AGN -Chapter 156 Eager to Make Progress

The bone-setting shop master’s techniques were extremely skillful. After Qin Huai finished getting his bones adjusted and returned, he fell straight into bed for the first time in ages and slept until 7:30 the next morning. By the time he arrived at Huang Ji, it was almost 8 o’clock.

Zheng Siyuan had already finished wrapping a batch of wontons and was sitting down to eat a small bowl he cooked himself.

Seeing that Zheng Siyuan had already started eating, Qin Huai twisted his neck a little awkwardly and said, “Sorry, I overslept.”

Zheng Siyuan didn’t react much and asked, “What are you making this morning? Chicken soup noodles?”

That had been Qin Huai’s plan for the previous day.

Originally, Qin Huai intended to take advantage of the employee meals opportunity and practice chicken soup noodles for ten days to half a month—after all, everyone liked them.

But then a new side quest was triggered at noon, and plans couldn’t keep up with changes. Not to mention he had overslept today.

“Siu mai,” Qin Huai said. “Lamb siu mai.”

It wasn’t that Qin Huai didn’t want to make crab roe siu mai—he simply didn’t know how. Compared to regular sticky rice siu mai, Qin Huai was better at making lamb siu mai, and Qin Luo preferred it.

Learning crab roe siu mai on the spot felt a bit abrupt. Not to mention, Qin Huai hadn’t made siu mai for quite a long time, so his hands weren’t practiced.

He decided to warm up with lamb siu mai today, and make crab roe siu mai tomorrow.

Zheng Siyuan was already used to Qin Huai’s spontaneous, ever-changing breakfast choices and didn’t think much of it. He nodded, put down his bowl, and helped Qin Huai cook a small bowl of thin-skinned wontons.

Qin Huai began kneading the dough.

Compared to buns and steamed bread dough, siu mai wrapper dough requires very little resting time. With help, making siu mai is relatively time-efficient.

Right now, Qin Huai had no helper.

Zheng Siyuan stood nearby, eating wontons while watching Qin Huai prepare the filling.

Qin Huai’s lamb siu mai recipe was one he found online and hadn’t really modified.

He mixed minced lamb with scallions and ginger, added soaked pepper water and stirred until dry, then seasoned with soy sauce and black pepper. After that, he repeatedly added simmered bone broth, stirring continuously until the filling reached a near-soupy consistency—this was considered a good filling.

Qin Huai himself didn’t enjoy eating his own lamb siu mai, because he always felt there was still a slight mutton odor, which he didn’t like.

However, Qin Luo loved it. In her words, if lamb were made completely without any gamey smell, it wouldn’t feel like lamb anymore—it’s precisely that slight aroma that makes it delicious.

Qin Huai didn’t comment. He knew she had a point, but he simply didn’t like it.

Perhaps he just didn’t like lamb in general.

That was also why Qin Huai didn’t modify the lamb siu mai recipe. Since he didn’t like lamb himself, he didn’t feel qualified to alter an established online recipe that Qin Luo approved of.

“Your siu mai is pretty ordinary,” Zheng Siyuan commented honestly. “No wonder I’ve never seen you make it before.”

“My siu mai is pretty average,” Qin Huai agreed. “Have you had lamb siu mai before?”

“Yes,” Zheng Siyuan nodded. “In Chang’an, there’s a white-case master surnamed Liu who specializes in lamb siu mai. It’s a family craft—truly exceptional.”

“Seven or eight years ago, I went there specifically to try it. It really lived up to its reputation. The filling had the right balance of fat and lean, very juicy, and the wrappers were thin as paper, slightly translucent. I couldn’t quite tell what seasonings were used, but there was definitely no black pepper.”

What Zheng Siyuan implied was that Master Liu’s lamb siu mai did not rely on black pepper to cut corners.

Qin Huai took note and decided to try it if he had the chance.

Professionals were great—they knew exactly where to go and which master specialized in what dishes. Unlike him, who, even when traveling, didn’t know what to eat. Online food recommendations might be ads, review apps might be manipulated rankings—after all that research, he’d likely still end up in a mediocre trendy restaurant.

No need to say more—just thinking about it was exhausting.

“Is crab roe siu mai quite famous around here?” Qin Huai asked knowingly.

“It’s famous, but not commonly made,” Zheng Siyuan replied. “Crab roe buns are more commonly sold now—they’re more profitable.”

Zheng Siyuan was simply speaking the truth.

“Yesterday on my way back, I looked up crab roe siu mai recipes online and found them scarce and inconsistent. Some use egg yolk, others use crab roe. Which one is authentic?” Qin Huai asked.

“Both can be considered authentic,” Zheng Siyuan said. “Whether to use crab roe depends on the season and the chef’s skill.”

“During crab season, like now, fresh crab roe is naturally the best. But using real crab roe makes it difficult to eliminate the fishy smell.”

“Whether using crab roe or egg yolk, the filling is essentially shrimp-based. You should understand this from making shrimp-filled pastries. Shrimp fillings are hard to handle—too many strong seasonings mask the shrimp’s freshness, but too little seasoning makes it bland.”

“Ordinary shrimp fillings are already difficult, let alone adding fresh crab roe. Once added, it’s hard to remove the fishiness without sesame oil, cooking wine, scallions, ginger, and garlic. With slightly poorer technique, you might need black pepper to suppress the smell. But once shrimp fillings include black pepper, the entire flavor changes.”

“Crab roe siu mai is all about the freshness of shrimp and crab. In the past, when shrimp and crab were cheap, many shops were willing to sell them. Now, with expensive shrimp and even more expensive crab, plus the difficulty of preparation, if done well, customers think it’s normal. If done poorly, at that price, eight out of ten customers will complain. Unless the chef is extremely confident, few would take on such an effort-heavy, loss-making, reputation-risking dish.”

“So nowadays, most crab roe siu mai on the market use egg yolk fillings mixed with pork and shrimp. They’re cheaper, taste good, and suit the general public.”

“The truly authentic crab roe siu mai you imagine probably only exists in high-end banquet restaurants.”

As Zheng Siyuan described the difficulty of crab roe siu mai, Qin Huai’s eyes grew brighter.

Indeed, crab roe siu mai is difficult.

But what matters most in crab roe siu mai?

Seasoning!

And what was Qin Huai best at?

Seasoning!

It was a perfect match!

Moreover, crab roe siu mai didn’t seem to rely heavily on heat control or intricate techniques.

Thinking of this, Qin Huai nearly teared up.

After receiving the game system for so long, he had finally encountered a task that matched his specialty.

At this point, someone might ask: isn’t the wrapper important?

Of course it is—it’s not easy to roll out a proper thin, leaf-like wrapper.

To that, Qin Huai had only one thing to say:

His dough skills were about to level up.

“Zheng, do you know how to make crab roe siu mai?” Qin Huai looked at him eagerly.

Zheng Siyuan: ?

Aren’t you supposed to be practicing techniques? Weren’t you practicing pastries recently? Your pace of jumping from one thing to another is way too fast.

“I’m not very familiar with it,” Zheng Siyuan shook his head directly. “But my father knows how.”

“When will Uncle Zheng be back?”

“Hmm… next week?”

“Once he’s back, be sure to tell me—I’d like to visit and thank him in person!”

…

That day, the staff at Huang Ji all enjoyed Qin Huai’s personally made, rather ordinary lamb siu mai.

Faced with siu mai that was clearly below his usual standard, no one felt disillusioned. Instead, they felt it was exactly as it should be.

Qin Huai finally had a point he wasn’t great at.

The once-invincible pastry master had finally hit a setback!

Great—Qin Huai was human after all.

After finishing their unremarkable breakfast, everyone began their equally ordinary workday.

Work was always dull, busy, and repetitive.

That day, Qin Huai’s items were Five-Spice Bao and fermented rice buns, while Chenpi tea continued to be sold in a limited quantity of 1,314 servings.

Unlike its explosive popularity in the Yunzhong cafeteria, Chenpi tea didn’t attract much attention at Huang Ji Restaurant. At most, people treated it as a decent dessert—ordering one with their meal, sometimes two, or even taking one home if they wanted more.

By midday, not all of it would sell out; some would remain until evening.

Qin Huai analyzed this for a few minutes and concluded it was likely due to the customer base.

Around Yunzhong cafeteria were mostly office workers—ordinary salaried employees. For them, Chenpi tea’s comforting effect was like a lifesaver before work. But for wealthier customers at Huang Ji, it was merely a nice addition.

Those who could afford to dine at Huang Ji were not ordinary office workers.

Even families like Fang Zhongheng’s, no matter how much they liked fermented rice buns, couldn’t afford to eat them daily.

Customers who could casually dine there were all relatively wealthy.

People like Gong Liang were even more so. If he wanted, he could have owned over 50% of Huang Ji Restaurant shares back then.

Now Gong Liang regretted not securing that stake. If he had, he would be the owner and could ask Qin Huai to make him the apple-shaped pastries he had long dreamed of.

Apple-shaped pastries.

Maybe not exceptionally delicious—perhaps not as good as dishes like Three-Set Duck, Braised Eel, Eight-Treasure Tofu, Stewed Fish Head, Lion’s Head Meatballs, Whole Braised Pig Head, Dry-Braised Shredded Tofu, or Sweet and Sour Mandarin Fish—but he simply wanted to eat them.

Because he rarely had the chance before.

Zheng Da was much harder to persuade than Huang Shengli.

Huang Shengli was a great friend—dedicated and always at the kitchen as long as he was healthy. Persuading him to cook extra was just a matter of persistence.

Zheng Da, however, truly didn’t like to cook, especially after his son had completed his training. Unless it was a holiday, you couldn’t count on him to personally cook anything.

Zheng Siyuan was better than his father, but his skills were still not as refined, and he was very stubborn—he preferred sticking to the same few dishes.

Gong Liang admitted that while fresh pork mooncakes were indeed delicious, eating them every day would get old. Back then, Master Jing had so many different pastries that he could go one or two months without repeating dishes—how did the tradition become narrower over generations?

Looking at the company’s financial report, Gong Liang saw solid numbers and good returns, yet his brows were furrowed, his expression troubled as his fingers tapped the desk irregularly.

“Mr. Gong, the clothes have been completed. As per your instructions, a total of 28 styles were made. They will be shipped today and should arrive in Mountain City tomorrow or the day after.”

“Also, should we book private room 666 or 888 at Huang Ji today?”

Gong Liang waved his hand. “No private room today. Book me a table in the main hall closest to the kitchen.”

“It’s been three days—three whole days—and there’s been no progress in my relationship with Little Qin.”

“In normal times, by now I’d already be sitting at Little Qin’s house drinking tea and discussing what to eat for lunch and dinner.”

“Little Qin not lacking money is actually a problem. His Yunzhong apartment area is quite expensive. Just in case, go ahead and buy a house there for me.”

“Understood, Mr. Gong. Any other instructions?”

“Ask Dong Shi what fruits Little Qin likes. Have the bone-setting shop prepare them daily so that when Little Qin arrives, they can be served as a fruit platter. Pay attention to the details.”

“Understood.”

After the assistant left, Gong Liang picked up his phone and opened his chat with Qin Huai, thinking for a moment before sending another message.

Gong Liang: Master Qin, I saw from your Moments yesterday that your sister seems to be attending an international high school and her grades aren’t ideal. I happen to know several excellent private tutors in subjects like physics, chemistry, biology, computer science, Japanese, German, Spanish, and French. Would you like me to recommend some?

In the kitchen, Qin Huai, who was eating breakfast, saw Gong Liang’s message immediately.

Messages like this came to him four or five times a day.

Qin Huai felt Gong Liang might as well just transfer money directly. After all, Huang Shengli had said transfers could be accepted directly. He really didn’t know how to respond to such messages.

Because honestly, he was tempted.

It wasn’t that his will was weak—it was just that the “sugar-coated bullets” from the enemy were too enticing.

Fortunately, Gong Liang had started early in business and never strayed from legitimate ventures. Otherwise, Qin Huai genuinely worried he might end up taking a stable, well-paid, healthy job and stay there until retirement.

Gong Liang was really eager to make progress.

That morning’s breakfast was ordinary sticky rice siu mai and wontons.

Sometimes Qin Huai truly admired Zheng Siyuan. If he had to make the same dishes every day, he would have long grown tired of them. Yet Zheng Siyuan never got bored—he focused on a few items, mastering them to perfection before moving on.

Perhaps that was the fundamental difference between volume-focused and quality-focused approaches.

“Mr. Gong messaged you again?” Dong Shi asked, carrying a bowl of wontons over. “What did he say?”

“He asked whether Luoluo needs a tutor,” Qin Huai replied.

“Mr. Gong really likes your pastries,” Dong Shi said with emotion. “We don’t get that treatment—even senior apprentice doesn’t. Someone like me only gets a big red envelope during the New Year. Senior apprentice gets gifts during holidays.”

“You’re practically getting treatment on par with the master.”

Qin Huai was a bit surprised. He had thought Gong Liang treated everyone this way. Since learning Gong Liang was a spirit-like being, Qin Huai felt everything he did could be understood—after all, Gong Liang was in a rather “unusual” stage of existence.

He’s not even human—what more can you expect?

“Just now, Mr. Gong’s assistant asked me what fruits you like. Do you have any favorites? You’ll probably get them at the bone-setting shop after work today,” Dong Shi asked directly.

Qin Huai thought for a moment. “Peaches, mangoes, and fresh longan.”

Dong Shi immediately relayed the message.

“I feel a bit bad not making apple-shaped pastries for Mr. Gong, considering how well he treats me,” Qin Huai sighed.

For some reason, Qin Huai always felt a kind of “end-of-life care” sentiment toward these spirit beings—like: ah, given the circumstances, just let them eat whatever they want.

Gong Liang just wanted a couple of pastries—it wasn’t a capital offense.

“If you want to make them, just make them,” Dong Shi said. “The reason Master told you not to engage with Mr. Gong is because he’s easily persuaded and will end up cooking for everyone, delaying closing time.”

“Although Huang Ji’s kitchen is theoretically supposed to close at 8 p.m., when the master is healthy, it never closes before 9.”

“I think Master is being a bit overly cautious. You’re not like that—you only make extra for people you choose.”

“I remember seeing your apple-shaped pastries the other day and almost drooled. But you didn’t make an extra one for me.”

Qin Huai: …

Why don’t you just ask like Huang Anyao does?

There were plenty of people who drooled over his pastries since childhood—he didn’t mind at all.

“Next time for sure,” Qin Huai said, taking out his phone and replying to Gong Liang.

Qin Huai: Mr. Gong, are you coming to Huang Ji for lunch today? I may not have time to handle the pastry for the engagement banquet, but if you really want to eat apple-shaped pastries, I can make a few today at noon—if you don’t mind.

Gong Liang: !!!