AGN -Chapter 158 What Exactly Is There in Gusu?

When Qin Huai returned to the kitchen, everyone had already started eating the “guo’er.” Even Huang Shengli had one in his hand, already half eaten.

The one in Huang Anyao’s hand had only been bitten once. Qin Huai had reason to suspect this was already his second one.

Each guo’er weighed nearly half a jin. Huang Anyao had only just finished lunch and was already eating two guo’er…

Qin Huai could only say the young man had a good appetite—very promising.

Zheng Siyuan had saved one for Qin Huai.

It was one that Qin Huai had personally made—especially ugly in appearance, but also the highest-grade among the batch.

【Apple Guo’er (B+ Grade)】

In fact, Qin Huai rarely managed to make B+ grade pastries.

Ugly-looking guo’er, but an enticing grade.

Qin Huai picked it up and took a big bite.

He chewed.

It was warm, even slightly hot, with a subtle sweetness from carrot paste. The salty-savory juice of the meat filling burst open in his mouth.

The outer skin was slightly firm and not very soft. The inner side of the dough had already been stained by the meat filling, fully blending with it, giving a texture somewhat like dumpling filling wrapped in sauce.

The outer layer still retained the taste of dough, and the combination of the two created a unique flavor.

As for the filling—no need to say more. Two words: delicious!

Meat filling is simply the best!

As the most common pork filling, its greatest feature is versatility. This can be seen just by looking at the variety of buns: pure meat buns, pork and scallion buns, pork with shiitake buns, pickled vegetable pork buns, cabbage pork buns, radish pork buns… basically, as long as you can think of it, pork can pair with it.

Juicy, rich but not greasy, and perfectly balanced in saltiness—the filling is the soul of a bun.

“What? You’re saying what we’re eating now is guo’er?”

Come on, everyone here is a professional. Even Huang Anyao could tell that the filling of this guo’er was essentially perfect bun filling.

But so what if it’s bun filling? Wrapped inside guo’er skin, as long as the pairing is proper and the thickness of the dough is precisely controlled—so that it doesn’t leak during steaming and the oil doesn’t seep out—then even if the skin is slightly firm, the combined texture with the filling makes it delicious.

That’s exactly how this pastry should be made!

Huang Shengli’s filling was excellent, but Qin Huai’s dough wasn’t lacking either. Only the combination of both strengths creates a truly good pastry.

“It’s so delicious. How can something this good exist in the world! It’s basically a bun… no, a dumpling… no, not quite… guo’er… still not right… anyway, it’s meat-filled and delicious!”

Huang Anyao, who aspired to be a great food critic, suddenly realized his vocabulary was too limited.

He simply couldn’t find a proper comparison for this pastry.

There wasn’t one—none at all.

The filling of a bun, the skin of guo’er, advanced technique, and an abstract shape.

No substitute—completely irreplaceable!

While the inexperienced Huang Anyao marveled at how unique and extraordinary the dish was, the experienced members of the Huang kitchen team were already discussing the importance of the “big tossing technique” (a flipping method in cooking) for the filling.

“Just from this filling alone, the big toss at the end really matters.”

“Yeah, without that final move from the master, the filling would’ve been loose. During the later simmering, it wouldn’t hold the juices. If the filling can’t lock in the juices, you’d have to dry it out during simmering. Otherwise, when steaming, the juices would leak out. And if the juices don’t penetrate the dough, the pastry will turn dry.”

“Good point. If the filling isn’t properly dried during simmering, it’ll release oil during steaming. You can tell just by looking—it would definitely fail.”

“This recipe has some real depth.”

“Not a single step can be missed. Which master of Lu cuisine white-cut pastries came up with this? Such a tricky method—it’s practically making things difficult for chefs.”

“I heard this recipe came from an old patron of Qin Huai’s, passed down fifty or sixty years ago. It might even date back to the Republican era.”

“That makes sense. Back then, wealthy people competed with each other and deliberately challenged chefs with all kinds of strange recipes.”

“I’ve heard of that too.”

Everyone in the Huang kitchen gathered at the doorway, eating and chatting. Dong Shi, who talked the most, naturally joined in enthusiastically.

As they chatted, Dong Shi noticed someone had been unusually quiet.

“Brother Jun, why are your eyes red?” Dong Shi asked.

Wang Jun rubbed his eyes, pretending nothing was wrong, but his sorrowful tone betrayed him: “Nothing… I just thought about when I first started dating Mianmian.”

“Back then, Mianmian never disliked me. We often went out shopping and ate snacks together. Wuuu… if only we had eaten guo’er together back then… wuuu…”

A bald man shedding tears.

Everyone: …

What a strange angle.

Dong Li silently pulled Dong Shi back.

“Sorry, my younger brother talks too much and isn’t good at reading the room. Please excuse him.”

Back in the kitchen, Huang Shengli had already begun a new lesson.

Originally, Zheng Siyuan planned to go back to practice his sand tossing, but since he was already here, he decided to take the day off and observe how Qin Huai learned cooking.

For stir-frying meat filling, Huang Shengli used a completely new teaching method. He didn’t demonstrate first—instead, he had Qin Huai try it himself.

No restrictions. Qin Huai could rely on instinct to cook whatever filling he was best at. It didn’t have to be standard shredded meat or minced filling—it could be guo’er filling, stir-fried green pepper with meat, or even scallion lamb.

Qin Huai chose the filling he made most often: the filling for “Circle Dream Flatbread.”

This was probably the dish that most clearly revealed the gap between Qin Huai’s pastry skills and his cooking skills.

Qin Huai felt he had learned a lot from watching Huang Shengli earlier.

He began.

High heat stir-fry.

Attempted a toss—failed. Continued high heat stir-frying.

Rendered the fat—good, the meat was in good condition.

Continued to release aroma.

Approaching the critical point.

Qin Huai counted mentally.

Three.

Almost there.

Two.

A perfect aroma.

One.

Now—time for a beautiful flip… wait, he couldn’t do it. Adjust heat.

Adjustment failed.

Attempted recovery.

Recovery failed.

Chaos.

A flurry of random stir-frying.

The filling was done.

A failure.

Qin Huai: …

“I’m done. Just destroy me.”

Zheng Siyuan almost couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Huang Shengli didn’t even try to suppress it, laughing openly: “See? Stir-frying meat filling is a completely different level from stir-frying vegetables.”

“Stir-frying vegetables tests your understanding of heat and timing. Even if something goes wrong, it can often be salvaged unless you lose focus. With enough practice, you’ll succeed.”

“But meat filling is different. There’s much more to consider. You don’t necessarily need flipping techniques. What matters is controlling the heat and the process.”

“Your awareness is good, but we haven’t formally learned that step yet. Flipping helps heat the filling more evenly, but even without it, you can still make a qualified filling.”

“Let me demonstrate.”

Huang Shengli began cooking. His movements were clean, decisive, and elegant as he made a simple meat filling without any fancy techniques.

Yet it wasn’t ordinary.

The aroma was rich and inviting.

It made people want to take a bite.

Indeed, meat is far more tempting than vegetables.

Huang Shengli handed the stove back to Qin Huai.

Qin Huai began again.

Another spectacular failure.

Huang Shengli demonstrated again. Qin Huai failed again.

They repeated this cycle—Qin Huai cooking, Huang Shengli demonstrating, then Qin Huai trying again. It became true hands-on teaching.

Clearly, Qin Huai wasn’t very comfortable with this style.

It was too direct, creating too much pressure.

Previously, when learning vegetable stir-frying, Qin Huai didn’t feel much pressure. Huang Shengli demonstrated once, and the rest was practice. Failure was normal.

But this time, with constant supervision and comparison, the pressure mounted.

He gradually understood what others had described—the anxiety of being watched by a master repeatedly demonstrating while you struggle to replicate it. The desire to improve, yet the inability to do so, brings frustration, fear of embarrassment, and fear of disappointing the teacher.

Strangely, Huang Shengli wasn’t even his master.

And he wasn’t criticizing him—in fact, he was known for encouragement-based teaching.

Yet Qin Huai found himself wishing Huang Shengli would scold him instead. A harsh critique might actually relieve some of the pressure.

This smiling, watchful, hands-on teaching style was incredibly stressful.

Qin Huai spent the entire afternoon repeatedly failing.

By the end of the session, looking at a full bucket of meat filling, he silently mourned for the Huang restaurant staff who would be eating that night.

That much filling… what dishes would they need to cook to finish it?

Learning cooking was truly exhausting for everyone involved.

“Today’s performance was good—there’s progress. Continue tomorrow,” Huang Shengli said with a smile. “Your arms must be sore after an afternoon of stir-frying. Go get a massage, and eat more mangoes.”

It seemed not only Gong Liang knew Qin Huai liked fruit—Huang Shengli did too.

“Master Huang, I’d like to take a leave,” Qin Huai said.

Huang Shengli paused, momentarily caught off guard.

“See? I told you Master shouldn’t push too hard,” Dong Shi whispered to Dong Li. “Qin Huai got scared off.”

“Back when I was learning cooking, I used to have nightmares about this—being taught repeatedly, watched without being scolded…”

“Lower your voice!” Dong Li hissed.

“I have something at home,” Qin Huai explained. “The person who gave me the guo’er recipe is a distant relative. He’s over 90 years old. I need to go back briefly in two days.”

“It won’t take long. I’ll leave the day after tomorrow and return the following day. If things go smoothly, I might even return the same evening.”

“Also, could you help me fry another batch of filling tomorrow? I’d like to take some raw preparations back with me.”

Huang Shengli relaxed and agreed readily.

“No need to rush. Traveling back and forth in one day is tiring. Stay a couple of days and come back later. I’ll prepare extra filling for you. I remember your family and friends are in Shan City—bring some for them. I’ll have Anyao buy some local specialties for you to take back as well.”

“Thank you, Master Huang!”

The next day, Huang Restaurant announced to its regular customers and nearby residents that Qin Huai would be taking two days off. Everyone accepted it well.

The chefs at Huang Restaurant didn’t work year-round without breaks anyway. Qin Huai was new, and everyone’s enthusiasm had been a bit overwhelming. It was normal for him to need rest.

Even Gong Liang said nothing, quietly adding to the shopping list when Huang Anyao was buying local specialties, secretly including 20 bolts of silk.

Yes—bolts.

Fun fact: one bolt of silk can typically make about 15 tops.

When Qin Huai saw the souvenirs Huang Anyao bought for him, he was stunned. He almost thought he wasn’t here for exchange learning in Gusu, but rather to do business and source goods.

Huang Anyao felt a bit guilty, but couldn’t help it—Gong Liang had given too much.

In the end, Huang Shengli decided that the items would be shipped to Qin Huai’s residence. Qin Huai only carried 20 jin of pastries and traveled light.

The plane landed at noon.

This season in Shan City was pleasantly cool, with crisp autumn weather—ideal for wearing light yet stylish clothing for photos.

In theory, such comfortable weather should make work easier.

But not everyone agreed.

The residents of Yunzhong Community didn’t think so.

Nor did the office workers near the area.

Even the doctors in the neurology department at the private hospital where Qu Jing worked didn’t think so.

What’s the point of good weather? Qin Huai had been in Gusu for a whole week!

A whole week!

Do you know how people survived this week?

No fermented rice buns. No five-spice buns. No three-delicacy buns. No crispy shell pastries. Not even Chenpi tea!

What kind of life was this?!

Everyone was so distressed that they even finished all the egg cakes at the Yunzhong cafeteria, eating mediocre pastries just to reminisce, hoping Qin Huai would realize their determination and return soon.

“Come back… what exactly does Gusu have anyway?”

That day, Qin Huai returned.

But he came back secretly.

Chen Huirong picked him up at the airport, driving her brother’s Maybach instead of her own Bentley to avoid being recognized by neighbors due to the familiar license plate.

Qin Huai was fully disguised—hat, mask, sunglasses, coat, scarf, and gloves—wrapped up like a “Qu Jing 2.0,” looking as if Qu Jing had dressed in men’s clothing.

He struggled into the car, removed his scarf and mask, and sighed in relief.

“Whew… that was heavy. No wonder Qu Jing always dresses so tightly.”

“Sister Hong, the pastries are in my suitcase. We’ll enter via the underground parking lot and take the elevator. I’ll give them to you at Luo Jun’s place.”

“Alright,” Chen Huirong replied.

“Did you bring the other items? Ding-sheng cakes, fermented rice buns, pork lard rice cakes… when will Zheng Siyuan come back with you?”

Qin Huai: “…Is it possible that Zheng Siyuan returned to Gusu to visit home and won’t be coming back?”

Chen Huirong looked slightly disappointed.

“I didn’t bring the others, but I asked Luo Jun to prepare the ingredients. I can make them for you tonight.”

“To avoid drawing attention, I’ll stay at Luo Jun’s house tonight and leave for the airport tomorrow morning. Sister Hong, please take me there.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Chen Huirong said. “Everyone knows you’re staying in Gusu for a month. It’s understandable.”

Qin Huai paused.

“Maybe it won’t just be a month.”

Chen Huirong: ?

“Plans have changed. If nothing unexpected happens, I might stay in Gusu until the New Year, then go straight back to my hometown in Quxian and return to Yunzhong after the holidays.”

Chen Huirong tightened her grip on the steering wheel, resisting the urge to brake suddenly like in a drama, and forced herself to ask through gritted teeth:

“How long?!”

“A few months.”

Chen Huirong suddenly felt like buying a house in Gusu.

At last, she understood why Qin Huai was sneaking around.

She hesitated, then asked:

“Does Huang Restaurant support cross-province delivery?”

Qin Huai: ?