B-level apple pastry that couldn’t properly wrap its filling due to mismatched techniques

On average, the dessert recipes he had inherited were at A-level.

Even an ordinary woman like Qin Wan, who wasn’t a professional chef, could make B-level fermented rice buns. So in Qin Huai’s impression, B-level desserts were the standard in large restaurants.

Not having B-level quality would be embarrassing.

As for the legendary Zhiyue Pavilion, which gathered the most elite white-case chefs in the country, he assumed any chef there could easily make A-level or even S-level desserts. Pei Xing and Li Hua were simply mediocre, which is why they were eliminated.

Everywhere has its underperformers—Qin Luo was still attending Double Sea High School, after all.

Qin Huai felt his understanding was perfectly reasonable.

Dong Shi, however, felt Qin Huai might be losing it.

He stared at Qin Huai as if he were looking at a deity. “Of course he is.”

“If Master could hire a white-case chef at Brother Siyuan’s level, we wouldn’t have gone three years without one.”

“Brother Siyuan is considered the best among the younger generation in white-case desserts. Even though he stays at that pastry shop near the neighborhood entrance, my brother, the senior apprentice, the third senior brother, and the sixth senior brother all think he’s stronger than many of the direct disciples at Zhiyue Pavilion.”

“Not to mention he’s still improving. In a few years, only a handful of people nationwide might surpass him.”

“If he were willing to join Huangji, Uncle Zheng could even invest in boosting his reputation. The next ‘Top Chef List’ would definitely include his name!”

Qin Huai was also stunned. So Zheng Siyuan was that impressive?

No wonder Chen Huirong had used Siyuan and Zheng Da as benchmarks. It wasn’t an HR issue after all that they couldn’t recruit a suitable pastry chef.

Was it a bit of a waste to have Siyuan working in a canteen?

While Qin Huai was lost in thought, Dong Shi had already moved on, enthusiastically saying, “Recently, Master has had some back issues and hasn’t been cooking much, which has affected business. Senior brothers have been worried.”

“But now things are great—you and Brother Siyuan are both here. Siyuan’s pastry shop is under renovation, and after reopening and a transition period, it’ll take another two months or so. If you can stay at Huangji for two months, once Master’s back recovers, business will definitely improve.”

“When New Year comes, I’ll definitely get a huge red envelope!”

Qin Huai felt that if he stayed at Huangji for two months, he would likely encounter many residents from Yunzhong Community.

After Dong Shi left happily, Qin Huai sat on the sofa and thought for a while, then messaged Huang Jia with the next day’s dessert plan.

Huang Shengli knew Qin Huai’s cooking habits well—he was not someone who followed menus strictly. He told Qin Huai to treat Huangji like Yunzhong Canteen and be fully free to improvise.

The kitchen had everything—ingredients, equipment, and helpers. Whatever he needed was available.

Originally, Qin Huai had planned to do just that. But after Dong Shi’s explanation, he suddenly felt a lot of pressure. He even suspected Dong Shi might have exaggerated Siyuan’s skills to ease his psychological burden.

Better to play it safe.

For the staff meal, he would improvise; for his first day at work, he would make something he was confident in for the new customers.

After sending the message, Qin Huai washed up and went to sleep.

On the other end, Huang Jia stared at Qin Huai’s message, filled with confusion.

This menu…

Wasn’t it a bit too comprehensive?

Jing-style mung bean cake, round dream sesame flatbread, fermented rice buns, four-joy dumplings, candied orange peel tea, two flavors of crab shell pastries, five-ingredient buns, glutinous rice cakes, jujube yam cakes, and hawthorn-flower buns.

The hawthorn-flower buns were even specifically noted to require unprocessed hawthorn honey.

Huang Jia thought for a moment, removed the hawthorn-flower buns, and sent the list to the restaurant’s floor manager to update the digital menu, while arranging for an urgent batch of new white-case items before lunchtime.

Then he went to sleep, still wondering what exactly hawthorn-flower buns were.

At 7 a.m. the next morning, Qin Huai couldn’t sleep any longer and reluctantly got up. He wandered around and killed time on his phone until 8 a.m., found it too boring, and went across the street to work.

Huangji Restaurant was already open.

There were even people in the kitchen.

Qin Huai was a bit surprised. Didn’t Dong Shi say they started at 9 a.m.? Turns out Huangji also had early risers who came in at 8.

After changing into his uniform and entering the kitchen, he saw Zheng Siyuan.

Zheng Siyuan was seasoning minced meat, a filling Qin Huai was very familiar with—used daily for delicate wontons and bubble wontons.

The two looked at each other and spoke in unison:

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Habit.”

“It’s better to come early and make desserts, then rest at noon.”

Seeing that Siyuan had already reached the seasoning stage, Qin Huai felt he couldn’t fall behind. He rolled up his sleeves and started kneading dough.

He began with four-joy dumplings.

No need to ask—he just hadn’t had breakfast and wanted to eat.

At 9 a.m., the kitchen staff of Huangji Restaurant gradually arrived.

Every kitchen worker who arrived on time was stunned.

The kitchen was filled with a rich breakfast aroma.

What kind of breakfast aroma? Since there were too many varieties, it was hard to identify any specific one at first.

“Want some dumplings?” Qin Huai asked while wrapping buns. “Four-joy dumplings. If you want buns, you’ll need to wait about 10 minutes. Siyuan’s got wontons over there, but he’s busy—you’ll need to cook them yourselves.”

Siyuan, eating four-joy dumplings, pressed a piece of soaked white fungus to check its texture without looking up. “The ones on the left are delicate wontons; the ones on the right are bubble wontons.”

Everyone was stunned.

Even Huang Anyao, who had come in the morning specifically to greet Siyuan and Qin Huai, was stunned.

He asked excitedly, “So… does our restaurant serve breakfast now?!”