AGN -Chapter 195 The Younger Generation Is Formidable

Qin Huai felt that something was off about everyone in Huang Ji’s kitchen today.

First, there was Huang Jia, who for some reason insisted on eating crab roe siu mai and guo’er, as if he had suffered some kind of emotional setback.

Not long after, Dong Shi—who had been casually chatting and slacking off—suddenly stopped talking and started working with unusual enthusiasm. He even chopped all the eggplants Wang Jun usually avoided, all in one go, smiling the entire time.

Not just any smile either—it was the kind that came from deep inside, completely uncontrollable. His lips curled upward, his face stiff from grinning too much.

Dong Li wasn’t normal either. While his younger brother couldn’t stop smiling, Dong Li occasionally showed a mysterious smile while happily stir-frying the filling for the “Dream Come True” pancakes.

Qin Huai wasn’t very close to Dong Li, but he had known him long enough to know that he was usually expressionless and quiet. His brother did all the talking for both of them.

And then there was Wang Jun.

As Qin Huai’s main assistant, Wang Jun interacted with him the most. Normally, he was the most honest and quiet person in the kitchen—rarely speaking, always working silently, almost invisible.

Today, he was still quiet, but Qin Huai keenly noticed something different: Wang Jun kept looking at him with a strange, reverent gaze.

Qin Huai had seen that look before.

Every time Huang Shengli demonstrated some master-level dish, Wang Jun would stand at a distance, craning his neck to watch, eyes filled with admiration.

But Qin Huai hadn’t done anything special today.

To be precise, he felt his skill level wasn’t even in the same league as Huang Shengli’s. Even if they collaborated on an A-grade guo’er, Wang Jun shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

Even the others—like Qi Tian and the unnamed helpers—felt… off.

Finally, after mixing the salted egg yolk filling for the “crab roe” siu mai, Qin Huai couldn’t hold back anymore. He asked Wang Jun:

“Did something good happen at Huang Ji today?”

“Why does everyone seem… unusually happy and excited?”

Wang Jun: …

With all the acting skills he could muster, the honest man forced himself to stay calm.

“M-maybe… there is. Tonight there’s a wedding banquet, and Master is cooking the Three-Head Banquet. Everyone’s just happy about that.”

Qin Huai nodded slowly.

He trusted Wang Jun.

But…

Wasn’t that explanation a bit… weak?

“There’s nothing else?” Qin Huai pressed.

“Nothing right now,” Wang Jun said sincerely.

(Though in his heart, he added: Give it a few dozen minutes.)

After all, something every chef dreams of was about to happen in this very kitchen.

Even if he couldn’t be the protagonist, being a shocked NPC beside the protagonist was still pretty great.

Qin Huai studied Wang Jun for a moment, then chose to believe him and continued making siu mai.

The pastries for Room 111 and Room 777 had already been served.

Before the desserts for Room 777 were sent out, Huang Jia suddenly transformed into a “taste tester,” claiming he was starving and sampling one of everything.

Turns out, he wasn’t that hungry. By the time he reached the glutinous rice cake, he was full.

Then Qi Tian, Dong Shi, and Dong Li took turns “getting hungry,” continuing the tasting relay. After a full round of evaluation, they reached the following conclusions:

• Glutinous rice siu mai: average
• Glutinous rice cake: surprisingly delicious
• Lard rice cake: unnecessary
• Mung bean cake: mediocre
• Crab shell pastry: standard
• Dream Come True pancake: Dong Shi’s filling was worse than Huang Jia’s
• Jujube yam cake: acceptable filler

After the discussion, Huang Jia, as the representative, went to Qin Huai and requested: “Can you make another portion of crab shell pastries and Dream Come True pancakes later? Just one portion per person, not much.”

Qin Huai felt that today was already absurd enough. Nothing Huang Jia said could surprise him anymore.

He simply nodded.

The salted egg yolk siu mai was easy to make—much simpler than real crab roe siu mai, with similar flavor.

After all, salted egg yolk was a universally loved flavor.

Since Qin Huai could already make B-grade crab roe siu mai, this version was effortless.

What truly required focus was guo’er.

It was the only pastry Qin Huai had ever achieved A-grade in.

Before reaching A-grade, he thought guo’er leaned more toward hot kitchen (red-case) techniques.

After reaching A-grade, he realized that in truly great pastries, there was no distinction—both white-case and red-case skills were equally important.

With this mindset, Qin Huai worked with utmost care.

Moreover…

From the names alone, he suspected Jiang Weiming and Jiang Weijin were brothers—trained by the same master.

And Jiang Weijin’s white-case skills were clearly superior.

Recently, Qin Huai had been studying Jiang Weijin’s tutorial videos, especially the ones on San Ding Bao.

It was a comprehensive pastry, demanding excellence in dough, filling, and heat control.

An S-grade pastry had no weaknesses.

Now, as he returned to making guo’er after a week, he made a surprising discovery:

Even though the doughs were completely different, the techniques were… connected.

They came from the same school.

The techniques he learned from Jiang Weijin could be applied to Jiang Weiming’s guo’er.

They were compatible.

No wonder their father, Jiang Chengde, could casually make an S-grade locust flower bun.

At that level, everything he made would be S-grade.

Just as Qin Huai was marveling at this culinary lineage, something even more shocking happened.

He thought nothing today could surprise him anymore.

He was wrong.

Huang Shengli and Huang Anyao burst into the kitchen.

That alone wasn’t shocking.

What was shocking was their state.

Huang Shengli was fully bundled up—hat, scarf, mask—yet looked radiant. The moment he entered, he shouted: “Where’s the stove? Get me a stove!”

Under normal circumstances, Huang Jia would immediately stop him and lecture him about recovery.

But today?

Huang Jia rushed over eagerly, guiding him like a devoted disciple.

Qin Huai almost thought Huang Jia was trying to overthrow his master.

Behind Huang Shengli, Huang Anyao staggered in—exhausted, drenched in sweat, barely able to stand.

“Water… water!” he gasped. “A stool… give me a stool…”

With a thud, he collapsed to his knees.

Qin Huai: …

What was happening today?

Had Huang Anyao just run a marathon?

Huang Shengli smiled gently.

“He just doesn’t exercise much. Rode a bike for a bit and ended up like this.”

“Don’t mind him. Keep working.”

Huang Anyao, barely alive, insisted: “Yeah… don’t mind me…”

“Qin Huai, just focus on your pastries!”

Meanwhile, in Room 888, things were much calmer.

Xu Cheng ate quietly, as always.

Over the years, he had traveled the world like a backpacker, entering restaurants silently, eating, and leaving without a word.

Now older, he sometimes dined with friends—but often alone, like today.

His assistant, however, could read his subtle cues.

Today, Xu Cheng was… satisfied.

Not amazed—he had eaten too much for that.

But satisfied.

He had finished both the fermented rice buns and the San Ding Bao, and was now drinking the aged tangerine peel dessert.

The other dishes—sweet-and-sour mandarin fish, eel paste, stir-fried vegetables—were untouched.

The assistant was eating those.

He couldn’t help but wonder:

Why was this clearly a dessert soup called “tangerine peel tea”?

But…

It was comforting.

And Xu Cheng seemed to like it.

Xu Cheng set down his bowl and exhaled.

“Interesting.”

That was his conclusion.

The comfort wasn’t from taste—it was something deeper.

Warm. Relaxing.

It even made him want another San Ding Bao.

That was unusual.

At his age, he controlled his appetite.

But today…

“The younger generation is formidable.”

He already knew where he would come for pastries ten years from now.

“Xiao Wang, are you done eating?”

“Yes, Mr. Xu.”

“What time is it?”

“1:07.”

“The kitchen should still be open… do you want more pastries?”

“…Yes!”

Xu Cheng smiled.

“Then order another serving of fermented rice buns and San Ding Bao. I’ll have half.”

Five seconds later, the order reached the kitchen.

The entire kitchen erupted.

“Do we still have San Ding Bao and rice buns?”

“Yes! We saved some!”

“Plate them—quick!”

Qin Huai looked around, confused.

He whispered to Zheng Siyuan: “Don’t you think everyone’s acting weird today?”

“Did you see how exaggerated Master Huang’s wok toss just now was?”

Zheng Siyuan: …

He sighed internally.

Everyone’s acting was terrible—but they were committed.

“Not really,” he said innocently. “Everything seems normal. It’s almost time to get off work—of course people are happy.”

Qin Huai: …

Do you realize you’re the weirdest one right now?

Since when did you talk this much?