AGN -Chapter 204 An Unreliable “Gossip”

By the time the meal was over, Gong Baozhu and Guo Mingzhu had almost turned themselves into something like service staff at Haidilao, constantly refilling water for Qin Huai. Qin Huai barely ate a few bites of food, instead drinking his fill of free tea from Huang Ji.

By the end, Qin Huai even began to suspect that this mother and daughter pair had some kind of scheme—using this method to make him eat less.

Huang Shengli had prepared a full eight dishes, each in generous portions. With only six people at the table, they naturally couldn’t finish everything.

Sticking to the principle of never wasting food, the Gong family enthusiastically packed everything up, not even leaving behind the soup. Gong Baozhu and Guo Mingzhu nearly fell out with each other over who would get ownership of the dried shredded chicken dish.

After finishing the meal, Gong Liang went to the back kitchen entrance to have a detailed discussion with Huang Shengli about the next day’s “Three-Head Banquet.” Xiao Liu tried to mediate the argument, but unfortunately got dragged into the family’s food distribution chaos. Gong Baozhu and Guo Mingzhu insisted that Xiao Liu fairly and impartially divide the dried shredded chicken. In a panic, Xiao Liu tried to find the young master to help, only to discover that Gong Liye had already slipped away to pay the bill and escape, leaving him no choice but to grit his teeth and handle the division himself.

As for Qin Huai—

After witnessing this lively drama, he quietly left, planning to return to the kitchen to chat for a bit and then begin practicing his heat control.

However, halfway there, he was suddenly intercepted by Gong Liye.

“Qin… Qin chef.” Gong Liye felt a bit embarrassed as he quietly slipped a small tin of tea into Qin Huai’s hands. “I heard from my dad that you’ve recently started drinking tea. This is some good tea I picked up a while ago. If you like it, I still have more—I can bring it to you later.”

Qin Huai accepted the tea and looked at Gong Liye, waiting for him to continue.

He and Gong Liye had little interaction—only having met twice. Gift-giving was usually Gong Liang’s role, so the fact that Gong Liye had taken over his father’s role clearly meant he had something to ask.

“I actually have another small favor to ask.”

“Do you know how to make white sugar cake? When I was young, I often ate white sugar cakes sold by an old lady at a stall near my school gate. After growing up, I’ve never tasted that kind of flavor again. I know your skills are excellent, so I wanted to ask you…”

No system notification sounded.

Which meant Gong Liye was most likely a completely normal person.

“White sugar cake? I can make that. Let’s add each other on WeChat. Whenever you’re free, let me know and I’ll prepare it in advance for you.”

Qin Huai agreed immediately.

Hearing this, Qin Huai suddenly remembered—he actually could make this kind of simple, everyday pastry.

When Qin Luo was very young, she loved simple pastries like white sugar cake. Later, as she grew older and started drooling over palace drama foods, white sugar cake was “banished to the cold palace,” and Qin Huai hadn’t made it for many years.

Perfect timing to practice again.

If it turned out well, he could make it for Xu Cheng tomorrow.

These past couple of days, the pastries Qin Huai made for Xu Cheng were all those Qin Luo used to love—imperial-style desserts with fancy names but simple appearances. It was time to make something with a plain name and a plain look as well.

When Qin Huai returned to the kitchen, he was surprised to find that the six people from Zhiwei Residence were still working.

Working voluntarily, no less.

Seeing Qin Huai return, one of the helpers who had been assisting him all morning immediately poured him tea, then went back to kneading dough.

“What’s going on?” Qin Huai asked, grabbing Dong Shi, who was eavesdropping outside the storage room where Gong Liang and Huang Shengli were talking.

“Mr. Gong wants a larger portion of pork face meat,” Dong Shi replied.

“That’s not what I’m asking—I mean them.” Qin Huai said, holding a teacup in his left hand and pointing at the people working overtime with his right.

“Oh, you mean Gu Li and the others?” Dong Shi glanced toward the pastry area, then lowered his voice as if remembering something. “I’ve got some gossip about Zhiwei Residence—but it’s not guaranteed to be true. Want to hear it?”

“Sure!” Qin Huai said. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter—he had his own judgment.

“Gu Li and the others were pushed out this time,” Dong Shi said. “Master Tan had five direct disciples in total. Tan Weian is the third senior brother, and Gu Li is the youngest.”

“In the last three to four years before Master Tan passed away, he couldn’t really cook anymore. In his final year, he was basically bedridden in the hospital. After he passed, his eldest and second disciples left Zhiwei Residence for other restaurants. Last year, the fourth disciple also left. Now only Tan Weian and Gu Li remain.”

“This rumor has been around for a while, but this time it seems to be confirmed. Look at the six people here—aside from Gu Li and Tan Weian, the others are just ordinary apprentices, not even disciples. Isn’t that obvious exclusion?”

“Why couldn’t it be that Tan Weian, considering the relationship between Chef Zheng and Master Tan, voluntarily brought his junior brother along to help?” Qin Huai asked.

This question stumped Dong Shi. After thinking it over, he nodded.

“You’ve got a point. Zhiwei Residence trains and graduates a lot of chefs every year. After Master Tan passed away, it’s normal for his disciples to branch out. Excluding Gu Li is one thing, but Tan Weian is Master Tan’s own grandson—there’s no way he’d be excluded too. This gossip must be fake. I’ll go tell the gossip group later.”

As Dong Shi spoke, he was about to take out his phone.

“Why is excluding Gu Li ‘just one thing’? Is Gu Li often excluded?” Qin Huai asked. “Actually, earlier today I found it strange. Logically, Tan Weian should be the most famous among the six—highest seniority, best skills, and Master Tan’s grandson. But it feels like most attention is focused on Gu Li. The first person people notice is Gu Li.”

“Is Gu Li very famous?” Qin Huai asked.

Dong Shi then realized that Qin Huai, being a self-taught outsider, didn’t know many commonly accepted facts in the culinary world.

So he began explaining.

Gu Li was Master Tan Wenyuan’s final disciple, and also his most well-known one. His fame didn’t come from talent, but from being… rather clumsy.

In terms of background, Gu Li actually came from a culinary family. His father was the head chef of Guanhe Tower, a renowned red-cuisine master in Suzhou, ranked 67 on the “Famous Chef List.” His mother was a white-cuisine chef who didn’t make the list but was still somewhat known in the Jiangnan region as a rare female chef.

Under normal circumstances, someone from such a background would either follow the path of a young genius like Zheng Siyuan or a second-generation heir like Huang Anyao.

But Gu Li was somehow a mix of both—and neither.

He lacked talent but loved cooking and insisted on pursuing white cuisine. Helpless, his parents used their connections to get him into Zhiwei Residence.

In a place like Zhiwei Residence—where a brick thrown casually might hit several renowned pastry talents—someone of Gu Li’s average ability stood out as exceptionally mediocre… and also as a “connected mediocre student.”

Yet this very person was chosen by Master Tan Wenyuan, who dedicated his life to researching ancient techniques and restoring lost recipes, and was accepted as his final disciple.

To be honest, Gu Li’s lack of talent was well known in culinary circles. Anyone who studied under a master—whether red or white cuisine—knew about him. However, being untalented was one thing; people spreading false rumors about him was another. There had long been claims that his parents used connections to force Master Tan into accepting him.

Some even said Master Tan reluctantly took him in and therefore never taught him real techniques, only basic foundations. While others progressed to learning techniques, he remained stuck practicing basics.

This was pure fabrication—anyone with common sense knew that a disciple represents a master’s reputation. A master of Master Tan’s stature would never accept a disciple under such absurd circumstances and then deliberately hold them back.

However, it was true that after being accepted, Gu Li spent many years practicing fundamentals. Among all direct disciples of masters, it’s hard to find another with worse innate talent. Over time, this became what he was known for—not for praise, but mostly for ridicule.

If he had been born ten years earlier, things might not have been so bad. He had just finished building his foundation for a year or two when Master Tan’s health declined. He didn’t learn much before the master passed away, and afterward, he would have had to rely on Tan Weian for guidance.

Zhiwei Residence operated like this: those with masters learned from them; those without could only observe from a distance, learning bits and pieces when others were teaching.

Ironically, Gu Li’s situation was worse than those without masters—at least they could openly stand in the corner and watch. If he did the same, it would feel humiliating, but Master Tan was already gone.

Tan Weian’s skills, as far as Dong Shi knew, were only average. A senior brother’s teaching could never match a master’s, and Zhiwei Residence had many true masters among the senior chefs.

If Gu Li were a once-in-a-generation genius, those masters would gladly teach him. But he wasn’t.

Dong Shi stopped there.

Qin Huai understood.

Gu Li’s situation was essentially this: despite coming from a prestigious lineage and being a direct disciple of a major sect, his master had passed away, he hadn’t learned much, and he lacked real ability. He had status and seniority but no corresponding strength—making him an easy target for ridicule behind his back.

This was basically the template of a “rising underdog protagonist” in cultivation novels.

“Master Tan was right to have him focus on fundamentals for so many years,” Qin Huai said. “If his talent isn’t high, he can only strengthen his basics as much as possible. That way, when he learns other dishes later, he can build on them more effectively.”

“Is that so?” Dong Shi didn’t quite understand, but since Qin Huai said it, he assumed it made sense.

“Then maybe I should also work on my fundamentals. My master always says my basics aren’t solid.”

Qin Huai: “…”

You should probably start by keeping your mouth shut while cutting vegetables and stop chatting and losing focus.

Dong Shi was about to say more when Gong Liang and Huang Shengli had finished discussing the details of the Three-Head Banquet. Gong Liang walked out satisfied and, seeing Qin Huai at the warehouse entrance, said warmly: “Little Qin chef, are you free tonight? I’ll come visit your home around 7 PM and bring you some good tea.”

Qin Huai thought to himself that father and son really had the same approach to gift-giving, and nodded.

“Tonight I plan to try making ‘Four Happiness Tangyuan’ at home. I’ll definitely be there at 7.”

Gong Liang was deeply moved again and even considered taking back the tea he had given Huang Shengli last month to give to Qin Huai instead.

“Xiao Qin, rest for another half hour. We’ll start practicing heat control after that,” Huang Shengli said with a smile.

“Understood, Master Huang.”

After speaking, Huang Shengli left. Qin Huai guessed he probably went next door for a 20-minute massage at the bone-setting clinic.

Dong Shi still wanted to continue gossiping, but Qin Huai had become more interested in Gu Li, the subject of the earlier gossip. He walked over with his teacup.

Gu Li was making “Ruyi Rolls.”

There was already a finished plate on the counter, slightly cooled. Gu Li was making a second batch.

Qin Huai took a look at the finished product and felt that while the taste was uncertain, the appearance was quite nice.

It was a standard fried pastry: egg crepe wrapped around meat filling, coated with flour, rolled into cloud patterns, cut into thick slices, and deep-fried until golden.

Visually, the Ruyi roll resembled a “ruyi” shape, living up to its name. Qin Huai had previously looked it up when searching for Four Happiness Tangyuan and pinched lantern buns, and discovered this was one of Master Tan’s signature dishes. It was once part of the Mongolian princely banquet in the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast and had been lost before being reconstructed from ancient texts by Master Tan.

When Qin Huai searched, he also saw online posts showcasing Master Tan’s Ruyi rolls—each cross-section of the meat had clear cloud-like patterns, extremely beautiful.

As for the ones Gu Li made…

After observing carefully, Qin Huai could only say the ingredients were good. Egg crepe wrapped with meat filling and fried—taste-wise, it wouldn’t be bad.

He then glanced at Gu Li.

Gu Li was cutting vegetables.

Earlier in the morning, Qin Huai had already noticed that Gu Li, a direct disciple trained in a highly disciplined environment, worked very slowly. His slowness was comprehensive—kneading dough, chopping meat, rolling dough, wrapping pastries, even speaking, nodding, and showing expressions—all slow.

He seemed to pause for a couple of seconds before doing anything.

He was slow, but very meticulous.

Watching him cut vegetables, Qin Huai realized his knife skills were quite good.

Perhaps he had even practiced knife fundamentals extensively during his training. For a white-cuisine chef, his knife skills were impressive—at least far better than Qin Huai’s own, whose knife skill proficiency was only 179.

After watching for a while, Qin Huai suddenly asked, pointing at the Ruyi roll: “Can I try one of these?”

Gu Li’s hands paused mid-chop. He looked up, hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.

Qin Huai picked up a pair of chopsticks and took a bite.

It had cooled—the freshly made version should have tasted better.

He took another bite.

The Shaoxing wine used for removing the gamey smell seemed a bit too much.

He chewed again.

Gu Li’s heat control was decent. Frying this kind of pastry, especially one that must be crisp outside and tender inside, is extremely demanding—just a slight deviation makes a huge difference.

“You can dip it in pepper salt,” Gu Li quietly said, bringing over a small dish of pepper salt.

Qin Huai dipped some and found the flavor improved significantly.

If there was one issue, it was probably the dough.

At first, Qin Huai had thought the Ruyi roll was bread wrapped around meat, but it turned out to be egg crepe wrapped around meat, with a thin layer of dough inside and a thicker batter coating outside. In that case, the dough indeed needed to be very soft.

If he had to grade it, Qin Huai would give it a C-.

Gu Li’s fundamentals were solid—but only fundamentals. He needed more practice, a lot more practice, to fully express his abilities.

“Earlier I was wrong,” Qin Huai said. “I didn’t realize the dish was made this way. Your dough is fine—it should be made softer.”

Gu Li nodded without speaking.

“But I still suggest using more finesse. No matter what kind of dough you’re making, overly rigid kneading won’t produce good results.” Qin Huai pointed at the dough nearby. “To put it in Chef Zheng’s words, dough like that has no soul.”

“And also, you used too much Shaoxing wine when seasoning the filling. The ginger flavor is a bit too strong.”

“Other than that, everything else is good. Your knife skills are much better than mine.”