AGN -Chapter 149 Explosive Sales

In the kitchen of Huang Ji Restaurant, the food runners were busy to the point their feet barely touched the ground.

“Table 3, four fermented rice buns!”

“Table 1, seven fermented rice buns!”

“Table 9 added an order—another 12 fermented rice buns!”

“Private Room 666, nine fermented rice buns!”

“Private Room 888 added an order—24 fermented rice buns!”

“Table 1 added another order—19!”

“Table 8…”

“Table 17…”

“…”

“Private Room 777 added another order. Any more left?”

“Table 19, Table 3, Table 6, Table 13, Table 22 have all added orders. Any more?”

“How many buns are left?”

“How long until the next batch is steamed?”

Qin Huai, who was still leisurely making mung bean cakes, looked at the food runners constantly talking into their walkie-talkies, and at the head waiter standing at the kitchen entrance coordinating everything—deciding which tables should receive which batch of buns first. He felt that he might have underestimated the business at Huang Ji Restaurant.

What time was it now?

11:22 AM.

The first batch of six steamers of fermented rice buns had already sold out, and countless additional orders were still coming in behind them.

Qin Huai felt as if he had returned to the days when he first sold buns at his family’s breakfast shop—he knew nothing, had no idea which buns would sell well or how much to prepare in a day. He just made them, and whatever he made would eventually sell out.

Ah, it seemed like it had always been this way all these years.

With a humble attitude, Qin Huai asked Wang Jun, “Did I make too few fermented rice buns? Should I prepare another batch? I originally made enough for lunch and dinner, but it looks like lunch will already sell out.”

Wang Jun replied very tactfully, “Just follow your own plan. If they sell out, we can remove them from the menu.”

Qin Huai understood—it wasn’t enough.

“Then help me prepare a few more bags of flour,” Qin Huai said. “I’ll make another batch after finishing the mung bean cakes.”

The explosion in orders for fermented rice buns was just the beginning.

The buns sold out not because everyone at lunch that day especially loved buns, but because fermented rice buns had the shortest steaming time and came out first.

After the first batch sold out, the two unnamed kitchen helpers assisting Qin Huai quickly and efficiently began steaming the second batch. At the same time, four-delight dumplings and five-ingredient buns were coming out of the steamer in the same round.

According to Huang Ji Restaurant’s pricing, four-delight dumplings were 48 yuan each, and five-ingredient buns were 65 yuan each. These were among the most expensive items on Qin Huai’s list.

Of course, Zheng Siyuan’s fresh meat mooncakes were also not cheap—68 yuan per portion, with three pieces per portion.

Huang Ji Restaurant positioned itself as a high-end establishment, starting with its pricing.

Given the prices, customers like Qian Zhongheng—who ordered everything new without hesitation simply because he trusted Huang Shengli’s judgment—were rare.

Most customers followed the crowd. The fermented rice buns were served first, and their aroma of rice wine drifted across several tables. Seeing others enjoying them, people would order some themselves. After finishing, they would order more if they weren’t satisfied, and it was also common to pack some up to take home as breakfast the next day.

Orders at Huang Ji Restaurant were served in the order they were placed. Qian Zhongheng, being one of the earliest to order, was among the first to receive his dishes.

Even though only two hot dishes had been served and the meal was not complete, his son already felt full.

He had just eaten one extra bun he had originally saved for breakfast the next day.

It was too delicious. As a staple food made of pure carbohydrates, buns were inherently suited to most people’s tastes.

Qian Zhongheng’s son felt that in his thirty years of life, he had never eaten such a bun—soft yet chewy, fragrant with both the aroma of flour and the sweetness of fermented rice. The smell carried a hint of alcohol, but the taste was only mildly sweet.

One bite led to another. Even when full, he still wanted more. Eating plain was delicious; dipping it in dish broth was delicious; even dipping it into the sweet-and-sour sauce from the squirrel mandarin fish was delicious.

At that moment, he thought it would be perfect to have some pickled vegetables.

He glanced at the dishes on the table, which had barely been touched.

They had only ordered three dishes in total:

Squirrel mandarin fish—boneless, sweet and sour, his daughter’s favorite.

Oil-blanched lettuce—to cut through the greasiness.

And a stir-fried shrimp dish, his wife’s favorite, which hadn’t even been served yet.

The lettuce had only been lightly eaten, mostly by his wife, Bai Xiujuan. The squirrel mandarin fish was even more neglected—only one chopstick’s worth had been taken, and it was picked up by Ma Yuan for their daughter. The daughter, however, was fully focused on eating buns, completely ignoring the fish.

Then the stir-fried shrimp arrived.

The shrimp were fresh and beautifully presented. The son glanced at his wife, but Ma Yuan didn’t pick up her chopsticks. She simply sat there, as if waiting for something.

Seeing that no one was interested in the hot dishes, his eyes drifted back toward the buns on the table. The plump fermented rice buns seemed almost enchanted, whispering to him.

“Eat another one. Just three buns—you won’t get full.”

He felt tempted.

At that moment, the waiter brought out more dishes.

A fresh aroma filled the air—the scent of steamed pastries just out of the steamer, still carrying warm vapor.

“Your order of four-delight dumplings and five-ingredient buns. Please enjoy. They’ve just been steamed, so they may be hot. Children should be careful.”

The people at the table sprang into action.

Qian Zhongheng immediately noticed the visually elaborate four-delight dumplings. He picked one up with his chopsticks, lifting it together with the carrot slice underneath, then adjusted his grip to hold it by the carrot slice.

He examined the carrot slice for a few seconds, clearly unsure whether it served a decorative or taste purpose. Unable to figure it out, he simply took a bite.

Just one bite was enough for the improved recipe by Qin Huai to completely conquer his taste buds.

The four-delight dumpling and the fermented rice bun were two completely different types of food.

No matter how delicious, fragrant, and unique the fermented rice bun was, it was still just an ordinary bun—at least in appearance.

But the four-delight dumpling, at first glance, might not even look like a dumpling.

It was highly decorative and looked expensive.

And Qin Huai’s craftsmanship lived up to its appearance.

It should be noted that the chefs working that day had already eaten breakfast before coming to work.

Huang Jia, second only to Master Huang in the kitchen, was a well-known Suzhou chef outside, despite often being criticized by regular patrons for not matching his master’s skill.

That morning, Huang Jia had eaten a bowl of noodles before coming. Upon arriving, he saw Zheng Siyuan making shredded gauze wontons and bubble wontons, and though tempted, he restrained himself and ate four of each.

But when he tried the four-delight dumplings, he couldn’t hold back—he ate two.

He had been full all morning and still occasionally rubbed his stomach while working.

Even someone like him, experienced and knowledgeable, had never seen such four-delight dumplings.

The same went for Qian Zhongheng’s family.

It could be said that aside from residents of Yunzhong Community and those near the Sanmalu residential area in Quxian, almost no one had seen such dumplings. Even residents of Sanmalu had seen them only rarely, as Qin Huai hadn’t made them often.

In order to create a dumpling that Qin Luo would love—visually appealing and resembling a golden-ratio shumai—Qin Huai had altered the recipe beyond recognition, even integrating fillings from other pastries.

In a sense, this dumpling could be called a four-delight dumpling, a “four-bite dumpling,” or even a golden-ratio shumai. Call it what you will.

Qian Zhongheng was instantly captivated by the extravagant dumpling.

After finishing it, he realized he had forgotten to let his granddaughter taste a bite.

He glanced at his granddaughter, who was still earnestly eating her bun, and thought that simple food suited her just fine.

His son, meanwhile, picked up the five-ingredient bun.

He didn’t choose it because he disliked the ornate four-delight dumpling, but because he wanted to see why this plain-looking bun—indistinguishable from a regular meat bun—was priced so high.

He took a bite in frustration.

A second bite without hesitation.

A third bite in a daze.

A fourth bite with lingering satisfaction—and it was gone.

He savored the taste, feeling as though a beautiful dream had just ended abruptly.

He desperately wanted to shout to the waiter to order four more buns.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it—the price was too high.

A 65-yuan bun was not something he could afford to casually order again.

He sighed in despair.

He was full now—but that ornate dumpling still looked incredibly tempting. Forget it—he’d sacrifice his stomach and have one more.

Just as he reached out with his chopsticks—

His father was faster.

“Don’t force yourself to eat more if you’re already full. You’re not a child anymore—don’t you have any self-control?”

Qian Zhongheng mercilessly took the dumpling from the plate, took the half-eaten bun from his granddaughter, and handed her the dumpling instead.

“Here, Mengmeng, eat this. If you can’t finish it, give it to grandpa. Let’s not eat the bun for now—we’ll take it home for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.” The granddaughter happily grabbed the dumpling and started eating, unaware of her father’s stunned expression.

The son: Dad, I can still eat! I really can! QAQ

With Qian Zhongheng’s table leading the way, other diners in the hall also began ordering the four-delight dumplings and five-ingredient buns. However, the volume was not as large as that of the fermented rice buns.

After all, given the prices, not everyone could accept a 65-yuan bun no matter how good it tasted.

Most of the customers at Huang Ji Restaurant were regulars who came for lunch on weekdays, not specifically for pastries. In the past, when there were white-case chefs, their level was only average compared to other restaurants, far inferior to the main dishes.

Today, however, the situation seemed reversed.

Customers who followed the crowd and tried the fermented rice buns, four-delight dumplings, and five-ingredient buns suddenly realized that the new pastry chef at Huang Ji had exceptional skill.

Some even speculated that Master Huang might have brought back Zheng Da to save the restaurant.

The rumor spread quickly across private rooms, and orders surged dramatically.

Qin Huai was stunned.

He even went outside to check whether the dining hall was full—but it wasn’t.

So how were customers placing five times more pastry orders than the number of diners?

Were people really that fond of pastries?

Was Huang Ji Restaurant going to close after lunch today?

Why did everyone insist on buying pastries at lunchtime instead of later in the evening?

Customers—some pastries are best eaten fresh out of the oven! Items like sesame flatbread or round dream pancakes won’t taste the same after reheating. Why are you ordering so much?

Please eat some dishes too! Look at the hardworking chefs preparing mains!

Most importantly—he hadn’t prepared that much!

This was meant to cover both lunch and dinner!

If everything sold out at lunch, what would they sell at dinner?

Is working at Huang Ji really supposed to be easy? Why did it feel anything but?

The head waiter continued coordinating inventory.

“Do a final count of how many of each item remain and report the numbers. All pastries have been removed from the electronic menu. If there are leftovers, we’ll relist them.”

“Double-check the final numbers—no mistakes!”

“Private Room 666 wants to add more orders? Tell them there’s nothing left. No reservations either—we’ve never had pastry reservations.”

Qin Huai mechanically kneaded dough.

To be honest, he wasn’t physically tired at all. With skilled helpers assisting him, he wasn’t overworked.

But he was mentally exhausted.

It felt like he could already see a life filled endlessly with making pastries ahead of him.

These customers—if there were pastries, they would buy them.

And they bought in huge quantities.

Could pastries at Huang Ji Restaurant be bundled with main dishes in the future? Maybe require customers to order a minimum amount of cooked dishes before they can buy pastries? Otherwise, people were buying too many pastries!

Pure pastry orders—no main dishes at all.

When Qin Huai went outside earlier, he even saw people sitting by the entrance, waiting only for pastries—they weren’t even there to eat a meal.

There were also familiar delivery riders.

So familiar it felt like home.

Zheng Siyuan also began kneading dough.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to make glutinous rice cakes?” Qin Huai asked.

Zheng Siyuan replied calmly, “I’ll help you first.”

Qin Huai was moved—what a good brother. Though he had previously treated him like a workhorse, now his senior uncle was treating Qin Huai the same way. It balanced out.

“Now you understand why I didn’t want to work in a restaurant and instead opened a pastry shop at the community entrance,” Zheng Siyuan said.

“Absolutely, I totally get it,” Qin Huai nodded vigorously. “I’ve never missed my community canteen this much.”

“Don’t make so many pastries in the future. This place isn’t like Yunzhong Canteen,” Zheng Siyuan advised sincerely. “Two items are enough. Don’t make more.”

“Master Huang’s back was already acting up from overwork yesterday, and he went for therapy this morning. He’ll be back this afternoon. You won’t need to make pastries then—but in the evening… there will be even more people. No matter how much you make, it won’t be enough.”

“Just go with the flow. Master Huang said he’ll come this afternoon to guide us on heat control.”

Hearing that Huang Shengli would personally guide them, Qin Huai felt energized again. He decided to make two more batches of fermented rice buns.

As for the four-delight dumplings and five-ingredient buns—too troublesome. He was too tired to make those.

“Are you going to learn too?” Qin Huai asked. He felt Zheng Siyuan already had excellent control over heat and didn’t really need training.

Zheng Siyuan nodded firmly. “I want to try a full wok toss!”

Qin Huai: “…?”

Qin Huai felt his own ambitions might be a bit modest.

He only wanted to try flipping a wok.

Meanwhile, in Hangzhou, Zheng Da—busy dealing with production line issues—suddenly received a call from an old friend.

As soon as he answered, his friend’s loud voice came through: “Old Zheng, that’s not very loyal of you! Coming back to Huang Ji Restaurant and not telling your old friends? We almost missed it!”

Zheng Da was confused. “What are you talking about? I’m in Hangzhou, not Suzhou. You mean Siyuan? He should be helping at Huang Ji.”

His friend froze. “You’re not at Huang Ji? Then who made the fermented rice buns today? And those five-ingredient buns, crab-shell cakes, round dream pancakes, and four-delight dumplings—if not you, who else in Suzhou has that skill? Your son can’t do it either—I’ve tried his five-ingredient buns before.”

Hearing the list of dishes, Zheng Da immediately knew it must be Qin Huai. He felt a surge of pride—his chosen disciple had already made a name for himself with just a small effort.

He also felt a bit displeased with his senior brother. Why was Qin Huai left to handle so much alone? What if he got overworked?

His friend continued, “So it’s not you. Then where did Master Huang find such a genius? This level is on par with you—could he have come from Zhiwei Residence? Did one of their chefs quit?”

Zheng Da was instantly furious. “Nonsense! On par with me? Are you even qualified to judge food? How could his level be the same as mine? Mine is definitely higher!”

If Qin Huai were truly on par with him, how could he even have the face to take him as a disciple?

“Where are you?” Zheng Da asked.

“I’m at Huang Ji waiting for pastries. I thought you were there and rushed over to buy some, but it turns out not.”

“Don’t buy too much—don’t tire out Xiao Qin.”

“Oh, so the new chef is your friend? Got it.”

Before hanging up, Zheng Da heard his friend asking the waiter: “Miss, when will my 20 buns, 30 five-ingredient buns, 50 four-delight dumplings, 10 round dream pancakes, and 15 crab-shell cakes be ready?”

Zheng Da: …

Have you never eaten pastries before? Are you a hamster?

He messaged Huang Shengli: “Senior brother, is this how you take care of Xiao Qin? He’s my future disciple—if he gets overworked, what am I supposed to do???”

Huang Shengli, who had just finished therapy and was leisurely drinking tea, saw the message:

“Huh?”

What is this? When did Qin Huai become Zheng Da’s closed-door disciple?

He thought of a new phrase he had recently learned online—very fitting for Zheng Da:

“Moon landing by clinging.”

He put down his phone and continued drinking tea, planning his afternoon teaching session.