AGN -Chapter 266 Time for Qin Family Village to Taste the New Year Flavors of Suzhou

In the kitchen, every member of the Qin family who could help was there.

And every villager who could lend a hand had come as well.

Everyone knew that Qin Huai had returned home late this year, and making pastries required a lot of ingredients to be prepared in advance.

In previous years, aside from returning to the countryside for the Little New Year feast, Qin Huai would always come back by the twenty-eighth at the latest, so he could prepare supplies for the upcoming fifteen-day culinary marathon.

This year, however, Qin Huai did not return to Qin Family Village until New Year’s Eve itself. Many villagers had quietly worried that, after making big money outside, he might have grown tired of all the hard work and planned to take it easy this Spring Festival.

But the moment they saw him head straight for the kitchen as soon as he got home, everyone relaxed.

Inside the kitchen, all the helpers were already in position.

Earlier, while riding in the minibus, Qin Huai had already given Qin Luo a preview of tonight’s menu. In addition to the pastries he had mentioned, he also planned to brew aged tangerine peel tea, stew pigeons with gastrodia, and stir-fry cabbage with pork—bringing the year to a perfect close.

With time short and the workload enormous, the family’s usual team of helpers was clearly not enough. Qin Huai had asked Grandpa Qin and Grandma Qin to issue an urgent village-wide recruitment notice for experienced and capable kitchen assistants.

The payment?

A mystery bag of pastries.

A large one.

One of the village aunts happened to run a handmade beef ball shop in town. The moment she heard about this opportunity, she immediately decided not to cook her own New Year’s Eve dinner. She grabbed her cleaver and hurried straight to Grandpa Qin’s house.

Master Qin, freshly returned from his advanced training in Suzhou, began assigning tasks.

“Dad, Mom, you’re familiar with the fillings for diced pork buns, five-diced buns, meat buns, char siu buns, vermicelli buns, mushroom buns, and radish buns. Today, your job is to lead Auntie, Little Aunt, Second Uncle, and Second Cousin Aunt in preparing all the ingredients. Then you’ll help with wrapping the buns.”

“Uncle, Luo Luo, your task is chopping firewood. If we run low, chop more. Grandpa and Grandma definitely didn’t prepare enough for today.”

“Grandma, once the steamers are going, stand by with your phone timer. Timing is crucial. Whether today’s pastries turn out delicious depends entirely on you.”

“Oh, and the chicken broth I asked you to make yesterday—is it ready? Seven old hens? If it’s not enough, you can—No, no, that’s enough.”

If they kept stewing more, this year’s flock of chickens would be wiped out.

“Grandpa, your job is to chat with the village chief and the others outside and receive their gifts. For now, please don’t let them into the kitchen. We’re far too busy in here for socializing.”

“Aunt Wang, your task is the most important. You know how to prepare meat for hand-beaten beef balls—how to slice it and chop it. That’s exactly how today’s meat should be handled, except it shouldn’t be beaten too firm. It needs to stay a little loose. You understand what I mean, right?” Qin Huai asked.

Aunt Wang, who had literally shown up for the job with a cleaver in hand, nodded vigorously.

“Third Great-Aunt, Sixth Great-Aunt, the important task of tending the fire is in your hands.”

Seeing everyone receive assignments, He Cheng suddenly felt lost. In previous years, he had always been in charge of chopping firewood and tending the fire. How had he become unemployed this year?

“Brother, what about me?” He Cheng asked hopefully.

“Your task is important too. You’ll be mainly responsible for making tea and serving it.”

He Cheng: ?

He Cheng did not understand, but he obediently went to Grandpa’s room to look for tea leaves.

Under Master Qin’s direction, every helper in the kitchen settled into their role, and the intense preparation for the feast began.

The first thing Qin Huai needed to do, naturally, was knead dough.

Although his main goal this New Year was to elevate the Four-Joy Tangyuan to A-grade quality, today was New Year’s Eve. And New Year’s Eve pastries had to be plentiful and diverse. Among all the pastries Qin Huai excelled at, flour-based ones made up the majority.

He started with the dough for fermented rice wine mantou.

He needed to make a lot of them. They were distinctive, required a long fermentation time, and were relatively simple to prepare. With so many relatives and villagers helping today, making extra would allow everyone to take some home. It would also introduce Huang Ji’s signature fermented rice wine mantou to Qin Family Village.

Back when Huang Ji was still a state-owned restaurant and Master Jing was still there, local residents would flock there before the New Year to buy these mantou. Huang Shengli and Zheng Da had said that, in their childhood, the taste of fermented rice wine mantou was practically synonymous with the taste of the New Year.

Having a plate of braised pork at home for New Year wasn’t particularly impressive.

But having a huge basin of fermented rice wine mantou?

Now that was truly something to brag about.

This year, it was finally time for the villagers of Qin Family Village to taste what New Year had tasted like for the people of Suzhou decades ago.

Qin Huai began kneading the dough with practiced ease.

Third Great-Aunt and Sixth Great-Aunt, whose task of tending the fire had not yet begun, immediately started offering their expert praise.

“Huaihuai’s craftsmanship is obvious at a glance. Just watching him knead dough, you can tell he’s exceptionally skilled,” Third Great-Aunt said.

Sixth Great-Aunt was unwilling to be outdone.

“Exactly! I’ve watched this child grow up, and I always knew he was special. Look at those kneading movements—they’re just like what you see on television.”

“Yes, yes,” Third Great-Aunt agreed, unable to think of anything even better to add.

While the two great-aunts were simply showering him with blind praise, Qin Congwen was genuinely astonished.

If there had to be a second person in this kitchen who could barely qualify as a pastry chef, that person would undoubtedly be Qin Congwen.

To be honest, Qin Congwen felt that his own bun-making skills had improved a lot this year.

Before, he had only known that his son was exceptionally talented at making pastries, and that the dough he made tasted amazing. But he couldn’t imitate it, nor did he understand exactly what made it so good.

And when he asked Qin Huai, Qin Huai couldn’t really explain either.

All Qin Huai could say was that this was simply how he felt the dough should be kneaded—when it felt right, it was right. That sort of intuitive, almost abstract communication could only really work between Qin Huai and Zheng Da.

Unable to learn his son’s techniques, Qin Congwen’s bun-making skills had remained unchanged for decades.

But this year was different.

This year, he had truly learned.

At first, he had quietly picked up techniques from Chen An. Chen An’s buns were only a little better than Qin Congwen’s, but he was a professional breakfast chef.

That’s how it is: when someone is vastly better than you, you can’t even tell what makes them superior, because you simply can’t understand it. But when someone is only slightly better, you can at least see a thing or two.

And from that “thing or two,” Qin Congwen had quietly improved.

Later, after Pei Xing and Li Hua joined the Yunzhong Cafeteria, his progress accelerated dramatically. Both were professionally trained pastry chefs from Zhiweiju—properly educated specialists with solid theoretical knowledge and a full understanding of white-dough craftsmanship. They were on a completely different level from a breakfast cook like Chen An.

Most importantly, they could actually explain what they were doing.

Teaching Qin Congwen was no trouble at all.

As the boss’s father, Qin Congwen had humbly asked for instruction, and they were happy to teach him.

After all, they were also hoping that once Qin Huai returned from his exchange, he would teach them a thing or two as well.

Under Pei Xing and Li Hua’s guidance, Qin Congwen’s pastry skills had improved by leaps and bounds. He was now genuinely on the path to becoming a professional breakfast chef.

And with greater skill came greater insight.

Qin Congwen wasn’t sure whether it was simply because he hadn’t seen his son knead dough in a while, or because his own improved skills now allowed him to recognize excellence—but Qin Huai’s kneading seemed far better than before.

The phrase “things are not what they used to be” had apparently applied to his son before it applied to him.

Rubbing his eyes, Qin Congwen quietly asked Zhao Rong, “Honey, don’t you think Huaihuai seems different from before?”

“Of course he does. Just look at how fast he works now, and how naturally he assigns tasks. How much work has he been doing at Huang Ji? Thank goodness we didn’t send him to Zhiweiju back then. Otherwise, they’d have worked our son to death,” Zhao Rong said.

Qin Congwen: …

“I wanted to discuss some professional matters with you, and you’re giving me an emotional response?”

“Exactly!” Qin Congwen said, instantly filled with sympathy. “Our Huaihuai must have gone through so much hardship at Huang Ji!”

Meanwhile, the supposedly long-suffering Qin Huai was kneading dough while thinking to himself that He Cheng’s tea service was far from professional. Such an important task had been entrusted to him, yet after all this time, not a single cup of tea had made its way into the kitchen.

Was this really acceptable?

Master Qin had been working in such a large kitchen for so long without even a sip of tea.

It simply wasn’t right.

So Qin Huai continued kneading the dough, feeling rather put upon.

Meanwhile, out in the courtyard, winter in Qiu County wasn’t particularly cold. In fact, sitting in the sun wearing a padded jacket for too long could even become a little warm. Grandpa Qin had never been one to insist on chatting indoors anyway.

He was diligently carrying out his assigned task: chatting with villagers who had come by to check on the kitchen’s progress, drop off gifts, and offer early New Year greetings.

And naturally, chatting required tea.

When Grandpa Qin saw his grandson making tea, he was delighted. He immediately instructed him to boil more water and prepare tea for the guests as well.

There was no need to use the main kitchen for boiling water. The house still had its regular cooking kitchen, so He Cheng was sent there instead. Under orders from both his older cousin and his own grandfather, he became a relentless tea-making machine, endlessly boiling water and brewing tea.

Unfortunately, he had no experience at all.

For the first few batches, he used far too many tea leaves—so many that each paper cup seemed to contain half a cup of leaves. The tea was so strong that every guest who drank it winced.

He Cheng himself took a sip and winced too.

Of course, he was reacting to the heat.

There was no way he could serve such tea to his beloved older brother. So he hurriedly pulled out his phone in the small kitchen and searched online for how to brew tea properly. That was when he discovered that some teas required the first infusion to be discarded, that different teas required different methods, and that water temperature also mattered.

The rabbit hole was deep.

After a while, He Cheng felt utterly overwhelmed. Fortunately, there were plenty of guests, and for some reason they all seemed to love drinking tea, giving him ample opportunities for experimentation.

As for the guests…

They actually had no real opinions about He Cheng’s tea.

Because the tea wasn’t what mattered.

The flaky pastries Grandpa Qin had brought out were simply too delicious!

No one knew why the pastries had all crumbled into pieces, forcing everyone to pick up the crumbs—but even the crumbs were unbelievably tasty.

So tasty, in fact, that no one wanted to leave.

They were perfectly content to sit awkwardly in the courtyard, making small talk. To avoid looking like they had come solely for the pastry crumbs, they occasionally sipped some tea. Some even considered calling over the rest of their family to join in the “conversation.”

For a time, the Qin family courtyard was bustling with life, while He Cheng tirelessly moved in and out, serving tea.

Back in the kitchen, Qin Huai was genuinely thirsty.

He hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, nor had he drunk much water. The moment he arrived in the countryside, he had gone straight into the kitchen and started working nonstop.

After all, he hadn’t had breakfast. He needed to hurry and make some buns and mantou to fill his stomach.

But now the mantou were already in the steamers, several batches of dough for bun wrappers had been kneaded, and Qin Huai had even begun mixing fillings in a large basin, preparing to hand them over to Qin Luo for stirring.

And still, no tea had arrived.

“Luo Luo, go get me a cup of hot water. If there isn’t any hot water, warm water is fine. A drink would work too—orange soda, Coke, Sprite. If all else fails, just juice some fruit,” Qin Huai said.

The moment Qin Luo heard this, she knew her brother was truly parched. She immediately ran out of the kitchen to find He Cheng.

This was outrageous. She, a younger sister with no blood relation, was bustling around the kitchen helping out, while He Cheng, a cousin with no blood relation, was slacking off outside.

In the small kitchen, He Cheng was brewing tea with the intensity of someone trying to start a fire.

When Qin Luo arrived, he quickly said, “Luo Luo, help me out. Which of these cups of tea seems the most normal? I’ve been researching online forever, but I still can’t figure out how to brew a good cup. I think they all taste terrible.”

Qin Luo: ?

She sampled each cup.

“They all taste the same.”

“Could it be that you just don’t like tea?”

He Cheng: ?

Thirty seconds later, Qin Luo returned to the main kitchen carrying a cup of warm tea. Qin Huai drank it in one gulp, then said:

“Luo Luo, bring me a bottle of Coke.”

At that moment, Qin Huai finally realized that it wasn’t tea itself that he loved—it was the way the people at Zhiweiju brewed it, perfectly suited to his taste.

Next time, he’d have to ask Tan Wei’an exactly what kind of tea they had been serving him.

Ten minutes later, the fermented rice wine mantou were done.

Almost the instant they emerged from the steamer, the sweet aroma of rice wine filled the air.

The villagers of Qin Family Village had never experienced anything like it. Those who had been gathered in the courtyard chatting and snacking on pastry crumbs stopped eating altogether. They began sniffing the air eagerly, asking in confusion:

“What’s that smell?”

“It smells like rice wine.”

“No, no—it smells like mantou. Rice wine mantou!”

Inside the kitchen, Third Great-Aunt and Sixth Great-Aunt, who were in charge of tending the fire, were utterly stunned.

Of course, everyone else was also amazed. It was just that those two happened to be the least busy and therefore had the most time to stand around being amazed.

Qin Luo swiftly removed the mantou from the steamer as she asked, “Brother, are these for eating now?”

“Yes. Once they’ve cooled a bit, hand me two. I’m starving—I haven’t eaten all morning.”

Qin Luo immediately handed him two.

Qin Huai: …

Luo Luo, your brother’s tongue is not as heat-resistant as yours.

Then, treating everyone equally, Qin Luo distributed two mantou to each person in the kitchen. The first batch had been large; with several traditional rural stoves steaming at once, they had produced enough to supply the breakfast shop for quite a while.

After getting Qin Huai’s approval, Qin Luo carried a basket outside and began handing them out. The villagers in the courtyard were overjoyed.

Who would have thought that today they’d not only get to eat flaky pastry crumbs, but also freshly steamed mantou?

Life was truly getting better.

On New Year’s Eve, they were actually eating mantou freshly steamed by Qin Huai himself!

After making one round of distribution, Qin Luo set aside the remaining mantou. Those would be divided up later that evening. The He family had plenty of relatives waiting for Qin Xiuli and the others to return before dinner, fully loaded with treats.

Qin Huai was eating fermented rice wine mantou.

The people in the kitchen were eating fermented rice wine mantou.

The people outside the kitchen were also eating fermented rice wine mantou.

For a while, the mantou’s unique sweet aroma completely conquered everyone’s taste buds.

And every person tasting B-grade fermented rice wine mantou for the first time had only one thought:

Could tonight’s New Year’s Eve dinner consist of nothing but this?

Because this—this was what New Year tasted like.

And suddenly, sitting stubbornly in this courtyard, refusing to leave, and drinking enough tea to desperately need the bathroom—had proven to be an exceptionally wise decision.

There will be more during the day.