AGN -Chapter 238 A Rich Variety of Ways to Die

Compared to the qianhua palace lantern bun, the rabbit buns were basically on easy mode.

During the steaming time of the qianhua palace lantern buns, Qin Huai effortlessly finished the remaining rabbit buns, regaining full control of his hands—finally no longer having to scream internally, “hands, move!”

For a moment, Qin Huai even felt his hands had become slightly more nimble.

Of course, it was definitely just his illusion. He had leveled up skills before—there was no way they would improve this dramatically.

While Ou Yang was in the bathroom, Qin Huai also casually checked the upgraded finger technique status.

Finger Technique (Intermediate): You have finally started giving pastries proper shaping. (9/10000)

Qin Huai: …

Where exactly did this system learn to be so sarcastic? There wasn’t even anyone around him that spoke like this.

In any case, now that finger technique had reached intermediate level, all of his essential skills (except knife work) had finally moved beyond the struggling beginner stage, making his status panel look slightly less embarrassing.

Only when actually grinding proficiency did one truly realize how difficult it was to become a “hexagonal warrior” like Zheng Da.

Chen Huihong took the rabbit buns home, even taking two packs of cheese sticks from Qin Huai’s fridge on the way out. Seeing the time, Qin Huai realized it was getting late, so he quickly brought the freshly steamed qianhua palace lantern buns over to Gong Liang’s home.

Even though Ou Yang’s sense of taste was questionable, his aesthetics were definitely fine—at least his eyes worked.

He was right: the buns were slightly crooked. This was because Qin Huai’s finger technique wasn’t high enough—his hands weren’t stable, his movements not precise enough. As a result, the floral edges were uneven in length.

This slight imperfection in the raw dough became even more obvious after steaming.

This was exactly why pastry shaping was so difficult—every small mistake could be amplified during cooking.

These two buns had clearly “failed.”

But not too badly. Although slightly crooked, they were still recognizably qianhua palace lantern buns. They weren’t ugly—just imperfect, with some redeeming qualities.

Qin Huai knocked on Gong Liang’s door.

The door immediately opened—as if Gong Liang had been waiting right behind it—startling Qin Huai.

“Little Master Qin, you’ve worked so hard! Making buns this late at night. You must be losing sleep over this.”

“I recently got a really good sleep aid incense. I’ll bring it to you in a couple of days—it’s very helpful for sleep.”

As he spoke, Gong Liang quickly took the plate and tried to invite Qin Huai inside.

Qin Huai waved it off. It really was late, and he still had to wash up and sleep or he’d be late for work tomorrow.

“Mr. Gong, this is my first time making qianhua palace lantern buns, and my finger technique isn’t very good, so they didn’t turn out well. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m not sure what the ones you had before were like, so please compare them carefully and let me know the differences later on WeChat. I’ll head back now and pick up the plate tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, no need to trouble you! I’ll personally bring it back tomorrow morning!” Gong Liang said quickly.

After Qin Huai left, Gong Liang stared emotionally at the buns without eating them.

“Old Gong, aren’t you going to eat? They’ll get cold,” said Guo Mingzhu, unable to resist.

“I’m trying to remember what they used to taste like… It’s been so long, I can’t recall clearly. I only remember they looked very beautiful. Mingzhu, do you remember?”

She shook her head. No way she could remember after so many years.

“Are you eating or not?” she asked impatiently.

“You eat first,” Gong Liang said. “I need to remember so I can report back properly.”

So the two of them sat there, staring at the plate of buns, trying hard to recall.

What did the qianhua palace lantern buns from back then look like again?

They couldn’t remember. The only thing they could recall was that they had eaten four-happiness tangyuan that day—and they were extremely filling.

That night, no one knew how long they stared at the buns.

The next morning, Qin Huai received a long WeChat message from Gong Liang—so detailed it looked like a work report.

It turned out that when people were forced to remember, their memory could become surprisingly vivid.

According to the description, the buns made by Master Jing back then were even more beautiful than Zheng Da’s.

So… still need practice.

Damn it. There were too many skills to grind. Becoming a hexagonal master was really hard.

After arriving at Huang Ji, Qin Huai didn’t tell Zheng Siyuan about his new discovery yet.

He planned to try making it a few more times himself first, to confirm whether his “messy but intentional” hypothesis was correct.

He also needed a few days to come up with a believable explanation.

He could piece together clues from Chen Huihong’s past in Beijing, the Taifeng Tower, Chef Jiang Chengde, and Jing Shifu’s family background to form a theory about mixed-fruit fillings—but he couldn’t just say it directly.

He needed a version a normal person would accept.

And ideally, it should sound reasonable after proving himself with success.

Meanwhile, Ou Yang had gone to buy winter melon candy, so Qin Huai spent the afternoon making hedgehog buns instead of Si Xi Tangtuan.

Hedgehog buns were at least slightly easier than rabbit buns.

He wasn’t rushing—he understood not to force progress. Better to build foundation step by step.

Zheng Siyuan already looked like he expected this behavior.

Even Huang Shengli couldn’t help teasing him during afternoon cooking practice while eating a hedgehog bun.

“Xiao Qin, your pastry rotation is really too chaotic. Xiao Tan can’t even keep up with your rhythm—four-happiness tangyuan, then rice cakes, then hedgehog buns… you’re confusing him.”

Qin Huai smiled awkwardly.

“I’m just not used to making the same thing every day, so I like switching it up for practice.”

Hearing this, Huang Shengli felt a bit guilty.

“That’s true… Huang Ji is kind of dragging you down. Are you tired?”

“Not tired at all.”

That would be a lie—but not too tired was true.

After all, he was basically doing everything himself now. The workload was heavy, but strangely, making pastries like Guo’er didn’t feel that hard.

It was high difficulty and complex—but not mentally exhausting. In fact, it sometimes felt even a bit boring.

If he only did Guo’er every day, he might actually go crazy from boredom.

Huang Shengli sighed.

“No one can really not be tired. Look at Huang Jia and Qi Tian—they’re like walking corpses after work. I even have to force them to rest.”

At Huang Ji, master and apprentice were essentially monitoring each other to make sure neither overworked.

Then Huang Shengli said, “We should probably take a day off soon. Everyone’s exhausted.”

“Xiao Cao suggested a week later. Bookings are full for the next seven days, so we’ll arrange it for the 16th.”

“If you’re free that day, go visit your Master Zheng. We’ll cook something good for you.”

Qin Huai said, “You’re already on holiday and still cooking for me?”

“What’s the trouble? Your Master Zheng can’t sit still anyway—he needs someone there to motivate him. Otherwise he’ll just go buy two buns and send me off.”

As he spoke, he suddenly added, “You got distracted. The meat is overcooked.”

Qin Huai: ?!

Fishing for mistakes, Huang Master—you’ve changed!

After training, only fifteen minutes remained before work.

On his way back, Qin Huai bought a milk tea to reward himself, and ran into Dong Shi gossiping at the entrance.

The last time Qin Huai asked him to investigate Xiao Xu, Dong Shi had never reported back.

Even now, he tried to slip away, but Qin Huai stopped him.

“Dong Shi.”

Dong Shi had no escape.

“How’s the investigation on Xiao Xu going?” Qin Huai asked.

Dong Shi looked embarrassed.

Then he said something unexpected: “I actually found out… but the stories don’t match.”

“Everyone remembers something different.”

And then he began his report.

Xiao Xu’s real name was Xu Nuo, the youngest son of a cotton mill director. He was fond of food, sociable, and well-liked. He spent his money eating at state-run restaurants, even had a master chef occasionally cook for him.

He once spent a huge sum buying a recipe for double-crab buns just to have them made for him.

Later, he refused to join the cotton mill despite pressure from his father, preferring to work in a restaurant as a temporary worker.

And then—

“He died,” Dong Shi said.

Qin Huai: ?

So abruptly?

No buildup at all?

Dong Shi quickly explained that this was where the stories diverged.

Some said he was killed in a robbery.

Some said he was beaten to death after showing off wealth.

Some said he died of sudden illness.

Some said he was pushed into a river over a love triangle.

Some said he committed suicide due to betrayal or forbidden love.

Or maybe it was just an accident.

In short—no one knew the truth.

There were too many versions. Too many possible deaths.

Qin Huai fell silent.

A rich variety of ways to die indeed.

Even crime dramas didn’t have this many variations.

Dong Shi sighed.

“I wanted to verify more, but my senior brother started dating again… so I got distracted.”

Qin Huai: …

Sixth brother… impressive.