AGN -Chapter 250 The Lie Beast (Part 7)

A huge pot of Four-Joy Tangyuan set the tone for the birthday banquet right from the start.

Plenty to eat, and guaranteed to fill you up!

Although Master Jing had told Gong Liang and the others to have some tangyuan first to tide themselves over, Gong Liang—being the star salesman of the silk mill—naturally had far too much tact to actually sit down and start eating on his own.

Stretching his neck to peek into the pot, he asked curiously, “Aren’t Four-Joy Tangyuan supposed to come in four different shapes? Why are all the ones in this pot round?”

Gong Liang might not have eaten Four-Joy Tangyuan very often, but as the saying goes, even if he hadn’t eaten pork, he’d certainly seen pigs run. He knew roughly what they were supposed to look like.

“Master didn’t have time to make four different shapes—there’s a whole table of dishes to prepare,” Zheng Da said. “Don’t worry, every filling is delicious, especially the mixed fruit one.”

“You didn’t see it after you left last night—he used a full nine jin and four liang of winter melon candy just for the mixed fruit filling. It’s bound to be amazing!” Zheng Da enthusiastically promoted the filling like a salesman himself.

While Zheng Da and Gong Liang were discussing the tangyuan, Qin Huai slipped into the kitchen to watch Master Jing cook.

Only Jing Lixiang and Huang Shengli remained in the kitchen. Three stoves were going at once: one simmering fish soup, one braising red-cooked pork, and one topped with a steamer—most likely holding the crab-claw lantern buns.

The fish soup had turned slightly milky. Not quite the rich, opaque white of a fully emulsified broth, but enough to show it had been simmering for quite some time.

The braised pork was braised pork in its purest form. Thick chunks of pork belly, cut from slabs that were roughly thirty percent fat and seventy percent lean, each piece clearly layered with alternating bands of meat and fat. Jing Lixiang stirred them with his spatula, coating every piece evenly in a glossy reddish-brown sauce. They looked absolutely irresistible.

As the spatula turned them over, the pork cubes bumped gently against one another, jiggling ever so slightly.

Qin Huai stood there watching, eyes locked onto the pot. With every extra glance, he had to swallow another mouthful of saliva. Each time the pork bounced against itself, his mind automatically supplied a sound effect:

Duang~

The collision of fat against fat!
The mingling of sauce with sauce!
A symphony of deliciousness—the triumph of every meat lover!

Qin Huai knew Jing Lixiang was a master. He could tell from Zheng Siyuan’s reverence, from old customers like Grandpa Wang who still couldn’t stop talking about Jing’s crab-shell pastries, and from the boundless admiration both Zheng Da and Huang Shengli had for their master.

Not to mention that Qin Huai had personally handled Jing Lixiang’s recipe book and had seen his pastry-making skills firsthand.

There was simply nothing to criticize. A master among masters. Whether kneading dough or seasoning fillings, his work was so perfect it was impossible to fault. Just the filling-cooking technique in the diced-meat bun tutorial was enough for Qin Huai to study for years.

Perhaps because Qin Huai had only ever seen Master Jing make white-case pastries, he subconsciously still thought of him primarily as a pastry chef—even though Huang Shengli, a savory-cooking expert, was also his direct disciple.

He hadn’t fully grasped that Jing Lixiang was a true all-round master, equally brilliant in both savory and pastry cooking.

After all, until you witness someone’s skill with your own eyes, no amount of praise can truly convey just how extraordinary they are.

No matter how eloquent the speaker, no matter how flowery the language, no description could be more convincing than the pot of braised pork right in front of him.

It was simply too tempting.

That dish looked so perfect it might have come straight out of a television commercial—as though it could only exist under studio lighting, with filters, props, and a little artistic enhancement.

Yet here it was: textbook-perfect braised pork.

Qin Huai wanted some.

But he couldn’t have any.

And the thought that Gong Liang had actually eaten this decades ago only made him even more envious.

Being the protagonist of a feel-good story was one thing. Eating this well on top of that? That was just unfair.

The braised pork was finally done.

“Master, should I take the braised pork out now?” Huang Shengli asked, handing over the vegetables and sliced meat he had just prepared.

Qin Huai glanced at the ingredients. They were familiar: napa cabbage and shredded pork.

Stir-fried cabbage with pork—the dish he practiced with almost every day, usually half a bucket at a time, as his go-to exercise for mastering heat control.

And Qin Huai found this dish truly mysterious.

He could now make stir-fried cabbage alone fairly well.

He could also stir-fry pork on its own quite competently.

But put the two together, and somehow everything went wrong.

If the heat was too high, the cabbage overcooked. If too low, the pork cooked unevenly. If he used too much oil, the dish turned greasy and heavy. If he used too little, it came out dry and lacking moisture.

Yet Huang Shengli’s version was always incredibly delicious.

Every time Huang demonstrated first and Qin Huai tried afterward, Qin Huai’s perfectly edible stir-fried cabbage with pork would be utterly outclassed.

Dong Shi had eaten so much of Qin Huai’s practice batches that he was practically sick of it.

As for Huang Shengli’s demonstration plate…

Qin Huai loved it.

Whenever Huang finished cooking and asked him to taste it to “get a feel for it,” Qin Huai would somehow end up “finding the feeling” through half the plate. The remaining half would be gradually consumed during repeated failed attempts to replicate it.

After so much practice, Huang Shengli had noticed how much Qin Huai liked the dish. He often added it to Qin Huai’s staff meals, serving it every few days and effectively granting him unlimited access to stir-fried cabbage with pork.

So now Qin Huai could confidently say: he might not know every dish, but when it came to stir-fried cabbage with pork, he knew it inside and out.

Master Jing took the plate of prepared ingredients and said, “Wait a bit. The fish will be done soon. We’ll take everything out together—save ourselves an extra trip.”

“Shengli, keep an eye on the heat. Add the sesame oil at the end.”

“Yes, Master.”

Huang Shengli obediently watched the flame while Jing Lixiang heated the wok, added oil, and tossed in the pork.

Sizzle!

A fierce flame, a rapid stir-fry.

And then Qin Huai witnessed what true mastery of heat control looked like.

Over high heat, the pork changed color almost instantly. Jing Lixiang moved the spatula with astonishing speed, ensuring every shred of pork cooked evenly. Once all the meat had turned color, he added a pinch of salt and tossed in the cabbage.

Still over high heat.

Still moving fast.

It looked deceptively simple.

But Qin Huai knew he couldn’t do it.

Watching Huang Shengli demonstrate had felt the same way. At first glance, it seemed like you simply did this, then that, then this, then that—and out came a perfect dish.

But when Qin Huai tried it himself, he’d do that, then this, then that, then this—and somehow still end up with an imperfect pan of stir-fried cabbage with pork.

Compared to Huang Shengli, Jing Lixiang handled the dish with even greater ease. In fact, Qin Huai felt that Master Jing wasn’t even focusing fully on the wok—his attention was more on the fish simmering next to it.

“Shengli, sesame oil.”

Huang Shengli added it.

Not much—just a dozen or so drops. They floated on the surface of the fish soup like tiny golden blossoms, dispersing as he stirred with chopsticks.

And then something magical happened.

As soon as the sesame oil was mixed in, the aroma of the fish soup seemed to bloom all at once.

Jing Lixiang leaned in, inhaled, and nodded with satisfaction. He signaled for Huang Shengli to turn off the heat and let it rest for one final minute before serving.

A minute later, the stir-fried cabbage with pork was ready as well.

Huang Shengli ladled out the fish and headed toward the dining room. When he reached the kitchen doorway, he took a deep breath and shouted in a booming voice:

“Zheng Da! Come carry the dishes!”

“Coming, coming!”

Zheng Da dashed in happily, not giving Huang Shengli any chance to do it himself. He grabbed the braised pork with his left hand, the stir-fried cabbage with pork with his right, and eyed the steamer eagerly.

“Master, what about the buns in the steamer…?”

“No rush. Eat first. I’m keeping track of the time,” Jing Lixiang said.

That settled it. Zheng Da carried the dishes out.

Three dishes and one dim sum item. It might not have seemed like much by modern standards, but for that era, this was an incredibly lavish spread.

In the private room, both Zheng Da’s and Guo Mingzhu’s bowls were still empty. Not a single tangyuan had been stolen from the pot.

The moment they saw the braised pork and braised fish, their eyes practically lit up. Neither spared even a glance for the stir-fried cabbage with pork—a rather disrespectful snub to an excellent dish.

Seeing that Gong Liang’s bowl was still empty, Jing Lixiang smiled and asked, “Xiao Liang, why haven’t you eaten? Don’t like tangyuan?”

Gong Liang quickly waved his hands.

“No, no! I’m lucky if I get to eat tangyuan once a year. How could I not like them? It’s just that you’re still busy, Master Jing. How could the cook still be working while the rest of us sit down and start eating first?”

Master Jing sat down with a warm smile. Even with the fierce scar across his face, he looked kind and benevolent at that moment.

“Today, you’re the birthday star. It’s only right that the birthday boy eats first. If the guest of honor goes hungry, that’s the cook’s fault.” Then he turned to Guo Mingzhu. “You’re Xiao Guo, right? Xiao Liang mentions you often. I remember you—you came to the state-run restaurant for buns on the 2nd of last month, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes!” Guo Mingzhu nodded repeatedly. “Master Jing, you have such a good memory. I only came that one time.”

“It’s because you’re so pretty. A beautiful young lady like you stands out in any crowd—how could I possibly forget?” Master Jing said with a smile.

He glanced around the table: Guo Mingzhu was staring fixedly at the braised pork as soon as the conversation ended; Gong Liang was doing his best not to stare at it; Huang Shengli had his eyes on the braised fish; and Zheng Da looked as if he were about to wither away from longing as he gazed at the Four-Joy Tangyuan.

Master Jing chuckled.

“All right, the dishes are basically all here.”

“Birthday boy, dig in.”

Gong Liang picked up his chopsticks and instinctively reached for the braised pork. But halfway there, he stopped himself, withdrew his hand, stood up, and scooped four Four-Joy Tangyuan into his bowl.

He remembered that Master Jing had told him to start with the tangyuan.

Seeing Gong Liang lead the way, everyone else followed suit, each serving themselves four tangyuan. Only Master Jing was the exception—he took just one.

“I’m getting old,” he said. “Too many tangyuan at night upset my stomach.”

As soon as Huang Shengli heard that, he hurried into the kitchen, brought back a clean bowl, and served Master Jing a bowl of fish soup.

Everyone lowered their heads and began eating.

Zheng Da took a bite. “Hey, this one’s meat-filled!”

Gong Liang bit into one of his. “And this one is… what was that filling made with winter melon candy called again?”

One bite from you, one bite from me. A bite of tangyuan, a bite of braised pork. Another tangyuan, a bite of fish. Another tangyuan, a bite of stir-fried cabbage with pork.

And thus began a thoroughly monotonous and repetitive mukbang.

Why monotonous and repetitive?

Because Qin Huai couldn’t eat any of it.

It was excruciatingly dull. Excruciatingly cruel. He desperately wanted to leave.

Damn it—why hadn’t watching other people’s memories ever felt this unbearable before?

Why did Gong Liang’s memories seem to consist entirely of eating?

How many incredible things had this man eaten in his life? Pastries were one thing, but now he was feasting on amazing savory dishes too.

This feel-good-story protagonist had an absurdly comprehensive diet.

Had he ever considered the feelings of a system-novel protagonist watching from the sidelines?

By the time this “boring” eating session finally ended, both Gong Liang and Zheng Da were so full they could barely move.

Since everyone had eaten their fill, Master Jing finally rose leisurely and went into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying the crab-claw lantern buns.

Everyone was stunned.

Not because of the shape.

Master Jing’s crab-claw lantern buns weren’t especially elaborate—at least not compared to the ornate version Zheng Da had made before. They were a fairly standard version, perhaps even a little simplified. Qin Huai noticed that the decorative edges weren’t especially intricate, as if the maker had been a bit pressed for time.

So even the greatest masters, it seemed, occasionally cut corners.

No, what truly shocked everyone was that they were already ninety percent full—and yet there was still dessert.

At a moment like this, should they eat it?

Of course they should!

So what if they were ninety percent full? The stomach’s potential is limitless. With enough determination, even one hundred and twenty percent fullness is achievable.

And so everyone valiantly stuffed more buns into their mouths.

In the end, Zheng Da and Gong Liang had to leave while supporting themselves against the wall.

Gong Liang still wanted to walk Guo Mingzhu home, but she firmly refused. Right now, he needed to get home and lie down immediately to digest. As for her, she wanted to walk back alone, using the journey to organize her thoughts so she could enthusiastically recount the evening’s feast to her parents.

Gong Liang escorted her as far as the entrance of the state-run restaurant. Zheng Da and Huang Shengli went back into the kitchen to clean up.

Just as Gong Liang was about to leave, Jing Lixiang called out to him.

“Xiao Liang.”

He beckoned with a wave. Gong Liang, one hand supporting his waist, slowly walked over.

“I still haven’t given you your birthday present.”

Gong Liang opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it again. He was obviously too full—one more word and he might burp, along with half the contents of his stomach.

Jing Lixiang went into the kitchen and returned with a small bamboo steamer. Under Gong Liang’s puzzled gaze, he slowly lifted the lid.

Inside was a single bun.

A crab-claw lantern bun.

An extraordinarily beautiful one.

If the buns everyone had just eaten were the standard model, and Zheng Da’s previous version had been the Plus model, then this one was unquestionably the Pro Max version.

No, scratch that—it skipped straight past Pro. This was the ultimate deluxe edition.

It was breathtaking.

Eight delicately pleated ridges formed the lantern’s sides. Every pattern looked as though it had been measured and pressed with a ruler. Along the base of each ridge were tiny characters; together they read:

“Auspicious stars shine above; five blessings enter your home.”

The eight ridges represented the sides of a palace lantern. Jing Lixiang had even pinched little corners at the bottom to mimic the lantern’s frame, and adorned the top with a piece of red preserved fruit.

This wasn’t just a bun.

It was a work of art.

Gong Liang was utterly transfixed.

“The crab-claw lantern bun symbolizes welcoming a new beginning. The ones you all ate earlier were for sweeping away the past. This one, however, I made especially for you—to welcome your new beginning.”

“I know you can’t possibly eat another bite right now. You can take it home and have it tonight, or tomorrow morning.”

“Youth really is wonderful. When I was your age, if I found something delicious, I’d eat and eat until I was absolutely stuffed.”

“But not anymore. Now that I’m older, even eating a little too much leaves me uncomfortable all night.”

“Xiao Liang, while you’re still young, eat more, play more, see more, and learn more.”

“And don’t be so lacking in confidence. Believe in yourself.”

“You’re no longer just an unknown Xiao Gong. You’re the silk mill’s rising star—the famous Salesman Gong.”

“Once you’ve eaten this bun, you’ll be leaving the old behind and embracing the new. A brand-new life will begin.”

Gong Liang said nothing.

He simply nodded heavily.

Then, with complete determination, he picked up the bun and took a huge bite.

Burp.

He couldn’t help it.

Master Jing burst into hearty laughter once again.

And with that, Qin Huai left the memory.