AGN -Chapter 214 Crisis in Yunzong Residential Area

“Up to what number has the queue at the entrance reached?”

“Seems like over 500.”

“My goodness, it’s only a little past 10 now. If it reaches 12, wouldn’t the queue go up to one or two thousand?”

“Yeah. I heard Class Leader Cao has notified everyone—rice wine buns and ‘San Ding’ buns are now limited too. Each person can buy at most 6 per purchase.”

“This is the first time Huang Ji has implemented purchase limits, right?”

“No choice. Even if there are only 1,000 numbers, 6 per person means 6,000 pastries. Even if Qin Shi is exhausted, he still couldn’t make that many.”

“Isn’t Master Zheng helping?”

“Master Zheng is slower.”

The diligently helping Zheng Da: …

What are they saying? What do they mean I’m slow???

Am I slow? I…

Zheng Da glanced at Qin Huai, who was already working at near assembly-line speed.

Fine, he was a bit slower.

But it couldn’t all be blamed on him—after all, he hadn’t been making pastries much over the years, and Qin Huai was simply too fast.

Zheng Da looked at Qin Huai with some concern and felt something was off.

He knew this state all too well—it was exactly the same as Huang Shengli. When Huang Shengli first ran Huang Ji, he was like this: unwilling to let customers wait fruitlessly, so he forced himself to work more.

A little more today, a little more tomorrow. Over time, combined with the big surge from the “Zhi Wei” feature article, chronic strain on his lower back developed, directly affecting his culinary career.

But Zheng Da also felt Qin Huai was a bit different from Huang Shengli back then.

Huang Shengli was mostly under psychological pressure, forcing himself to work more—he had no choice.

Qin Huai… seemed to be… actually enjoying it.

Zheng Da was somewhat puzzled.

Qin Huai didn’t usually seem like a workaholic.

Could it be that the “Zhi Wei” crowd of overachievers had influenced him?

Not only Zheng Da felt confused—Qin Huai himself found it quite amazing.

Outside, the queue numbers were skyrocketing. Class Leader Cao implemented an emergency plan: first issuing numbers to people in line offline, then opening online queue registration. Staff were also sent out to persuade customers to leave, informing them that Huang Ji would only open around 11 a.m., and notifications would be sent to their phones ahead of time. They could visit nearby pedestrian streets and stroll around while waiting.

The back kitchen staff had Dong Shi gather all this information clearly.

The pressure in the kitchen was also very high.

Many customers had taken double numbers—one for dine-in and one for takeaway pastries—just in case. If they couldn’t get a table, they could at least get pastries.

Not to mention some customers had started lining up before 8 a.m., determined to eat both dishes and pastries, afraid they might miss a notification and lose their chance, unwilling to leave and insisting on waiting at the entrance.

One could say that during this explosive popularity period, Huang Ji faced pressure both in the kitchen and in management.

Even the mascot young boss was constantly on the phone, explaining the pastry sales model and timing to customers.

As Dong Shi relayed one update after another into the kitchen, everyone’s pressure gradually increased.

They were afraid of messing up.

Even the usually steady senior brother Huang Jia felt nervous at such a critical moment.

Under such an atmosphere, Dong Shi didn’t dare to gossip, focusing seriously on preparation, occasionally stepping out to check the queue situation and report back.

Under these conditions, Qin Huai—the one under the greatest workload in theory—should have been nervous.

But he wasn’t.

On the contrary, he felt very at ease.

Everyone was silent, each focused on their own tasks, afraid of making mistakes.

The workload was overwhelming, with over 500 people in line outside—enough to make any pastry chef go pale.

The working atmosphere was extremely tense, and he was practically turning into a pastry assembly-line worker, an efficient experience-grinding machine, wishing he had eight hands to knead dough, mix fillings, chop, and cook simultaneously.

Yet Qin Huai quite liked this atmosphere.

A setting where everyone was tense but focused, working efficiently without mistakes, with clear division of labor and smooth coordination.

In such an environment, even kneading dough felt easier.

Qin Huai shook his arms.

A chef from Zhi Wei, who understood massage, quickly stepped forward: “Master Qin, are your arms sore? Would you like me to help massage them?”

“No need, no need.” Qin Huai quickly declined.

This was bad—he liked this atmosphere even more.

Qin Huai seriously wondered: was he actually a hidden workaholic?

That shouldn’t be the case—he quite liked vacations.

Lying at home watching TV, eating fruit, drinking chilled carbonated drinks, ordering takeout—that was the happiest.

—

At the entrance of Huang Ji, Leader Cao and the staff had persuaded many people at the back of the line to leave, and the queue looked much shorter.

Wang Gensheng parked his shared bicycle, panting heavily. He didn’t even have time to lock it before running toward Huang Ji. While running, he glanced at the queue and thought it wasn’t too bad—Qian Zhongheng must have exaggerated the situation. He sped up to the registration counter.

“Two… two numbers!”

“Sir, each person can only take one number,” the staff reminded him.

Wang Gensheng was still out of breath: “My wife is still riding her bike here. I’m getting her number as well.”

Morning exercise was useful—Wang Gensheng, carrying three jars of locust blossom honey in his bag, was faster than Chen Juan on a bicycle.

The staff handed him a number: “Sir, the person must be present to take a number. I can only give you one for now. There’s a pedestrian street nearby—you can walk around. Your number is 555. If things go quickly, you’ll be called around 12:10. You can scan the QR code on this slip; you’ll get a notification when your turn is near.”

“Do you know how to use it? If not, I can help you scan.”

“I do.” Wang Gensheng nodded blankly, completely stunned by the queue size.

He waited for Chen Juan. During that time, seven or eight more people came to take numbers. When Chen Juan arrived and got her number, it showed:

Wang Gensheng: !!!

A retired accountant who had spent decades in the profession felt this number was staggering. Back when he calculated factory wages, he only handled about this many people per month.

“Weren’t there only seven or eight people just now?” Wang Gensheng was shocked.

“Many people took online numbers. Don’t worry, sir—we allow missed numbers to be re-queued. Many online registrants are just trying their luck and may not show up,” the staff reassured him.

Wang Gensheng felt completely unconsoled.

Just as Wang Gensheng and Chen Juan were deeply shaken by the queue size and pace, another young woman stepped forward to take a number.

“Hello, I registered online. I’d like to ask—about number 376, when will it be my turn?”

“Roughly around 11:45. You’ll receive a notification online then.”

Wang Gensheng found the girl’s voice familiar and turned to look.

It was Qu Jing!

“Doctor Qu.” Wang Gensheng was stunned again.

He had just heard that Qu Jing was only number 376.

Qu Jing was Qin Huai’s friend—someone who normally had top priority for private meals. In Yunzong Cafeteria, she never had to queue; even after work hours, she could still enjoy a full spread of pastries.

Now in Suzhou, she had to queue.

Wang Gensheng felt as if the sky had fallen.

He had just been thinking that if he couldn’t buy anything, he’d message Qin Huai to ask for a private meal, maybe even get a couple of cups of dried tangerine peel tea.

Now? Even Qu Jing had to queue.

“Mr. Wang.” Qu Jing greeted him somewhat surprised, instinctively reaching for her hat and mask.

She was on a day off and had quietly come to Huang Ji to queue, thinking she wouldn’t meet anyone she knew. She only wore gloves and a scarf—no hat or mask. The scarf was for warmth.

Since she began sun exposure therapy, she felt it was nice not to hide when going out—breathing freely, exposing the skin.

“You’re visiting Suzhou?” she smiled.

To her, Wang Gensheng was somewhat like a patient she knew well. He had consulted her about Alzheimer’s before.

“Your photosensitivity seems much better—you don’t even need a mask now,” Chen Juan remarked.

Qu Jing paused, then smiled and nodded happily: “Yes, much better after treatment. Sometimes I can even bask in the sun.”

“There’s a pedestrian street nearby—would you like me to show you around?” Qu Jing offered.

After Publisher Xu Cheng posted on social media and Huang Ji’s business exploded, Qu Jing rarely asked Qin Huai for private meals anymore.

Whenever she thought about how many customers were queuing for hours without necessarily getting pastries, while she herself didn’t truly need them, she felt a strange sense of guilt.

As long as Qin Huai didn’t bring it up, she wouldn’t request private meals.

Now, hospital colleagues no longer organized group visits to Huang Ji either—there was no point; they couldn’t get in anyway. They would just go cycling for exercise instead. Her colleagues wouldn’t shamelessly ask her to pull strings for pastries unless it was a child’s birthday or something truly necessary.

Qu Jing preferred soft and glutinous pastries, which were easy to find in Suzhou. On normal days she bought them elsewhere; on days off, she quietly came to queue at Huang Ji.

After a few visits, she became familiar with the area.

In the new environment, she no longer had to explain her “photosensitivity” in exaggerated terms; colleagues simply saw her as introverted rather than isolated.

With more interaction, she became more talkative, guiding Wang Gensheng and Chen Juan around while chatting about everything—the booming business at Huang Ji, the influence of “Zhi Wei,” how hard it was to buy pastries, traffic conditions, and how difficult it was to get shared bikes.

The two of them were repeatedly stunned.

Wang Gensheng couldn’t help but sigh: “It’s just like when we were young—riding bicycles to grab buns and steamed buns, afraid of being too slow.”

“On weekends, we practiced cycling just to avoid falling behind.”

“Mr. Wang, how long are you planning to stay in Suzhou?” Qu Jing asked.

“Originally we planned to go back the day after tomorrow. I need to go back and take care of my granddaughter. But now I kind of don’t want to leave—especially after riding a bike just now, it felt like I was young again. Back when I worked as an accountant in the factory, that…” Wang Gensheng began reminiscing.

Chen Juan facepalmed.

“Probably we’ll stay a bit longer,” Chen Juan said, ignoring him, smiling at Qu Jing. “Maybe extend our hotel stay by half a month, though our current hotel is a bit far—we’ll need to find something closer.”

“There don’t seem to be many hotels nearby—mostly old residential areas. I heard from Qin Huai that many houses here are vacant. You could consider a short-term rental for a month—it’s more cost-effective than a hotel.”

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Wang has been messaging a lot just now. Is something wrong?” Qu Jing asked.

Chen Juan glanced at Wang Gensheng, still lost in nostalgia, and casually replied: “He’s probably bragging to his morning running friends. Don’t worry about him. Doctor Qu, tell me more about this ‘Zhi Wei’—why did pastries become even harder to buy after Xiaoqin went on it?”

—

Meanwhile, Yunzong Cafeteria was full of residents.

Morning runners and non-runners alike were present—mostly retired elderly men and women.

The atmosphere was very heavy.

Even more tense than the Huang Ji kitchen.

Elder Qian, at the head, spoke gravely: “Everyone has seen the news Wang Laogen posted in the owners’ group.”

“Things are serious now.”

“Xiao Qin is so popular at Huang Ji, and he even appeared in that ‘Zhi Wei’ article. Everyone read it—it only mentioned Huang Ji, not a single word about our Yunzong Cafeteria.”

“Exactly. What’s up with that author Xu Cheng? Anyone who didn’t know would think Xiao Qin Shi belongs to Huang Ji,” a woman said angrily.

“That’s not the main issue. The key is, according to Wang Laogen’s report, Xiao Qin is even more popular at Huang Ji, with higher prices and greater fame.”

“People ride bicycles daily and queue for hours just to eat.”

“We can’t just sit and wait. Last time, someone said Huang Ji’s boss wanted to marry his daughter to Xiao Qin—I think that might not be baseless.”

“We need to take action.”

An elderly man weakly said: “But I heard Huang Ji’s boss only has a son…”

“Not important,” Elder Qian said sternly. “The priority now is—we must go to Suzhou.”

“I know many of you have already booked tickets.”

Xu Tuqiang: ??

What tickets? I don’t know anything about tickets.

“Everyone, put aside plans to take care of grandchildren for now. If necessary, you can bring the kids to Suzhou during their holidays.”

“Old Sun, isn’t your son running a travel agency? Book hotels—we’re all going to Suzhou to see what’s going on.”

“What if Xiao Qin ends up staying in Suzhou and doesn’t come back? What will we do!”

“Wait, I have something to say.” Xu Tuqiang finally found a chance to speak. “Qian, you live in the neighboring community. Fine. But why is Wang Laogen in our owners’ group? And I’m the actual owner of Yunzong Residential Area—why was I only added to the group just now?!”

Everyone: …