AGN -Chapter 200 Time Is Running Out for Zheng Da

At noon that day, Zheng Da nearly worked himself to exhaustion in the Huang Ji back kitchen.

Qin Huai felt that he was only moderately tired. Although there were many customers lining up outside, the Huang Ji kitchen was not like the Yunzhong cafeteria. Qin Huai stayed in the back kitchen without directly seeing the crowd, so the pressure wasn’t that great.

Moreover, Cao, the shift leader, was indeed very professional. Since there was no purchase limit on pastries at Huang Ji, he could roughly estimate how many customers the remaining pastries in the kitchen could serve, and reasonably persuade those stubborn customers who insisted on queuing despite the odds to give up.

Of course, Huang Ji was not completely without purchase limits.

The reason Gong Liang was able to sit at the entrance and shout for 50 fermented rice steamed buns last time was because the shop had very few customers at that time, and there weren’t many people in line. Buying over a hundred pastries alone did not affect others’ ability to purchase.

But in the current situation, let alone buying 50 fermented rice steamed buns—even asking for 25 would require anyone under 200 pounds to think twice before speaking.

The old man’s advice to Xu Cheng not to buy too much—otherwise he might get beaten—was absolutely not an exaggeration.

“Xiao Qin, how is it? Tired? Can you hold on this afternoon?” Huang Shengli asked with a smile, walking up quietly beside Qin Huai while he was eating his staff meal.

Most of the time, Huang Shengli wore a smiling expression in the back kitchen.

But that smile varied depending on the situation. Often it was just his habitual expression. As a gentle middle-aged man and the true authority of Huang Ji’s kitchen, he used that smile to convey encouragement to everyone.

At times, the smile was genuine, and paired with a warm tone, straight posture, slightly bent neck, and hands clasped behind his back, his goodwill became even more apparent.

“I’m not tired,” Qin Huai replied honestly.

Although today’s customer volume exceeded his expectations—people began lining up outside as early as after 9 a.m., and many customers even rejoined the queue after realizing they hadn’t bought enough—items like fermented rice steamed buns and three-delicacy buns sold out instantly, and even mung bean cakes were in short supply.

Still, Qin Huai truly wasn’t that tired.

Zheng Da had taken on most of the burden.

Zheng Da wasn’t just an assistant—he was a master whose overall skill, including white-case pastry-making, completely surpassed the 53rd-ranked contestants of the “Famous Chef List.”

Most importantly, he knew how to make fermented rice steamed buns.

Even casually made, they reached B-grade; if made seriously, they could reach A-grade.

Today in the Huang Ji kitchen, Zheng Da had been making buns to the point where his eyes had lost their light. He didn’t even eat the staff meal and slipped away immediately after lunch service ended, not even competing for afternoon teaching duties.

The afternoon was destined to be solely Huang Shengli’s red-case teaching session.

“Since you’re not tired, we’ll proceed with fire control training this afternoon as usual,” Huang Shengli said. “We’ll train for two hours. Mr. Xu tried your mung bean cake at lunch and felt it was quite acceptable. He wants to test your range in pastries. He asked if you have time this afternoon to make a few pastries he hasn’t tried yet for him to taste.”

“Of course,” Qin Huai agreed immediately.

If Xu Cheng considered the mung bean cake acceptable, then Qin Huai could make plenty of pastries.

He wasn’t exaggerating—if you took out a pastry compendium and flipped from page 7 to page 200 at random, whatever you landed on would be at least at the level of mung bean cake.

Just for mung bean cakes alone, Qin Huai knew no fewer than four methods.

After eating, Qin Huai rested for half an hour before starting fire control practice.

It had been some time since he last practiced fire control. Previously, he had been focused on mastering crab roe shumai, so handling the wok again felt slightly unfamiliar.

Huang Shengli’s back pain had now fully recovered, and he personally demonstrated everything from start to finish—how to toss the wok, even demonstrating advanced tossing techniques. He also told Qin Huai not to feel pressured and to try freely.

Qin Huai said he didn’t feel any pressure anyway, since he couldn’t really perform any of the techniques Huang Shengli demonstrated.

His fire control practice had only reached the level of stir-frying greens.

To accommodate the evening staff meal, Qin Huai didn’t just fry meat filling—he cooked a variety of dishes.

He made spicy pepper pork, carrot slices with pork, small stir-fried pork, cauliflower with pork, celery with pork, shredded potatoes with pork, greens with pork—basically anything he could find, creating a highly varied mixed style.

From a distance, Dong Shi’s face turned green. He asked Dong Li whether Qin Huai was experimenting with “dark cuisine,” since he seemed to stir-fry meat with every vegetable he saw.

If this was the staff meal tonight, it would be better to eat yesterday’s boxed lunch.

Unaware that his thoughtful variety was causing psychological stress for Dong Shi, Qin Huai simply felt that this approach was good—it allowed him to practice fire control while also practicing ingredient pairing. Different vegetables require different heat levels when stir-fried with meat, and introducing variables improved training efficiency.

It was also better for gaining experience.

Most importantly, Huang Shengli did not object.

He stood by and observed. If any obvious issues appeared, he would point them out; if the same issue occurred multiple times, he would personally demonstrate.

The teaching process was relaxed and pleasant.

After Qin Huai finished frying two vats of meat and moved on to making pastries for Xu Cheng, he even felt somewhat unsatisfied.

Considering that his colleagues might struggle with the staff meal that evening, and that Xu Cheng wouldn’t eat much anyway, Qin Huai made extra pastries to ensure everyone could have some.

It could be said he was very considerate.

When Qin Huai was stir-frying meat, Huang Shengli didn’t intervene. But when making pastries, he reminded him not to make too much and not to tire himself out.

After ensuring a reasonable amount was made, Huang Shengli prepared three dishes for Qin Huai to pack and take home to share with friends.

Qin Huai felt that Ou Yang had really struck it lucky.

He got to eat a private meal personally prepared by Huang Shengli without spending a cent—just like the treatment of sitting at the door eating noodles in the morning.

Qin Huai took the packed food and went with Ou Yang to a bone-setting clinic.

The meal—rice with dishes and fruit—smelled so good that the clinic staff quietly closed the VIP room door tighter, so the aroma wouldn’t leak out and make patients in the next room drool.

Bone-setting was already painful enough. Since the clinic was already inflicting physical “damage,” there was no need to add “magical” psychological damage.

“Damn… these dishes… wow this fish… my god this eggplant…” Ou Yang, still holding his hand and drinking hand-shaken lemonade, abandoned it immediately after taking his first bite.

“Can you say something a bit more descriptive?” Qin Huai looked at him speechlessly.

The emotion was there, but not a single coherent word.

“Oh my!” Ou Yang continued to react emotionally.

Qin Huai suddenly missed Huang Anyao.

Someone aspiring to be a food critic like him could really articulate things well—words flowing endlessly before even taking a bite.

“How many cups of hand-shaken lemonade did you drink today?” Qin Huai interrupted.

Ou Yang paused, then after swallowing a mouthful of food, replied while staring at the dish, “Not many. Seven cups.”

Qin Huai: “…?”

You’re really here on a market survey trip, huh?

“What were the results?” Qin Huai asked.

“Very average,” Ou Yang said, continuing to eat voraciously. Between bites, he added, “I tried milk tea shops and street vendors. Either the lemons were poor quality or the syrup was bad. None were as good as our cafeteria.”

Qin Huai thought to himself—of course. Yunzhong cafeteria sold hand-shaken lemonade on the side, and the reason was simply because the boss himself liked drinking it. Since the boss liked it, quality had to be high—premium lemons were used.

“I feel like opening a hand-shaken lemonade shop on the pedestrian street—I’d dominate the market for sure!” Ou Yang said confidently. “Did you see the queue outside Huang Ji at noon? I recorded a video, I’ll send it to you later.”

“I was shocked when I arrived. Luckily you saved me a spot, though I still ended up sharing a table with others.”

“I estimate that by the time my lemonade shop opens on the first day of the Lunar New Year, if I can get half the queue Huang Ji had today, that would already be enough.”

“Then I’ll have my mom film a video and post it on WeChat Moments, telling our relatives—I, Ou Yang, am back! That fish hotpot shop was just an accident. Hand-shaken lemonade is my real strength!”

“I’ve even thought it through—hire only one pretty girl for ordering, and the rest strong young guys to shake lemonade. Stronger arms make better drinks.”

“Many of the lemonade shops I tried today were so perfunctory—they just muddled it a few times and handed it over. They don’t know how to properly make hand-shaken lemonade.”

Qin Huai felt Ou Yang’s reasoning made sense.

Only one thing was wrong.

“Have you considered that the main customers for your lemonade near Yunzhong cafeteria are office workers nearby?”

“On the first day of the Lunar New Year, which company would be insane enough to have everyone working overtime?”

“If you open on New Year’s Day, who’s going to queue for your lemonade?”

Ou Yang: (д)

After finishing their meal and getting adjusted at the bone-setting clinic, they didn’t linger and went straight home.

Qin Huai was tired from a full day of work; Ou Yang had drunk too much lemonade and preferred to stay close to a restroom.

After the adjustment, Ou Yang felt the treatment was good and even considered getting a membership card—but when he asked about the price, he decided it was better to use Qin Huai’s card.

Years of being broke had taught Ou Yang to take advantage of anything he could.

The next day, after eating longevity noodles, Qin Huai continued working as usual, and Ou Yang went out wandering and drinking lemonade as usual.

The number of people lining up for pastries only increased.

Retired elderly residents nearby felt that competition the previous day had been too intense, so they made up their minds and started lining up as early as 9 a.m.

By day 3, people were lining up at 9 a.m.

By day 4, at 8 a.m.

On day 5, when Qin Huai arrived at Huang Ji at the usual time and saw customers already lining up outside, he realized things were not going as he had expected.

He had underestimated Xu Cheng’s influence.

Before 8 a.m., there were already several foreign customers with blond hair and blue eyes in line.

What was going on—were they not jet-lagged and just waking up early?

Qin Huai had originally thought Xu Cheng’s social media post would only cause a few days of hype. People would rush for two days and then things would return to normal once they realized the pastries were always available.

But instead of returning to normal, more out-of-town customers kept coming, even foreign ones. Local customers also became… not so normal.

Everyone seemed to have tacitly agreed on rules: no more than 12 fermented rice steamed buns per purchase, and no more than 6 three-delicacy buns. Anyone attempting to buy more would be stopped by self-appointed enforcers.

Cao, the shift leader, no longer guarded the back kitchen but instead stood at the entrance mediating disputes.

Production in the kitchen increased day by day.

To spare his future apprentice from exhaustion, Zheng Da went all out—still not focusing on quality, but steadily increasing output. His fermented rice buns remained at B-grade, but quantities surged.

He worked like a conveyor belt master, as if reliving his early days as an apprentice in a state-owned restaurant—waking up and immediately making pastries, leaving work the moment he finished, not staying a second longer.

Under such immense customer flow, Xu Cheng’s continued presence became less noticeable.

Yes, five days had passed, and Xu Cheng still hadn’t left.

He came to Huang Ji every day—once at noon and once in the evening, rain or shine—without reserving seats, only ordering pastries.

At first he still bought three-delicacy buns and fermented rice buns, but later he stopped buying those and only requested pastries Qin Huai hadn’t made for him before.

If Qin Huai hadn’t been too busy to meet him, he would have liked to ask Xu Cheng to reduce the portion of his write-up and increase Huang Shengli’s share.

Huang Shengli’s back had largely recovered, but he didn’t dare resume normal work.

With the current surge in customer volume, he was worried that returning to full duties might cause his old injury to flare up again.

Qin Huai glanced at the date.

It was already December 28.

Only three days remained in the month.

Seeing Xu Cheng leisurely wandering around Suzhou and insisting on trying new pastries he hadn’t eaten before, it was clear his article was already finished.

If things moved quickly, “Zhi Wei” might indeed be published in early January.

What did that imply?

It meant time was running out for Qin Huai and Zheng Da.

Starting yesterday, Zheng Siyuan’s pastries were removed from the menu, and the quantity of fresh meat mooncakes was reduced, because Zheng Siyuan had to assist his father and Qin Huai.

Yes, Huang Ji was now short-handed enough that Zheng Siyuan had to be pulled in to help.

Wang Jun and the other professionally trained assistants were indeed skilled and experienced, but they were all red-case chefs.

They were not as useful as white-case specialists.

At 8:42 a.m. on December 28, Qin Huai carefully observed Zheng Da, who was eating chicken soup noodles, and silently wondered if he should talk to him about reducing his workload and taking on more himself.

These past few days, most of the increased workload had fallen entirely on Zheng Da.

Zheng Da truly stepped up whenever needed.

Although he didn’t prioritize quality, he guaranteed quantity.

Moreover, his skills were well-rounded and highly rated—even when underperforming, the baseline quality of his pastries was still quite impressive.

Huang Shengli even remarked that if Zheng Da had had this kind of drive back then, he would have long since broken into the top 30 of the Famous Chef List and made history in white-case cuisine.

Qin Huai wanted to tell Zheng Da that he could still hold on.

Because Qin Huai felt that Zheng Da might be reaching his limit.

Qin Huai could only continue because Zheng Da was there—if Zheng Da left, he truly wouldn’t be able to keep up.

At that point, he might have to discuss with Huang Shengli whether Huang Ji should introduce some rule-breaking policies, such as purchase limits or bundled sales.

Zheng Da finished his noodles expressionlessly, didn’t drink the soup, and placed the bowl on the rack.

Qin Huai slowly approached, thinking about how to bring it up.

Then Zheng Da’s phone rang. He answered, and his excited voice nearly pierced the entire kitchen: “They’ve arrived?”

“There are six of them, already off the high-speed rail and on their way.”

“Great! If they didn’t come, I was about to go to Hangzhou to snatch people myself!”

“They can only exchange for one month? They must return to Zhiwei Pavilion during the New Year when things are busy. Brother Su, you really don’t give me any face. Everywhere is busy during the New Year—I’m willing to teach everything, yet you only allow one month of exchange.”

“What, I don’t know how to teach?”

“Brother Su, don’t slander me! Just because you have many disciples doesn’t mean anything. What’s the use of having many disciples?”

“Go ask around—wasn’t Qin Huai’s crab roe shumai taught by me? Wasn’t my son Zheng Siyuan trained by me? With my guidance, your chefs at Zhiwei Pavilion should be grateful and quietly benefit, yet you’re still being picky.”

“Don’t think I don’t know—you must have visited Huang Ji in disguise last month to try the crab roe shumai.”

“Alright, enough talk. I’ll have Anyao pick them up, and I’ve already arranged accommodation. It’s right across from Huang Ji—convenient for work.”