AGN -Chapter 283 Can I Even Cut?

Qin Huai hadn’t expected that cutting a single radish would take him an entire week.

So how did he spend that week?

Roughly speaking, he was swimming in a sea of shredded radish, sliced radish, and diced radish. Every day, the moment he opened his eyes, he was cutting radish; before going to sleep, his mind was still full of cutting radish. Thanks to his solid physical foundation, he didn’t feel particularly exhausted, nor did he end up with swollen arms from overwork.

He just cut. Pure cutting. Constant cutting.

Cao Guixiang didn’t impose any requirements on the radish shreds, slices, or dice Qin Huai produced. Even if the shreds were uneven in length and thickness, the slices varied in width—some so thin they still couldn’t let light pass through—or the dice were irregular and lacked any visual alignment, she didn’t care.

She never pointed out those issues.

Instead, she focused entirely on very subtle problems in his fundamentals: how he applied force, how he held the knife, and repetitive mistakes that appeared after long hours of cutting.

Whenever she spotted an issue, she would directly correct him by hand. After a few days, Qin Huai had gotten used to it—whenever Cao Guixiang reached out, he would instantly freeze in place and dare not move.

The results were very noticeable.

All the knife-holding habits Qin Huai had developed since his time at the orphanage, along with his cutting posture, were gradually corrected through Cao Guixiang’s repeated hands-on adjustments.

Sometimes, when he himself was about to make a mistake, he no longer even needed her intervention—he could immediately notice and correct it himself.

Day after day, he cut at least 150 kilograms of white radish, often finishing entire tubs of it. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the slices, shreds, or dice he produced; he was essentially just cutting bucket after bucket.

Zhang Chuy had specially prepared several large barrels for storing radishes. Once a few barrels were filled each day, Qin Huai’s cutting work for the day would end.

And Qin Huai truly never got up early.

He was simply too exhausted to wake up.

The fatigue from chopping was different from kneading dough. To be precise, the feeling was entirely different.

During the New Year period or when working at Huang Ji, no matter how intense the workload was, Qin Huai was still “Chef Qin.”

Everything he made was excellent; the staff at Zhiwei Pavilion wanted to learn from him, and the customers wanted to eat his food. His work was always met with expectation.

But everything he cut at Cao Guixiang’s place… was pig feed.

No one cared about the process, and no one inspected the results carefully. It was simply dumped into large barrels and hauled away at night.

Being an apprentice and being a master were completely different experiences. When Qin Huai kneaded dough as a chef, every successful batch brought him visible satisfaction. But as an apprentice cutting radish, all he saw when he looked up was an unseen future.

His knife skill proficiency also increased extremely slowly—slower than ever before.

On the day his filling technique reached master level, his knife skill stood at (671/1000). After a full week of high-intensity radish cutting at Cao Guixiang’s place, it only reached (799/1000).

It was clear:

Cutting pig feed did not increase proficiency.

Qin Huai also understood very well that his knife skills had not improved significantly. The reason he rarely checked his game interface was because he generally had a clear sense of his own ability. Except for that period when he had gone crazy leveling his filling skill with Four Joy Tangyuan and briefly felt disoriented—only realizing something was off and checking his status afterward—he usually had a rough estimate of his skill levels.

He could also sense Cao Guixiang’s intention.

He knew she was correcting his bad habits.

But it took a full week just to fix those habits. How long would it take before he actually started formal chopping training?

He got his answer on March 6th—the 8th day since he arrived at Cao Guixiang’s home to officially begin training.

Cao Guixiang, having been trained by a very traditional master herself, taught apprentices—even unofficial ones—in a very traditional way.

Simply put: she provided food, lodging, and everything else.

She even prepared towels, toothbrushes, and rinse cups.

Both Cao Guixiang and Zhang Chuy agreed that meals were extremely important; eating was the primary motivation for apprentices doing hard labor. Back when Cao Guixiang struggled through her foundational training, her only daily expectation was three meals a day.

Zhang Chuy had felt the same when he was a carpenter. Carpentry is hard, physically demanding work—you need to eat well and stay nourished. According to him, after a full day of woodworking, finding a piece of meat in your rice bowl at mealtime already made everything worthwhile.

Under this philosophy, Qin Huai’s meals these days were excellent.

Not extravagant meals like braised shark fin or abalone with oyster sauce—those were luxury dishes he might only eat a couple of times a year, if that.

As Zhang Zhiyun said, even during New Year he might not get to eat braised shark fin.

As a retired chef, Cao Guixiang was not only skilled in banquet dishes but also exceptionally good at home cooking.

In fact, Qin Huai felt she might even be better at home cooking. From breakfast fried eggs to lunch and dinner dishes like braised pork, chestnut chicken, and steamed grouper—everything was delicious.

Most of these dishes were made right in front of him. While Qin Huai continued cutting radishes, Cao Guixiang prepared meals—handling everything from washing to cutting to cooking entirely by herself. Even while cooking, she would occasionally correct Qin Huai’s cutting posture. She handled everything effortlessly.

And every dish had one defining characteristic:

Fragrant.

A fragrance that blended homely warmth with high-end restaurant quality.

No luxury ingredients. No showy techniques. Just simple vegetables thrown into the pan—yet even stir-fried greens tasted like the best greens imaginable.

At mealtime, the Zhang siblings’ families came to eat in rotation. It seemed like an arrangement they had agreed upon: one family on Monday, Wednesday, Friday; the other on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday; Sundays together.

Zhang Zhiyun and Chang Qingqing, as long as they did well on exams, would rush in and shout at the top of their voices: “Grandma, I got X points!”

The scores were so high that even Qin Huai felt like crying. He wished he could record their voices and play them for Qin Luo, asking when she would ever reach such scores.

At 6:17 PM on March 6th—dinner time.

Today’s guests were Zhang Chuy’s family. The table was filled with dishes: celery beef, stir-fried spinach, “Yun Chicken,” steamed grouper, and yam pork rib soup.

Zhang Zhiyun sat next to Qin Huai, enthusiastically promoting the “Yun Chicken,” telling him it was a legendary dish specially created by his grandmother. It was named after him, unique in the world, and could not be found anywhere else.

Qin Huai, starving after a full day of radish cutting, said nothing—just nodded and ate furiously.

Cao Guixiang smiled and moved the Yun Chicken closer to them.

“Xiao Qin, how’s your community cafeteria business in Shashi lately?” she asked suddenly.

Qin Huai had just taken a bite of rice, with sweet-and-sour Yun Chicken inside. The dish sounded strange, but it was basically a fusion of sweet-and-sour pork and sweet-and-sour chicken—crispy meat coated in a tangy sauce. It was slightly rich if eaten too much, but kids would definitely love it.

He chewed quickly, swallowed, and replied clearly: “Everything’s been going well. Our cafeteria has a professional breakfast chef, two pastry chefs, and two red-cooking chefs. We’re fully staffed.”

“My mom also messaged me yesterday telling me not to rush back and to focus on learning here. She said the cafeteria is doing well, so I don’t need to worry.”

Qin Huai smiled sincerely.

He wasn’t lying. Zhao Ping had indeed told him to focus on his training. But while she sent only one message, Ou Yang had sent over 999.

Chen Huihong had sent 99+, asking whether he planned to return to Shashi soon—and if not, she might consider buying property in Guangdong.

Old Man Wang had sent eight messages in a roundabout way.

Old Man Qian sent 17.

Grandma Ding was the most caring, sending 76 messages full of concern.

Xu Tuqiang sent 69 messages.

Even Qu Jing sent 6—she had already returned to Shashi after finishing her exchange.

Luo Jun remained very calm and didn’t send a single message. Instead, he posted on Moments complaining that Zhang Shumei had once made a pot of tangerine peel, white fungus, and lotus seed soup that didn’t taste good.

As for Qin Luo… the child had already started school, so she didn’t dare message Qin Huai too much, afraid he would discover she had been secretly using a smartwatch.

She also didn’t dare call him to ask about his life recently, because Qin Huai simply didn’t have time to answer calls.

Qin Huai suspected that among Ou Yang’s 999+ messages, a portion was actually from Qin Luo. Ou Yang’s messages were especially frequent on Saturday and Sunday afternoons—most of them were nonsense anyway, and Qin Huai didn’t bother distinguishing them; he just glanced through and ignored them.

He felt he still needed more time to learn. He hadn’t even properly started chopping yet—this week had just been about correcting bad habits.

However, Zhang Chuy had finished making his cutting board and even completed three sets of molds. As a professional carpenter, his craftsmanship was excellent. Sometimes he even showed Qin Huai the wooden furniture at home—

All mortise-and-tenon joints, not a single nail used. Even the rocking chair Zhang Zhiyun and Chang Qingqing used as children had carved patterns.

From a craftsmanship perspective, the couple was truly a powerful combination.

“You can start looking at your return flight,” Cao Guixiang said.

Qin Huai froze.

Was she not willing to teach anymore because his progress was too slow?

Seeing his reaction, Cao Guixiang immediately understood and explained, “You’ve basically mastered the first stage. I remember you said you have a catering job in mid-March.”

“You can’t delay real work while learning. You’ve been cutting vegetables for over a week and haven’t really practiced pastry work. If you stay too long and get rusty, your client might not be happy.”

“But… Master Cao, have I really learned anything?” Qin Huai asked uncertainly.

He felt like he hadn’t learned anything—only forgotten things.

A week of cutting just corrected his grip and force application; it felt like he had only been fixing mistakes without actually gaining new skills.

“Of course,” Cao Guixiang nodded. “Your progress is faster than I expected. I thought it would take at least ten days to correct all your bad habits, but this afternoon you probably noticed yourself—I only corrected you physically twice, but you made five mistakes. Three of them, you corrected yourself before I even stepped in.”

“If you want to reinforce it further, you can take a flight the day after tomorrow and practice one more day.”

“For now, just keep cutting radishes. After you return to Shashi, continue cutting radishes too. You don’t need 300 jin a day anymore—your main job is still pastry work. 100 or 150 jin a day is enough, as long as you maintain training.”

“Then… how do I cut them?” Qin Huai asked blankly while eating, realizing how silly the question sounded.

Cao Guixiang almost laughed. “Just like you’re doing now. You’re doing fine—radish slices, shreds, cubes—you’ve learned them all. Even the rolling knife cut.”

Qin Huai: “…”

“I… can cut?”

Images of his past week flashed through his mind.

Those piles of “pig feed”—did that count as cutting?

Uneven slices—did that count as cutting?

Buckets of chopped radish dumped straight in without even looking—did that count as cutting?

Was the requirement for knife skills really that low?

“Of course you can. If you couldn’t, what have you been cutting all this time?” Cao Guixiang said calmly, noticing Zhang Zhiyun had already quietly finished most of the “Yun Chicken.” She pushed the beef and celery dish closer and casually added a serving of spinach into his bowl.

“Zhiyun, don’t just eat meat. Have some vegetables.”

Zhang Zhiyun: QAQ

Qin Huai quietly took the last piece of Yun Chicken into his bowl.

“Eat first. We’ll talk after dinner,” Cao Guixiang said, sticking to her principle that eating came first.

Otherwise, Zhang Zhiyun would finish everything.

After dinner, while others were washing dishes, Cao Guixiang stood by the window and explained, “Xiao Qin, do you think your radish cutting these days was bad?”

Qin Huai nodded honestly.

“Yes, it wasn’t great,” Cao Guixiang agreed. “But you can’t blame yourself entirely. That’s your current level. You simply can’t cut better yet—or you wouldn’t need to practice cutting radishes.”

“Then what do you think you’ve improved?”

Qin Huai thought for a moment. “I corrected a lot of habits.”

“At first, I felt like I didn’t even know how to hold a knife or cut properly. Now I’ve gone back to knowing how—and doing it correctly.”

“Exactly,” Cao Guixiang nodded. “That’s enough.”

“I just wanted to fix your bad habits. Knife skills are fundamental. When I was apprenticing, a red-cooking apprentice wouldn’t be allowed near a wok without three to five years of cutting practice. Even geniuses have to spend years patiently cutting.”

“Knife work can’t be rushed. But I believe you’ll learn faster than most chefs because you already have a foundation—you can transfer skills across disciplines.”

“But even with a foundation, you still have to start with radishes.”

“I’ve already corrected your bad habits. You now know the right path. You’re on it. What remains is what you did when you first learned pastries—daily, repeated, high-volume practice.”

“At this stage, there’s nothing more I can teach you. More advanced techniques, meat handling—all of that comes later.”

“For now, just cut radishes well. When you feel you’ve improved a lot, or when your radish cutting starts to look beautiful, we’ll begin the second stage of hands-on teaching.”

The meaning was clear:

The first stage of training was over.

The crash course had ended. From here on, Apprentice Xiao Qin would be going home to do self-study.

“I remember you said there were six cutting boards. Each one you damaged…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Cao Guixiang waved her hand, glancing helplessly at Zhang Chuy washing dishes in the kitchen. “I originally thought, with your practice volume, you’d break them in three or four months.”

“But somehow, my old Zhang used such good wood… It’s fine wood, just…”

“You can just send me photos of your radish cutting after you go back to Shashi. Videos are fine too if you have time.”

“No need to worry about the cutting boards.”

“And don’t worry about the unfinished molds—I’ll have my old Zhang mail them to you.”

“Your friend is opening a hand-squeezed lemon tea shop, right? I have a few fruit tea recipes. I’ll write them down for you later. I don’t really drink those things, but Qingqing likes them—I experimented with them before. The only issue is cost is a bit high, so I’m not sure if they’re profitable for a shop.”