AGN -Chapter 206 Four-Joy Tangyuan

When Qin Huai and Ou Yang returned home, it was not even 6 p.m.

Qin Huai planned to start by trying the Four-Joy Tangyuan, which sounded simpler just from its name.

Tangyuan—Qin Huai knew how to make them.

Not only could he make tangyuan, but he could also make yuanxiao. In the Qin family, eating tangyuan on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month was a must. Regardless of how much or how little was eaten, a bowl of tangyuan had to be consumed before dinner—usually filled with sesame paste.

There was a period when fruit-filled tangyuan became popular in Quxian. Qin Huai tried making them a few times, but perhaps due to an improper recipe, the taste was not ideal. After trying them a few times out of curiosity, the Qin family eventually returned to sesame-filled tangyuan.

As for yuanxiao, Qin Luo once discovered while watching TV that tangyuan in the south and yuanxiao in the north were actually different. In the south they were called tangyuan, in the north yuanxiao. Tangyuan are made by wrapping the filling, while yuanxiao are made by rolling. Yuanxiao are also larger in size. Qin Luo immediately lost interest in the pastries shown in costume dramas and only wanted to eat yuanxiao.

Qin Huai tried making yuanxiao a few times following the recipes in Pastry Compendium. Qin Luo found that they weren’t much different from tangyuan, and the outer texture wasn’t as smooth and glutinous. Most importantly, yuanxiao were all sweet, unlike tangyuan which could have savory fillings. After trying them a few times, yuanxiao were effectively “banished.”

Over the years, the number of pastries Qin Luo had “banished” far exceeded the number of concubines banished in palace dramas.

In Qin Huai’s view, making tangyuan was simple.

This pastry had a low difficulty ceiling. Even though Four-Joy Tangyuan was a more complex version requiring four fillings and four shapes, the seasoning and technique involved were not particularly difficult.

Although the system often complained that Qin Huai rarely focused on shaping pastries, many pastries simply didn’t require elaborate shaping.

The four shapes in Four-Joy Tangyuan were mainly to distinguish the different fillings so they wouldn’t get mixed up during cooking.

After returning home, Qin Huai immediately began studying the recipe.

The recipe was simple. After a quick review, he memorized the basics and started preparing the dough for the tangyuan skins.

For Four-Joy Tangyuan, the skin was the most troublesome part.

It required water-milled rice flour (also called tangyuan flour), essentially glutinous rice flour. Traditionally, making it by hand involved soaking glutinous rice overnight, grinding it into a slurry, placing it in a cloth bag to hang and drain overnight, then breaking up and drying the remaining moist rice flour before it could be used.

That was the old method.

Nowadays, things were different. With technological progress, water-milled rice flour could be bought directly from supermarkets in various grades and qualities.

Qin Huai found several unopened bags in the cabinet—six different brands. He selected the best-looking one based on packaging and ingredients, poured out a small bowl, and mixed it with cold water to form a dough.

When he first moved in, the kitchen cabinets were empty—there wasn’t even rice at home.

After he brought back ingredients from Huang Ji to practice crab roe shumai for the first time, the household began to accumulate supplies.

All kinds of white-case ingredients were available: various sugars, flours, yeast… Even the cleaning lady had bought six rolling pins.

Qin Huai felt that if the house were larger, Gong Liang would probably have asked the cleaning lady to install a giant Huang Ji-style steamer in the kitchen.

He slowly pressed the dough into a thin flat sheet and placed it into boiling water to cook.

Ou Yang stood outside the kitchen watching. Seeing Qin Huai directly drop the dough into the pot, he was shocked and immediately suspected he had somehow offended Qin Huai, who was now retaliating by cooking a pot of dough to punish him.

He began to reflect on what he had done recently.

Did he drink four cups of hand-shaken lemon tea yesterday without bringing Qin Huai one?

Or was it that Qin Huai had discovered he secretly ate at Guanhe Tower the day before, and as a Huang Ji chef decided to teach him a lesson?

Or was it that Qin Huai had found out he secretly ate three large packs of cheese sticks this morning?

Watching the dough boil in the pot, Ou Yang nervously swallowed.

This was glutinous rice dough—eating too much would be very filling.

Could he ask to dip it in sugar later?

Was it too late to confess now?

“I didn’t mean to go to Guanhe Tower the other day. I just heard the food there was good,” Ou Yang said.

“The food at Guanhe Tower is indeed good. Their squirrel mandarin fish is a signature dish, and water bamboo soup with tofu is also famous,” Qin Huai nodded.

Ou Yang: ?

Not that?

Ou Yang continued confessing: “I didn’t mean to finish all the cheese sticks in the fridge either. I just couldn’t resist. They don’t fill you up at all—you just keep eating one after another. You know me, I used to be so poor I couldn’t even afford cheese sticks. Sometimes Huihui would give me one. Now that there are so many in front of me, I just couldn’t resist.”

Qin Huai kept his eyes on the pot, not looking at him at all. Seeing the dough float, he added cold water, lowered the heat, and continued cooking until done.

When Qin Huai first made tangyuan, he had suffered from undercooking—ruining an entire pot.

“You like cheese sticks? You should’ve said so earlier. Write a note and stick it on the fridge telling the cleaning lady what flavors you want. She’ll buy fresh ones every day.”

“And don’t just eat cheese sticks—eat some fruit too.”

“Huh?” Ou Yang was confused.

While he was still puzzled, the dough was done. Qin Huai removed it and soaked it in cold water, then placed it on the board, mixed it with flour, added cooked lard, and kneaded it like dough.

At this point, Ou Yang understood.

Oh—he wasn’t being fed boiled dough as punishment. Qin Huai was actually making pastries.

Only then did Ou Yang relax and continue watching.

Kneading rice dough is very similar to kneading dough: repeated pressing until smooth and non-sticky.

After kneading, Qin Huai began wrapping the tangyuan.

The fillings had been brought from Huang Ji that afternoon.

The four fillings were simple: two savory and two sweet. Meat-and-vegetable and pure meat were savory; red bean paste and sesame were sweet.

Qin Huai had confirmed with Huang Shengli that these were standard fillings. Four-Joy Tangyuan was a common household dish in Longcheng, once widely sold by street vendors. Naturally, the fillings were ordinary and widely used.

Qin Huai prepared only 16 tangyuan—four per person, totaling four servings.

Four-Joy Tangyuan are large, several times bigger than regular tangyuan. In upscale shops, they are often served one per bowl, raising both presentation and price.

Qin Huai’s home didn’t have enough bowls, so he used four large bowls, placing four tangyuan per bowl.

Compared to wrapping, cooking tangyuan was the more difficult part for Qin Huai.

People whose mothers weren’t good at cooking know: it’s easy to overcook tangyuan and cause them to break apart.

Done improperly, a pot of tangyuan turns into a pot of sesame-flavored rice soup.

Even though Qin Huai was experienced in heat control, cooking large tangyuan like these still required skill.

The proper method: bring clean water to a boil, gently add tangyuan along the edge, stir occasionally to prevent sticking, and when the water boils again, add cold water to maintain a gentle boil. Repeat until the tangyuan float, then cover and simmer for two minutes.

That’s the theory.

In practice, there’s a lot of flexibility.

In theory, a skilled chef can produce tangyuan that are smooth and translucent like white porcelain, soft but not breaking when picked up, non-sticky to the teeth, with full fillings that don’t leak.

All of that is theory.

In reality, tangyuan have a very high ceiling—but also a very low floor.

This made Qin Huai somewhat nervous while cooking.

It almost felt like preparing a broth.

The last time he had been this tense, constantly watching a pot, was when simmering stock at Yunzhong Canteen.

Eventually, the tangyuan were done.

There was no strong aroma—only the faint scent of cooked glutinous rice flour.

Qin Huai served four bowls: one for himself, one for Ou Yang, one for Gong Liang, and one for Guo Mingzhu. The other two bowls were kept warm in a heating cabinet and would be delivered later after confirming there were no issues.

Yes—the kitchen even had a warming cabinet.

Freshly cooked tangyuan are very hot. Even after cooling the surface slightly, Qin Huai didn’t dare bite in immediately. Without Qin Luo as a reference, Ou Yang also didn’t dare bite right away, and could only blow and sniff at them.

Qin Huai didn’t know what he expected to smell—tangyuan don’t really have a fragrance, only the faint scent of cooked rice flour.

“What kind of tangyuan are these? They’re so big and oddly shaped. I saw you wrapping some with meat filling earlier,” Ou Yang asked.

“Four-Joy Tangyuan, a specialty of Longcheng. I’ve never eaten them before either—just looked up the recipe and tried making them today,” Qin Huai replied.

“Remember to give me feedback after eating.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve tasted so many things for you—you still don’t trust me? Professional taste tester,” Ou Yang said, then took a bite.

“Hiss—”

He nearly spat it out immediately.

He had chosen a sesame-filled one, and sweet fillings were very hot.

He sucked in air while frantically moving his tongue, head tilted back like a fish washed ashore struggling to survive, before finally swallowing it.

“Sweet,” he concluded.

Qin Huai: …

What was he even expecting?

He had already given up on expecting useful feedback from Ou Yang, and calmly scooped up a meat-and-vegetable tangyuan to take a small bite.

Soft and glutinous, not sticky to the teeth.

With Qin Huai’s current dough skills, he could make very refined tangyuan skins.

He looked at the one in his spoon.

Beautiful.

The meat-and-vegetable filling was green at a glance, mainly finely chopped shepherd’s purse with only small bits of meat. It tasted somewhat like dumplings with shepherd’s purse filling but with less meat.

Wrapping dumpling filling inside tangyuan wasn’t bad—it was fresh and visually appealing—but the taste felt slightly unusual.

After eating half a full dinner earlier, Qin Huai ate slowly, reflecting on whether the shepherd’s purse filling could be improved.

Online recipes showed variations: shepherd’s purse or shredded radish. He decided he would try shredded radish filling the next day.

After finishing the savory ones, he moved on to the pure meat filling.

Delicious.

Rich meat filling with no extra ingredients—pure satisfaction.

This was the classic taste of simple meat-filled pastries.

Qin Luo would definitely love this—no reason other than it was packed with meat.

By the time Qin Huai finished the meat-filled ones, Ou Yang had just finished his sesame tangyuan, drinking soup to recover.

“Delicious,” Ou Yang said.

“Just too hot—I almost burned myself to death.”

“Who told you to eat so fast? If you had the red bean filling, it would be even hotter. Ever heard the joke about burning your way to the back of your head eating a red bean bun?”

Qin Huai already had a good grasp after eating the savory ones. Sweet fillings were his strong suit, and both red bean and sesame fillings were ones he had personally prepared, so there would be no issues.

“I’ll take these two bowls to the neighbors,” Qin Huai said, getting up.

He carried the bowls to the next door and rang the doorbell.

“Coming—who is it?”

It was Gong Baozhu who opened the door, dressed lightly due to the indoor heating, her clothes slightly wrinkled from working.

“Master Qin!” she exclaimed in delight, immediately noticing the bowls. “Four-Joy Tangyuan! It’s been so long since I’ve had these!”

She quickly fetched slippers and invited him in.

“Master Qin is here! Old Gong, stop looking for that tea in your room—Master Qin is visiting!” Guo Mingzhu called from the kitchen. “Master Qin, would you like some juice? I was just about to make some.”

Gong Liang quickly came out and said to his daughter, “Baozhu, check the cabinet above again—I clearly remember a tin of ‘Mountain Mist’ tea.”

But Baozhu’s eyes were fixed on the tangyuan.

“Dad, let’s not look today. You probably left it somewhere else. Ask brother to find it tomorrow.”

“If we don’t eat the tangyuan now, they’ll get cold.”

Only then did Gong Liang notice the tangyuan.

He was almost moved to tears.

He had mentioned wanting Four-Joy Tangyuan at noon—and Qin Huai made them at night!

And even worked overtime to make them!

So touched, he almost wanted to buy something for Qin Huai’s place right then and there.

“Mr. Gong, I happened to have time today, so I made these after coming back. Please try them and see if they’re authentic or if there are any issues—I’m also making them for the first time,” Qin Huai said.

“No problem, no problem. Tangyuan this good-looking can’t have any issues,” Gong Baozhu said eagerly, grabbing a spoon and eating a shepherd’s purse one.

One bite.

She showed a satisfied expression.

“Mmm~ Had lunch made by Uncle Huang, and now dinner with Master Qin’s tangyuan… if every day could be like this, it’d be perfect.”

Guo Mingzhu shook her head with a smile.

“You really don’t have much ambition. Not even as much as your father. When your father was young, his ultimate goal was to eat crab roe shumai for a month, then double-crab buns for another month.”

“Mom, it’s different—it’s delicious!” Gong Baozhu said seriously. “Master Qin’s Four-Joy Tangyuan are super delicious!”

She finished the rest in one bite and moved on to another bowl.

“Dad, you don’t like shepherd’s purse filling anyway, and Mom doesn’t either—I’ll help you finish them!”

Qin Huai immediately caught the key point and asked Gong Liang, “Mr. Gong, you don’t like shepherd’s purse?”

Gong Liang nodded.

“I ate too much of it as a kid. During New Year’s, when the family made dumplings in the northern style, seeing shepherd’s purse dumplings made me want to cry.”

Qin Huai nodded.

“That’s my oversight—I forgot to ask about dietary preferences. There’s also a shredded radish filling. I’ll make that tomorrow.”

“My dad doesn’t like shredded radish either,” Gong Baozhu quickly added. “He prefers the mixed-nut filling that almost no one makes anymore.”

“Mixed-nut filling?” Qin Huai thought for a moment. “You mean a mixture of various nuts and dried fruits, along with ingredients like coconut flakes and sesame—similar to mooncake fillings?”

Baozhu wasn’t sure.

“Maybe. I’m not sure exactly how it’s made. Mixed-nut tangyuan are rarely found nowadays—people don’t really like them anymore.”

“That’s because they don’t know how to make them,” Gong Liang said. “Back then, Master Jing’s mixed-nut tangyuan were the best!”