AGN -Chapter 244 The Gift-Giving Master

January 16th, sunny—an auspicious day for gatherings.

Qin Huai rarely slept in, waking up at 9 a.m. After checking his phone, he found a flood of unread messages.

The earliest was from Zhao Rong, sent at around 4 a.m.—likely after she woke up and arrived at Yunzhong Cafeteria. As the cafeteria’s business had stabilized, Zhao Rong and Qin Congwen no longer had to wake up at dawn every day to work themselves to exhaustion. The cafeteria now had professional breakfast chefs and staff, so the owners no longer needed to labor from dawn till night.

Zhao Rong’s message was about hiring tutoring teachers. She asked in detail about teaching experience, subject categories, age, gender, and hourly rates—her messages were densely packed with text.

Qin Huai read through it several times before replying point by point.

The tutors had already been arranged by Gong Liang—professional teachers all the way. And considering Qin Luo was a teenage high school girl, most of them were female teachers, the strict “disciplinary director” type—just standing in front of her would be enough to make her stop slacking off.

After Zhao Rong came Zheng Siyuan’s message at around 7 a.m., simply sending his home address—nothing else.

Then at 8 a.m., Huang Anyao sent a message. The young heir, still unfamiliar with social etiquette, was trying to figure it out on his own and asked Qin Huai whether he should bring fruit to Zheng Da’s house for dinner.

While brushing his teeth, Qin Huai replied that if he really wanted to, he could—but he should also bring a couple of auspicious phrases along with the fruit.

A bit later, Huang Anyao replied that he had already arrived at Zheng Da’s house with his father and was now being ordered around by the elders—but didn’t seem to be doing it very well.

He asked Qin Huai to bring him two jin of cherries; he wanted to eat them.

Qin Huai replied with a “6,” then opened the fridge and found a small box of leftover cherries from Ou Yang—about half a jin. He packed them into a bag.

The latest message was from Gong Liang, sent seven minutes ago, asking if Qin Huai had set off yet. If not, he could give him a ride.

Qin Huai replied that he hadn’t left yet.

Five seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

“Little Chef Qin, how long until you leave? I still need five or six minutes to pack things. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Qin Huai quickly opened the door and saw Gong Liang in a casual padded jacket, empty-handed and neatly dressed—completely unlike someone who was “still packing.”

“Mr. Gong, I’ll need another two or three minutes,” Qin Huai said.

“Alright, come over when you’re ready. I’ll leave the door open for you,” Gong Liang replied cheerfully, then shouted inside, “Baozhu! Are you done packing? Don’t forget the toys!”

“Got it, Dad! Why did you buy so many toys anyway? Isn’t Zheng uncle’s family’s grandchild a girl? Why are you bringing tanks and car models?”

“You don’t understand. What if she likes these things? Better safe than sorry. Don’t stereotype kids. When you were little, you were the one crying to your mom for a Gundam—and you even tried to snatch your brother’s when she didn’t buy it for you.”

Gong Baozhu’s “black history” increased by one.

Qin Huai silently pretended he heard nothing.

At least this way, Baozhu would think he didn’t hear it.

He didn’t close the door and instead went straight to Ou Yang’s room.

“Awake yet?” Qin Huai asked.

“Awake, awake,” said Ou Yang, hair like a bird’s nest, opening the door while still on a game screen. His luggage was already packed.

“Luo Luo arrives tonight,” Qin Huai reminded him.

“Don’t worry, bro, I’ve got it handled. Look, I packed last night. Cheese sticks are already in there too.”

“This bedsheet and quilt set I’ll take with me. I even bought a brand-new pink set—Luo Luo will definitely like it. I’ll tell the cleaning auntie later to help set it up for her.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave quietly, not taking a single cloud with me.”

“But you did take three packs of cheese sticks from the fridge,” Qin Huai replied mercilessly.

Ou Yang chuckled.

“Take whatever you want—but don’t take all of today’s snacks. Luo Luo likes them too. Leave her a couple packs. And don’t forget the tangyuan delivery.”

“Got it. I’ll even buy her two bottles of sugar-free cola later as a gift.”

Qin Huai: “…”

Fine. The kid was about to be buried under tutoring anyway—let her have some cola.

Qin Huai grabbed the cherries and went next door.

Inside Gong Liang’s home, the hallway was already full of toys. Gong Baozhu was squatting on the floor selecting them, muttering to herself.

“A little duck… who bought this? It’s so ugly. So many colors. Squeeze it and it quacks—who would want green, blue, red, and purple ducks?”

“You don’t understand,” said Guo Mingzhu, tossing her daughter a look of superiority. She picked up a wildly colorful plush centipede that would make anyone’s eyes hurt after a second glance. “This one’s good. Yiyi will definitely like it.”

Yiyi was Zheng Da’s granddaughter. Born on the first day of the Lunar New Year, hence the nickname “Yiyi.”

Mother and daughter sorted through toys, while Gong Liang sorted through health supplements.

Aged ginseng, bird’s nest, walnuts, black sesame—everything for nourishing blood and energy.

“After giving birth, her hair is falling out badly,” he muttered. “Bring this. Her skin looked dull last time—bring this too. Bird’s nest and donkey-hide gelatin are universal, take them all.”

Zheng Siqin was Zheng Da’s daughter and Zheng Siyuan’s older sister. Qin Huai had never met her, only heard that she was socially anxious, rarely went out, and after giving birth, her hair loss worsened so much that she basically stayed home trying to regrow it.

Seeing this “expert-level gift selection,” Qin Huai felt he should film it and send it to Huang Anyao for repeated study.

Now this was real precision gifting.

Bringing two bags of fruit? Way too basic.

After a few minutes, Qin Huai helped carry the packed gifts downstairs and loaded them into the car trunk.

Gong Liang’s car was a familiar double-R logo—clearly he and Luo Jun would get along very well.

Since everyone was carpooling to Zheng Da’s house, Qin Huai naturally became the driver, using navigation.

On the road, Gong Baozhu was excited—she rarely visited Zheng Da’s house.

“Dad, why did Uncle Zheng suddenly invite us over? Did Zheng Siyuan successfully get married? Is this a celebration dinner?”

“Then didn’t you bring the wrong gifts? Does his girlfriend like gold? Jewelry? Clothes? Bags?”

Clearly, she had inherited her father’s talent for gift-giving.

“No idea,” Gong Liang said. “Your Uncle Zheng was still asking me yesterday if I knew any suitable girls. I don’t know why we’re suddenly eating together either. Whatever—let’s just eat first.”

“Bringing gifts for Siqin and Yiyi is definitely right. Siqin’s hair still hasn’t grown back, right? Ask your brother to buy more supplements later.”

“Got it, Dad.”

Qin Huai listened quietly the whole way, learning.

Half an hour later, they arrived at Zheng Da’s home.

It was indeed far—no wonder Zheng Da rarely went to Huang Ji. A 30-minute drive in the morning could take half his life.

Zheng Da lived in a villa area: a three-story detached house with a garden… full of vegetables instead of flowers. In winter, cabbages grew especially well, waiting for frost or snow to become even tastier.

The group carrying gifts rang the doorbell. The one who opened the door was Huang Anyao, holding a half-peeled carrot, eyes widening at the group like they were traveling salesmen.

His expression clearly said: Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing gifts too?!

Qin Huai returned a look: I’m just tagging along too.

Inside, Huang Shengli and Zheng Da were already cooking, while Huang Anyao and Zheng Siyuan helped.

Well—mostly Zheng Siyuan. Huang Anyao’s skills were limited; he could only peel and wash vegetables, sitting on a small stool at the kitchen door peeling carrots into the trash.

Seeing Qin Huai, Zheng Siyuan immediately gave up the cooking station.

“I’ve prepared everything for you.”

Qin Huai looked—indeed, everything was ready.

Glutinous rice dough prepared, ingredients chopped and arranged neatly in rows, sesame and red bean fillings ready, minced meat already prepared, winter melon sugar and lard set aside.

Zheng Siyuan hadn’t cooked the sugar syrup because it was crucial to the flavor balance—different fillings needed slightly different sweetness levels.

If he had prepared it in advance, only one flavor would have been possible.

Meanwhile, Huang Shengli was preparing dishes, and Zheng Da was crafting “art.”

And it truly was art: tools for Qin Gou Lantern Dumplings were laid out like an exhibition. Fortunately, the kitchen was large enough for his dedicated workspace—or he’d probably have moved to the living room.

It was obvious: Zheng Da was going big today.

Zheng Siyuan whispered to Qin Huai: “My dad got stimulated somehow. He started kneading dough at 6 a.m., rejected eight batches before choosing one, and dug out his old tool kit. He’s already scrapped two attempts.”

“He never had this enthusiasm when making mixed-fruit filling.”

Qin Huai really wanted to say: Yes, this is partly because of me—but also because of you.

But he didn’t.

He only said, “Maybe he just wants to show off.”

“Qin Gou Lantern Dumplings are really hard. My hands were shaking when I made them before—I almost cramped up.”

Zheng Siyuan sighed. “I don’t know what my dad is thinking. When he should be lazy, he insists on working hard; when he can be serious, he gets lazy.”

“Need help?” Zheng Siyuan asked.

“No need. I’ll handle the rest,” Qin Huai said.

Zheng Siyuan nodded. “Alright, I’ll go help my uncle prep dishes.”

Qin Huai started cooking the sugar syrup. This step wasn’t difficult—just important. With precise measurements, the failure rate was basically zero.

Everyone in the kitchen was busy, even Huang Anyao focused on peeling vegetables.

Meanwhile, the Gong family sat comfortably in the living room watching TV, looking so relaxed it felt like they were the hosts and the kitchen staff were hired chefs.

“Where’s your mom?” Qin Huai asked.

“She went to my sister’s house to take care of Yiyi,” Zheng Siyuan replied. “She ran away early when she heard we were making Four-Happiness Tangyuan—she’s sick of it. We’ve been making mixed-fruit filling every day lately.”

Qin Huai: “…”

Alright, Ou Yang’s value just went up again.

He continued working.

Three basic flavors were effortless. The mixed-fruit fillings were slightly more complex—he had to prepare three variations and cook syrup three times.

Both Zheng Da and Zheng Siyuan noticed this—and were both satisfied.

Zheng Siyuan thought Qin Huai did it because he felt awkward only making two types.

Zheng Da thought Qin Huai was balancing both sides diplomatically.

And so—once again—Qin Huai successfully “balanced both sides.”

As time passed, the kitchen filled with rich aromas.

All of it from dishes—not pastries.

Four-Happiness Tangyuan and Qin Gou Lantern Dumplings don’t really have strong aromas.

Huang Shengli cooked simple home-style dishes:

Stir-fried eel, river shrimp, chestnut chicken, sweet-and-sour pork, carrot stir-fried meat, pan-fried tofu, squid with chives, steamed egg, and seaweed pork rib soup.

Nothing fancy—but extremely fragrant.

Home cooking has its own kind of aroma.

Not everyone eats banquets every day. For most people, everyday home food is life itself.

The smell alone was enough to make mouths water.

Even watching TV couldn’t hold Gong Baozhu’s attention anymore—she stared fixedly at the kitchen door like she had returned to her school days, waiting for dinner.

Outside, she was drooling.

Inside, Huang Anyao was also drooling.

“Dad, is it ready? Can we eat yet?” he asked eagerly.

“Useless kid,” Huang Shengli laughed. “You’re drooling over everything—three-platter duck, steamed egg, anything. If you’re so greedy, learn to cook yourself.”

“Egg custard’s almost done—one minute. Ask your Uncle Zheng about the pastries.”

“I can also serve now,” Zheng Da said, already turning off the heat. “Serve the dishes first. Mine will be last—big surprise.”

“Xiao Qin, how’s your Four-Happiness Tangyuan?”

“3 minutes 50 seconds. Ready to serve,” Qin Huai said.

“Alright,” Huang Shengli nodded. “Serve the dishes. Anyao, go call everyone.”

“Food’s ready!” he shouted.

“Yay!” Gong Baozhu jumped up from the sofa. “Uncle Huang, Uncle Zheng, I’ll help serve!”

And with that, the meal began.