AGN -Chapter 150 Sometimes I Really Want to Compete With You Geniuses

By the time the lunch service ended, Qin Huai was completely numb.

Exhausted to the point of numbness.

His body wasn’t that tired—his mind was.

He watched tray after tray of steamed buns, dumplings, and pastries come out of the kitchen, and batch after batch of crab-shell pastries and baked cakes emerge from the ovens. It was like magic—one moment the trays were full, the next they were empty in the blink of an eye.

Qin Huai felt like he had become a factory worker on an assembly line, not knowing when he could get off work, nor how much more work remained. All he could see was an endless stream of pastries waiting to be made.

By the time he finished work at noon, he had completely forgotten what he had said in the morning about handling employee meals.

He couldn’t do it. There was no way he could.

Watching Wang Jun still tidying up, Qin Huai sincerely asked, “Are Huang Ji’s pastries really this popular?”

No wonder the previous pastry chef retired three years ago—he probably retired from exhaustion.

Wang Jun honestly replied, “Today is probably an exception.”

“We haven’t put pastries on the menu for a long time. Many regular customers thought that Uncle Zheng had temporarily come back to help and would only be cooking for one lunch service, so they ordered more.”

“If Master were here, explaining things to everyone would have helped a lot. But since he went for therapy this morning, and Senior Brother went to explain, people didn’t believe it, which caused the misunderstanding.”

“When Master comes back this afternoon and explains things to customers tonight, and we continue selling for a few days to reassure everyone, this situation should not happen again.”

Qin Huai reluctantly accepted Wang Jun’s explanation. “You’ve all worked hard. I really didn’t expect pastries to sell this well. If we only made two or three kinds, things might be better. I should’ve called Zheng Siyuan last night before finalizing the list—I would’ve only listed two items.”

Wang Jun said sincerely, “It’s not that the pastries are easy to sell—it’s your craftsmanship.”

Qin Huai paused.

From childhood to now, he had heard similar praise many times, but most of it wasn’t very meaningful.

When he sold buns near the Three-Road Street neighborhood, the customers were ordinary neighbors. Compared to other small breakfast shops, his skills stood out, but that was all. Even if his food was better, he couldn’t raise prices too much without being criticized.

Later, at Yunzhong Community, the neighbors praised him again—but they also praised Zheng Siyuan, Zheng Da, and other skilled pastry chefs equally.

Now at Huang Ji, it was a different group of people praising him.

These people were more professional—they were all in the same trade.

But even among professionals, praise varied.

When Huang Shouli praised him, Qin Huai felt it was just routine encouragement.

When Huang Anyao praised him, it felt like a young heir speaking without much weight.

When Huang Jia praised him, it felt like inherited encouragement.

When Dong Shi praised him, it felt like casual chatter.

But Wang Jun was different.

Not because Wang Jun had exceptional skill or that his praise carried special weight. In fact, among Huang Shouli’s disciples, Wang Jun’s skill was among the weakest—even Dong Shi, a final disciple, was better than him.

But Wang Jun was an honest person.

He didn’t lie. Even when he tried to speak tactfully, his sincerity still came through clearly.

“Is my skill… really that good?” Qin Huai asked.

Since arriving in Suzhou, everyone had told him his skills were good. Today’s customer reactions had already surprised him, and now even the most honest person here was saying the same—Qin Huai was starting to believe it.

“Of course,” Wang Jun nodded without hesitation. “If your skills aren’t considered good, then there may be very few pastry chefs in the country who can be considered good.”

Qin Huai was shocked by Wang Jun’s seemingly exaggerated but genuinely sincere words. He quietly pulled Wang Jun aside so others wouldn’t hear and think he was being conceited.

“Can you describe to me how good my skills are?” Qin Huai asked in a low voice. “No—first tell me what level Zheng Siyuan is at.”

He felt it was more reliable to assess himself through Zheng Siyuan’s level, since he understood Zheng Siyuan well.

“Senior Brother Zheng is the number one among the younger generation of pastry chefs,” Wang Jun said.

Qin Huai: !

What?! Zheng Siyuan is that impressive?

If he’s that good, why is he running a small pastry shop at the neighborhood entrance?

He actually let someone this talented work as a laborer at Yunzhong Cafeteria, selling shrimp wonton soup for only 10 yuan a bowl.

No wonder that place, which normally had few breakfast customers, suddenly had more morning diners than lunch customers after Zheng Siyuan arrived—people ate wontons from 7 to 9 a.m., even standing outside holding bowls if there were no seats.

Qin Huai swallowed in shock and asked, “Is that… generally recognized?”

Wang Jun thought for a moment. “It’s not officially recognized, but that’s what we all think.”

“Senior Brother Zheng is quite famous in the southern pastry chef circle, but since he doesn’t work in restaurants or interact much with peers, and doesn’t attend culinary exchange events, his reputation is limited to our circle.”

“Many people don’t even know his name—they only know that Master Zheng has a very capable son.”

“The neighborhood where Senior Brother Zheng runs his pastry shop is also quite famous in Suzhou. Many of Huang Ji’s regular customers even bought houses there just to conveniently buy pastries.”

Qin Huai was deeply shocked.

“And excluding the younger generation?” Qin Huai asked further. “Compared nationwide, what level is Zheng Siyuan at?”

Wang Jun thought carefully. “He should also be top-tier.”

“He’s still in a growth phase—not yet at his peak—but the current pastry chef industry in China is quite unbalanced. There are many skilled veteran masters, mostly concentrated in Zhivei Residence, but due to age and energy, they mainly focus on teaching rather than production.”

“Mid-level chefs with strong reputations are rare. From what I know, the more famous ones aren’t as skilled as Senior Brother Zheng.”

“I’ve heard Master and Senior Brother talk before—when Zheng Master chose to go into business instead of continuing as a pastry chef, it wasn’t just because pastry chefs didn’t earn much, but also because he felt the profession lacked prospects.”

“Today, most high-end restaurants don’t prioritize pastry chefs. Truly outstanding pastry chefs are few. With the changing environment, unless from a culinary family, few people are willing to start training from childhood. But pastry requires very strong fundamentals—essentially both red and white kitchen basics.”

“In fact, pastry is not as strong as hot cuisine. This is evident even in competitions. Although there aren’t many culinary competitions in China, there are still several each year, with prize money ranging from tens of thousands to over a hundred thousand yuan.”

“In such general competitions, pastry chefs are at a disadvantage. Ideally, hot and pastry cuisine should compete separately, but there hasn’t been a dedicated pastry chef competition in China for many years.”

“Restaurants also reflect this. There are many famous hot cuisine restaurants—Baoju Tower in Fujian, Huang Ji in Suzhou, Chengfang Residence for Huaiyang cuisine, Wu Family Restaurant in Sichuan, and many more in Beijing like Babu Zhai, Yonghe Residence, Ruyi Fang, Shunde Tower, Tongde Residence—many of them are long-standing brands from the Republican era. But for pastry, truly famous ones are basically limited to Zhivei Residence.”

Hearing this, Qin Huai thought of something he had seen in his dreams.

“I know of one in Beijing—Taifeng Tower—but it seems to have closed many years ago.”

Wang Jun looked puzzled. “There was such a restaurant?”

Qin Huai nodded firmly.

Returning to the topic, Wang Jun continued, “So the current situation is that top pastry chefs exist, but most are older. Their skills are excellent, but their physical stamina isn’t enough, so they’re rarely on the front lines.”

“There’s a gap in the middle generation. Young leaders like Senior Brother Zheng are already top-tier in the industry.”

Wang Jun nodded.

Qin Huai did some mental comparison.

First, Zheng Siyuan’s level is definitely higher than his—no doubt about that. If Zheng Siyuan’s mooncakes were a buff dish, they could easily outclass Qin Huai’s fermented rice buns.

But Qin Huai didn’t think he was much worse—probably just a slight gap, mainly due to weaker knife skills and heat control.

Knife skills weren’t critical for pastry, but heat control clearly was. As he made more complex pastries, he realized heat control was an essential basic skill.

For high-difficulty pastries, the filling was also the key.

If his heat control improved to Zheng Siyuan’s level, his overall skill might be comparable—or even slightly better.

That would make him top-tier in the industry.

And if you think about it again—he was already close to top-tier.

Although the “top-tier” label in pastry had some ambiguity due to the generational gap, it was still top-tier.

Top-tier at selling 65-yuan five-filling buns that sold out completely.

“Am I really a genius?!” Qin Huai murmured.

Wang Jun: …

As an honest man, sometimes he really wanted to compete with these “geniuses.”

…

After a simple employee meal prepared by Huang Jia, Qin Huai enjoyed a rare “special treatment.” The dishes included squirrel mandarin fish, tofu slices, braised eel, and authentic Yangzhou fried rice.

Qin Huai ate happily with Zheng Siyuan.

“Zheng Siyuan,” Qin Huai suddenly said, “I just learned that your pastry skills are considered top-tier in the industry.”

Zheng Siyuan nodded calmly. “Sort of. But only among the less tall among the short.”

“Then why don’t you work in a restaurant or open one yourself? Is it because it’s too tiring?” Qin Huai asked curiously.

Zheng Siyuan replied, “Not exactly. Running a pastry shop can also be tiring when business is busy.”

“What I enjoy more is seeing people eat the pastries after they’re sold,” he said. “In a restaurant kitchen, it’s hard to get immediate feedback from customers.”

“And I’m not short on money,” he added casually.

“I feel that my current skills aren’t enough to become a top chef in a famous restaurant. If I worked in one, it would have to be a top establishment like Yonghe Residence or Zhivei Residence.”

“But in those places, I wouldn’t be the best. I wouldn’t stand out.”

“I don’t like being a supporting role,” Zheng Siyuan said calmly. “Seven years ago, I worked at Huang Ji for half a year. Back then, Master was still in good health, and the restaurant was very busy.”

“Even though customers praised my pastries and sales were good, I was always just a supporting figure. People came for Master’s cooking, not mine.”

“I don’t like that kind of life.”

Qin Huai nodded in understanding and continued eating.

“Are you willing to stay at Huang Ji for a while?” Zheng Siyuan asked.

“Huh?” Qin Huai paused.

Zheng Siyuan explained that Huang Shouli’s health wasn’t good, and given his restless nature, he might retire in a few years. Huang Jia’s skills weren’t as good as his.

He hoped Qin Huai could stay long enough to support the restaurant until Huang Shouli could retire peacefully without worrying about relapses.

“Are you sure it has to be me?” Qin Huai asked. “Wouldn’t it work if you came back instead?”

Zheng Siyuan shook his head.

“What the customers think matters more,” he said. “To them, you might already be better than me.”

“If someone who’s better than me is already here, why would I want to be a supporting role under someone else?”

“Right now, in their eyes, you are probably the ‘demon from beyond the heavens’.”

“Ah?” Qin Huai stared blankly, then continued eating.

The fried rice was really good.

…

After a short rest, at 2:30 p.m., the “demon from beyond the heavens” began his first official lesson.

Huang Shouli returned from therapy looking energetic.

He had already prepared a detailed teaching plan overnight.

As a master with rich teaching experience, he had methods for all kinds of students—whether formally trained, self-taught, strong in fundamentals, or lacking basics.

Even geniuses had their own approach.

Huang Shouli was ready to show Qin Huai what a true master teacher looked like.

“Xiao Qin, I’ve roughly assessed your heat control. Let’s start with practical training today—no pressure.”

“I remember Siyuan said you want to practice tossing the wok. We can start, but from something simple.”

“Let’s stir-fry some vegetables first.”

“You cook once, then I cook once. Don’t speak—observe my process and tell me what problems you notice.”

Huang Shouli began teaching with a smile.

Qin Huai nodded seriously and began cooking.

Stir-frying vegetables is a basic step every formally trained chef goes through.

Qin Huai had never gone through it.

His first dish had been tomato scrambled eggs back in high school, cooked for his sister Qin Luo, who happily ate three bowls of rice with it.

At that time, Qin Huai already knew how to cook that dish.

That day, their parents were out, and the small eatery next door was closed. The siblings decided to cook for themselves with the money they had.

Qin Luo cooked the rice; Qin Huai cooked the dish.

He worked carefully:

Heat the pan, add oil, add vegetables—sizzling, stir-fry over high heat, then lower heat, toss the spatula a couple more times—

Done.

A plate of edible but not visually impressive greens was born.

Huang Shouli then demonstrated.

Same steps:

Heat pan, add oil, add vegetables—beautiful tossing, controlled wok movement, the vegetables stayed fresh and vibrant.

The result looked far superior.

Placed side by side, Qin Huai’s dish looked like it belonged in a slop bucket.

For simple dishes, skill differences are most obvious.

“Did you notice anything?” Huang Shouli asked with a smile.

Qin Huai thought for a moment. “Heat control is very important…”

He continued analyzing.

Huang Shouli: …

You said everything I was going to say.

All he could do was nod and say, “Try it.”

Qin Huai began cooking again.

One plate, two plates, three plates…

Each had different technical flaws.

Theory is easy; practice is hard.

As he kept cooking, people kept passing by—Huang Jia, Dong Shi, Dong Li, Wang Jun—every few minutes someone would walk past.

Huang Shouli remained silent, only nodding as Qin Huai cooked each dish.

Qin Huai gradually found his rhythm. Compared to his first attempt, his later dishes looked much better—some even quite presentable.

He continued cooking, plate after plate, unable to stop.

Dong Shi couldn’t help but ask his brother, “How long did we practice stir-frying vegetables back then?”

“About three months,” Dong Li replied calmly. “Master told us to practice for three months to build fundamentals.”

Dong Shi looked at the buckets filled with discarded vegetables and said, “I feel like Qin Huai doesn’t even need a week.”

Dong Li glanced at Qin Huai and said calmly, “People are different. Accept it.”

“Good thing he’s a final disciple, otherwise Master would have told him to change careers.”

（二合一）