AGN -Chapter 288 It’s Too Delicious!

The staff in the back kitchen of Yunzhong Canteen were completely stunned from eating.

When they took the first bite of the tangyuan, because they had never tasted anything so delicious before, they could still gasp in surprise, whisper to coworkers, look up at Qin Huai with admiration, and blurt out endless “holy crap” reactions.

But by the time they ate the second tangyuan, many people had already fallen silent.

Everyone was eating randomly.

Some people had a sweet filling first, others started with meat filling. Unlike Chen Huihong—who had rich tasting and reviewing experience and knew the proper order—not everyone could follow the “correct” way to eat Four-Joy Tangyuan.

But that didn’t matter.

B-grade Four-Joy Tangyuan required attention to order.
A-grade Four-Joy Tangyuan? It just crushed everything regardless.

You could say: start with sweet, then savory, and end with sweet again—this way it won’t feel greasy, the layers are clearer, and flavors won’t mix.

But the Yunzhong kitchen staff would tell you—they weren’t afraid of flavors mixing.

Damn, when it’s this delicious, who cares about mixing?!

Meat filling? Delicious!
Red bean paste? Incredible!
Sesame sugar filling? It could beat Pei Xing’s sesame pastries into the ground.
Mixed fruit filling? Mooncakes with five-kernel filling, don’t ever contact me again—I’m afraid the tangyuan will misunderstand.

Order? Pairing? None of that mattered.

As long as it tasted good, that was enough.

Everything was in one bowl, all going into the mouth anyway. It didn’t need to be “paired” before eating—it could mix on its own in the stomach.

Having spent so long at Huang Ji, Qin Huai had gained a good understanding of the current state of Chinese cuisine—both savory dishes (hong’an) and dough-based dim sum (bai’an).

In one sentence:
Bai’an was weak.

Only Zhiweiju truly stood out. Beyond that, even if you asked Pei Xing or Chen An, they might not be able to name a second famous bai’an restaurant nationwide.

It wasn’t that there were no skilled masters—there definitely were. But in the restaurants they worked at, there was always a more famous hong’an chef overshadowing them.

Just look at the rankings of the Famous Chef List. Among the top 10 were Chinese chefs—Qin Huai vaguely remembered that the number one might even be working abroad. But the highest-ranked bai’an chef, Master Zhou from Zhiweiju, was only ranked 41st.

The decline of bai’an was a widely accepted fact.

And this meant that ordinary people like An Youyou and Chen An rarely had the chance to eat truly excellent dim sum.

Unless they happened to live in Hangzhou and regularly visited Zhiweiju, most of the pastries they ate daily might not even be as good as those mass-produced in Zheng Da’s factory.

Qin Huai wasn’t trying to insult Chen An’s skills—but honestly speaking, Chen An’s sponge cake wasn’t as good as factory-produced pastries.

Zheng Da’s business was successful not only because he was a good businessman, but because he truly understood pastries—deeply.

Compared to bai’an, it was much easier for ordinary people to eat excellent hong’an dishes.

Just go to a well-known restaurant.

Take Huang Ji as an example: when Huang Shengli was healthy and working, his signature dishes required extra payment or reservations. But regular dishes were cooked collectively in the kitchen—if you were lucky, you might “draw” a dish made by Huang Shengli.

The recent long queues at Huang Ji were due to being featured in “Zhiwei,” making it a limited-time viral restaurant. Normally, it wasn’t that crowded—just go early.

So as long as you did some research and were willing to spend a bit more, you could eat dishes made by top hong’an chefs.

In this context, Qin Huai’s A-grade pastries stood out even more.

They tasted far better than dishes of the same grade—because people had never seen or heard of anything like them, and didn’t know where else to find such food.

In many people’s minds, buns and steamed bread couldn’t compare to braised pork or pork knuckle. Buns were everyday breakfast—cheap and ordinary. Braised pork was a grand, carefully prepared dish.

But when buns became just as delicious—or even more delicious—than braised pork, everything changed.

The satisfaction doubled.
The surprise skyrocketed.

When something exceeds your expectations, you don’t just rate it 100—you elevate it to 120 or even higher.

Right now, the Four-Joy Tangyuan had been elevated to 150 points in the hearts of the Yunzhong staff.

An Youyou and Chen An had at least tasted Qin Huai’s cooking before. But many helpers hadn’t—even seeing him was rare.

After one bowl of tangyuan, Qin Huai was no longer just their boss.

He was a glowing boss.

A boss that made them want to cry and beg: “Boss, will this be our staff meal from now on? Please, boss, let us eat this every day!”

By the end, there were no more exclamations in the kitchen.

No sound at all—only silent chewing.

An Youyou even drank all the soup. If it had any flavor at all, she might have licked the bowl clean.

“Master Qin, it’s not even 5:50 yet—what should I do now?” An Youyou asked energetically.

Qin Huai glanced at the radishes she had cut.

He had only intended to casually teach her knife skills—not actually have her cut so much.

But her efficiency was too high. Since he hadn’t told her when to stop, she didn’t—she had already cut enough radish for all the radish cakes he planned to make that morning.

“Go help Chen An… wait, can you make tea?” Qin Huai asked.

An Youyou: …?

“I can! I can! Master Qin, I can make tea!” a not-so-familiar voice came from outside, getting closer.

Looking over, Qin Huai saw Pei Xing waving wildly at the kitchen door.

Qin Huai: ?

Do pastry chefs start work this early?
It’s just past 5 a.m.—Yunzhong Canteen doesn’t exploit workers like that, right?

“Master Qin, I can make tea! What would you like—Tieguanyin, Longjing, Pu’er, Lu’an Guapian, Phoenix Dancong, or…”

“Anything is fine. Use whatever’s available,” Qin Huai said.

“Got it!” Pei Xing replied excitedly, feeling like he had scored a point.

Haha, luckily he lived nearby—he had an advantage over Li Hua. He could set a 5 a.m. alarm and rush over on his electric scooter.

Watching Pei Xing make tea, everyone in the kitchen had the same thought:

It’s getting competitive.

The next second, everyone sprang into action.

Those with tasks worked harder. Those without tasks found things to do.

Seeing everyone so proactive, Qin Huai felt like he had regained his old presence as “Master Qin” in Huang Ji’s kitchen. If Pei Xing’s tea turned out well, the feeling would be even stronger.

Qin Huai returned to his station and continued making Four-Joy Tangyuan.

Although he had many pastries to prepare today, the tangyuan were the star.

This was their debut at Yunzhong Canteen—he had to surprise every customer and show that his months of training hadn’t been wasted.

That way, when he went back to Huang Ji for further training later this year, people wouldn’t feel as sad.

…

“Master Qin, this is the dough I kneaded—could you check if there’s any problem?”

At 5:57 a.m., Qin Huai had fully regained his identity as “Master Qin” in Yunzhong Canteen.

Pei Xing had just finished kneading the dough. As a pastry chef skilled in flaky and oil-based pastries, his dough was actually quite good.

He had formal training and strong fundamentals, with guidance from his distant relative Pei Shenghua. Judging from the dough alone, Qin Huai thought Pei Xing was better than Gu Li, though not as good as Tan Weian.

He was teachable.

In front of masters, Qin Huai was just “Little Qin,” an apprentice. But among peers, he was undoubtedly “Master Qin.”

“This is dough for peach crisp,” Qin Huai said at a glance.

He wasn’t very familiar with flaky pastries, but peach crisp was something Zheng Siyuan often made—he had seen it before.

“Yes,” Pei Xing nodded.

“I tasted your peach crisp yesterday. Sales haven’t been great lately, right?” Qin Huai asked with a smile.

Pei Xing lowered his head in embarrassment. “Yeah… not really. Among what I’m good at, peach crisp and basic pastries are easiest to produce in large quantities—cheap, high volume, but often left unsold.”

“I also wanted to practice more, so I…”

Qin Huai waved his hand. “I’m not criticizing you. I already noticed a small issue when I ate it yesterday.”

“For pastries like this, they usually smell amazing right after coming out of the oven, so they sell well. Eating them while hot can hide a lot of problems—but once they cool down, those problems show up, and they don’t sell as well.”

“Your peach crisp is fragrant and very crispy, but it’s too dry. The flaky crumbs fall everywhere when you eat it. I know this is common for this type of pastry—otherwise it wouldn’t be called peach crisp—but a good peach crisp shouldn’t shed this many crumbs.”

“I can’t say much about heat control—honestly, my control over heat might not even be as good as yours. But I can say a bit about the dough.”

“You didn’t knead the dough thoroughly. I don’t know if you understand what I mean. To me, your dough isn’t fully kneaded—it’s not obedient enough. The dough shouldn’t be too dense, and you can’t skimp on the shortening.”

“A good dough should feel beautiful and obedient the moment you let go of it—not something where you think, ‘This is fine, this is correct, this is passable.’”

Only when he started teaching did Qin Huai realize that Zheng Da’s lack of eloquence wasn’t entirely his fault.

Qin Huai looked at Pei Xing expectantly, hoping he could understand his abstract explanation.

Pei Xing was thinking it through.

After all, he had formal training, so he managed to grasp part of it.

“I understand now. Thank you, Master Qin!” Pei Xing said excitedly. “I’ll go try again right away!”

Qin Huai nodded, saying nothing more, nor asking what exactly he had understood.

People from Zhiweiju were like this—no matter how much they actually understood, they always gave strong emotional feedback to their teacher. Whether they truly got it would depend on what they produced next time.

Qin Huai glanced at Pei Xing. Seeing him already working energetically, he picked up the tea beside him and drank it in one gulp before continuing to make tangyuan.

Not bad—the tea Pei Xing brewed was quite good. As expected of someone formally trained—professional.

An Youyou watched from the side with envy and whispered, “When will I be able to be like Master Pei, getting guidance from Master Qin on kneading dough?”

Chen An, who was kneading dough, smiled. “After you finish cutting the radishes first.”

“Master Qin told me to stop cutting radishes. Does that mean my knife skills are too bad?” An Youyou asked, troubled. “Should I buy some radishes after work and practice at home?”

Chen An just smiled. “Hurry up and work. Old Xu and the others will be here soon.”

…

Chen An wasn’t wrong. Xu Tuqiang and the others were indeed coming—more accurately, they had already arrived, just didn’t dare to come in yet.

The regular customers of Yunzhong Canteen—especially the nearby uncles and aunties—strictly followed their self-imposed rules:

Don’t directly bother Master Qin.
Don’t bribe him with expensive gifts.
Don’t repeat incidents like Xu Tuqiang borrowing fermented rice buns last time.
And absolutely do not enter the canteen before 6 a.m.

Master Qin was such a good person. If these early-rising “overachievers” started competing over breakfast time—pushing it from 6:00 to 5:30, then to 5:00—how would he ever get any rest?

Don’t say things like “I’ll just go in early and sit without eating.” The moment you step inside, you’re already putting pressure on him.

So everyone agreed: no entering before 6 a.m.

Even if you arrived at 5:57, you had to wander outside for three minutes before going in.

At exactly 6:00, the crowd of eager uncles and aunties—who had been looking forward to this since yesterday afternoon, barely eating dinner in anticipation—streamed in.

Along with them came a few nearby office workers.

One of them was Xiao Zhang.

Xiao Zhang had never eaten breakfast inside before. When Qin Huai was around, he would just buy buns and leave. Later, after discovering group delivery, he would simply wait at his desk every day.

For overworked office workers, sleep in the morning was more important than anything. If they could sleep one more minute, they would. Unless it was heavenly delicacies, nothing could make them wake up hours earlier for breakfast.

But Xiao Zhang did.

He remembered what Master Qin told him yesterday—there would be a new item today, and it would taste better if eaten in-store.

He came prepared.

With money.

He planned to eat at least three Five-Ding buns this morning!

Standing in line with the uncles and aunties, Xiao Zhang kept peeking toward the counter, eager to see what the new item was.

In fact, the menu had already been updated: Four-Joy Tangyuan.

He overheard the people in front discussing it.

“Four-Joy Tangyuan for 68—pretty cheap. Huang Ji’s premium buns cost 56 each, and guo’er is 98. This is a whole bowl for just 68.”

“That’s not how you compare it. I think the premium buns taste better. I wonder if they’re selling them today.”

“Shh, keep your voice down. What if Master Qin hears you?”

“My bad, my bad. So are you getting the tangyuan?”

“Of course! Even if I can’t finish it, I’ll pack it and eat it later! Have you written your tasting notes? I’ve written 12!”

“I wrote 16!”

“My essays are longer!”

“I wrote 16!”

Watching the two elderly men nearly start arguing while waiting in line, Xiao Zhang felt like he didn’t understand the world anymore.

You had to write tasting notes just to eat tangyuan?

The standards for eating pastries were this high now?

Xiao Zhang smiled.

No problem—he wrote weekly work reports. He was good at this.

The line moved quickly, and so did the food service—it was all pre-prepared.

Soon, it was Xiao Zhang’s turn.

“Um… what’s available?” he asked, even though he had already seen what others were ordering.

“We have Master Qin’s Four-Joy Tangyuan and premium Three-Ding buns. The buns are 36 each, and the tangyuan is 68 per bowl.”

“We also have mung bean soup, soy milk, tea eggs, fried dough sticks, and siu mai. Tangerine peel tea will be available in about 20 minutes.”

Normally, Xiao Zhang might hesitate at these prices. But today, he was ready.

He hadn’t eaten Master Qin’s pastries for months. Sometimes, he even regretted not buying more Five-Ding buns before.

“One bowl of Four-Joy Tangyuan, two Three-Ding buns, and one tea egg. Thank you.”

He paid.

The food was served instantly. Xiao Zhang found a window seat and sat down.

First, the tangyuan.

This was the new item—Master Qin had specifically told him about it yesterday.

He was so excited that he didn’t even realize tangyuan were just large glutinous rice balls. He thought they were some unusual pastry.

He scooped up a mixed-fruit tangyuan and took a bite.

The filling—symbolizing blessings for a beautiful future—was rich in ingredients but not overly complex. It was dominated by walnut and almond flavors, with a strong sweetness from candied winter melon.

Xiao Zhang had never eaten candied winter melon before.

He had never eaten mixed-fruit pastries, nor even five-kernel mooncakes.

But he knew one thing—

This sweet glutinous rice ball was incredibly delicious.

The texture was great. The flavor was great. Everything was great.

For Xiao Zhang, this tangyuan was something entirely new, delicious, unique, and wonderful.

For a bowl like this, he felt he could sacrifice some sleep and wake up early.

At worst, he’d just skip using his phone at night and sleep earlier—then use his phone after breakfast instead.

It was just too delicious!

So delicious that even if your boss called a last-minute meeting five minutes before quitting time, you wouldn’t feel like punching them after eating this.

Delicious!