AGN -Chapter 237 The Meaning of the Mixed Fruit Filling

The qianhua palace lantern bun was a type of bun that placed very high demands on finger technique, but in reality its difficulty was not that extreme.

Its greatest feature was its appearance.

At first glance, it looked clean and pure—milky white in color, even slightly translucent. It had eight decorative edges like a palace lantern, and on top was a half red cherry as garnish. The colors were simple but striking, making it an unflashy yet elegant and beautiful bun.

But if you looked closely, you would find it was anything but simple. On the contrary, it contained many intricate details.

Every edge was carefully crafted. Each leaf had to slightly curl outward. The patterns on every edge had to be identical in size and evenly spaced, all pressed out one by one using special floral tongs.

Even the overall round shape had to be perfectly even and smooth, presenting the most visually pleasing, balanced, and minimalist appearance.

The reason it looked so simple at first glance was because the maker intentionally created that impression. In reality, the shaping process was extremely tedious, and even the dough had to be slightly firmer than normal buns to allow proper molding.

At this point, one might wonder: Qin Huai had never actually made this bun before, and there wasn’t much information about it on the market—so how did he know so much about it?

Because Zheng Da could make it.

As careful readers may recall, Zheng Da had two characteristics when it came to pastries: if it was too simple, he wouldn’t bother; if it was too difficult, he would often be too lazy to make it.

The qianhua palace lantern bun happened to be one of his favorites.

In terms of technical difficulty, it wasn’t actually very high. At its core, it was just a regular bun filled with red bean paste or sesame sugar filling. If he wanted to be lazy, he would use red bean filling; if he wanted to add a bit of challenge, he would use sesame sugar filling. No matter how he played with it, it didn’t really change much.

The dough was also ordinary, with no special requirements except being slightly firmer for shaping. And compared to Guo’er pastries, its shaping difficulty was much lower, so the dough preparation wasn’t too demanding either.

The hardest part was the decoration—but even that wasn’t as difficult as Guo’er pastries.

Guo’er pastries required extreme aesthetic sense and imagination from the chef. Copying others blindly would never produce good results; it was already verging on culinary art. Without artistic talent, one simply couldn’t make them well.

But the qianhua palace lantern bun was different.

Its design was fixed.

It was purely about tedious repetition—requiring patience, precision, and excellent finger control.

Qin Huai had initially thought Zheng Da probably wouldn’t make it, assuming he disliked such laborious pastries. But after asking him, he realized he was completely wrong—he had underestimated Master Zheng.

Zheng Da didn’t like making them normally, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.

At critical moments, Master Zheng actually enjoyed pulling out such “high-level” pastries to show off his skill.

From the name to the design, it all looked impressive.

Last time Qin Huai asked, Zheng Da even demonstrated by making two on the spot and enthusiastically introduced his floral tongs, which were especially suited for this pastry.

However, Qin Huai had never tried making it himself.

Not because he was ignoring it, but because he hadn’t expected the Si Xi Tangtuan to be so difficult.

Who could have guessed that something as simple-sounding as “four happiness tangtuan” would be harder than this?

Originally, Qin Huai planned to finish the Si Xi Tangtuan first before attempting the qianhua palace lantern bun. After all, his finger technique was only at beginner level—even though his apple Guo’er pastries looked anything but beginner-level, as if he had accidentally skipped a few levels of cooking ability.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had almost no real styling skill.

A few months ago, his black Doraemon flower bun had left a deep psychological impact on Zheng Siyi.

Although Qin Huai and Qin Luo both thought it looked fine—Qin Huai even thought a black Doraemon was creative, and Qin Luo thought the meat-filled bun was delicious—Zheng Siyi just wanted to strangle the two siblings.

That experience alone might be why Zheng Siyi could now accept all kinds of bizarre “mixed fruit fillings” and even firmly believe that such complex fillings could indeed produce something delicious.

He had suffered too much.

Qin Huai: ?

Halfway through shaping the bun, he suddenly felt a strange sense of guilt toward Zheng Siyuan.

Forget it. No more thinking. Just keep shaping.

He picked up the floral tongs and pressed another pattern.

And slowly, he began to understand Zheng Da.

If not for showing off, who would willingly make something this complicated?

“Hurry up, hands! Move! There are still seven more edges to go!”

While Qin Huai was working on the buns, everyone in the house had already gone home except Chen Huihong. Even Gong Liang and his wife had returned next door, eagerly waiting for the finished buns.

Gong Liang had already decided that when he ate them, he would resist the urge to bite immediately and instead take photos first—post a nine-grid collage, show a 360-degree view, and become the most dazzling presence on his social feed tonight.

He wanted everyone to know who was truly in the “first-tier small kitchen list” of Little Master Qin.

Meanwhile, Chen Huihong sat on a small stool in the kitchen, eating jujubes and watching intently.

“Am I imagining things, or is this bun unusually difficult?” she asked. “Where’s Ou Yang with the sugar? Should I call him?”

“It’s difficult,” Qin Huai sighed. “This shaping is too delicate. I’m not used to it yet.”

In truth, if he had simply followed some random online template, it might have been easier. But he had seen Zheng Da’s full demonstration—and that was the problem.

You could call Zheng Da lazy, or unfocused, but you couldn’t call him incompetent.

As a pastry chef, he was a true all-rounder.

And Qin Huai, using Zheng Da’s full “max-level” version as reference, now felt like he wanted to switch hands.

Brain: Got it.

Hands: Get lost.

As he continued, Qin Huai said, “Ou Yang won’t be back quickly. The nearest 24-hour store is 1.4 km away, and there are skewers, takoyaki, pancakes, and cold noodles outside. After eating those sweet mixed-fruit tangtuan, he’s definitely distracted.”

“I basically arranged his whole schedule.”

“There’s still some sugar at home, I just sent him out for no reason.”

Chen Huihong nodded. “Those tangtuan were really hard to eat. Too sweet, too heavy, and oddly mixed flavors. No wonder even Ou Yang couldn’t handle them.”

“I tried my best,” Qin Huai said. “But the recipe is just too ridiculous. I’ve never seen anything so messy. I almost wish Gong Liang would give me another side quest so I could see the original recipe and learn the correct method.”

“Who cooks like that? Just throwing everything into the pot…”

Chen Huihong paused, then said quietly, “Actually… it’s not unheard of.”

Qin Huai: ?

She recalled her past.

“When I was still a ‘mad young lady’ in Beijing, I once ate something similar.”

Qin Huai: ??

Turns out even “mad ladies” had suffered through this?

Chen Huihong quickly clarified, “Not what you’re thinking. It actually tasted pretty good.”

“Do you know about paotun?” she asked.

Qin Huai nodded. “Of course. One of the Eight Delicacies—roast suckling pig stuffed with ingredients. I’ve had roast pork at family gatherings.”

Chen Huihong looked at him.

“…Your family eats like that during New Year?”

She continued: “Back then, paotun was a luxury dish. Wealthy nobles ordered it just for appearances during festivals.”

“And after Huiniang passed away, I stayed in Beijing for a few more years. By then, people probably already knew I wasn’t really a noble lady—but they didn’t care. I didn’t care either. As long as there was food and entertainment, it was fine.”

“One time, a general’s son came with his own chef and competed with others through cooking.”

“They didn’t compete with ordinary dishes—they competed with paotun. Stuffing it with all kinds of rare, expensive ingredients.”

“Fish transported from the south, bear paws and tiger meat freshly hunted, rare mushrooms from the southwest mountains, caviar and foie gras from the West, fresh winter vegetables… If they had dragon liver and phoenix marrow, they’d probably stuff that in too.”

“It was far more chaotic than your mixed-fruit filling. Everything from land, sea, sky, and earth—if it was expensive or rare, it went inside the pig. And it still had to taste good.”

“Some restaurant owners and chefs even ran away overnight.”

Qin Huai asked curiously, “Did it taste good?”

Chen Huihong thought for a moment.

“Average.”

“Or rather… it just tasted like paotun.”

“The strange thing is, despite all the chaos, the taste didn’t change much.”

“Now I understand. Those wealthy people weren’t really chasing taste—they were chasing rarity, prestige, and competition.”

“And restaurants would name them with auspicious phrases like ‘Dragon Phoenix Auspicious Paotun’ or ‘Eight Treasures Eight Joys Paotun’—as if more ingredients meant more blessings.”

Qin Huai immediately said, “So it’s just… messing around.”

Chen Huihong nodded. “Yes. Basically just muddling through.”

Qin Huai’s hand holding the tongs suddenly paused.

“Muddling through…”

He suddenly thought of the overwhelming amount of winter melon candy in the mixed fruit filling.

If that was intentional…

What if the essence of the filling was never precision—but symbolism?

Maybe the point was never flavor optimization, but blessing and meaning: prosperity, happiness, longevity, harmony.

Just like paotun once was.

At that moment, Qin Huai suddenly felt he had understood something—and also misunderstood something.

The meal wasn’t just a birthday feast.

It was a blessing.

A wish for a life of peace, prosperity, and renewal.

He silently continued shaping the buns.

Later—

Ou Yang returned, arms full of snacks and sugar.

“Qin Huai! Want some cold noodles and pancakes? They’re amazing!”

He froze when he saw the buns.

“…Uh… are they supposed to be a bit crooked?”

Qin Huai: “Shut up.”

“Also, Ou Yang—tomorrow go buy me 40 jin of winter melon candy.”

“I’m going to master mixed-fruit tangtuan.”

Thud.

Ou Yang dropped everything.

Forty jin?!

Fine. I was wrong. The buns are perfect. Absolute art. No flaws at all.

Please… let’s just make fewer tangtuan… I really can’t take it anymore!