AGN -Chapter 308 The Poorest Spirit Creature

After handing over the responsibility of making the three-delicacy buns and fermented rice buns to Zheng Siyuan, Qin Huai began cutting radishes.

Having not seriously practiced cutting radishes for the past two days, Qin Huai didn’t feel that his knife skills had obviously stagnated or declined like last time, but they were still somewhat affected.

For the first 20 minutes, his hands didn’t feel right.

As a master chef who couldn’t clearly describe specific techniques and could only say “you know the feeling,” Qin Huai placed great importance on “feeling.”

He believed that “feeling” was something very mysterious.

When the feeling was right, everything he did seemed to flow effortlessly, as if guided by some invisible force. But when the feeling was off, even if every step followed proper procedure and every detail was carefully controlled, the final result would still fall short of expectations.

Qin Huai was cutting radishes in front of his phone camera, slicing while trying to rediscover that feeling.

“What’s wrong, Xiao Qin? You seem distracted. Just got back from a business trip to City A and feeling tired? Don’t feel like cutting radishes? If you’re really tired, just cut less—half an hour is enough,” Cao Guixiang said with a smile.

Cao Guixiang was kneading dough.

Not dumpling dough, but bun dough. She planned to improve her family’s breakfast by making a batch of Northern-style pork buns, something she was theoretically very good at.

In reality, Cao Guixiang did have solid skills in dough work, and quite good ones at that. She wasn’t like Zang Mu or Tong Deyan, who were purely hot-dish chefs. Perhaps due to the times she grew up in, when she apprenticed, she learned a bit of everything.

As she put it, back in the old Beijing culinary circle, there was a “workaholic” senior who pushed everyone to extremes—after mastering hot dishes, he moved on to dough work, then from Shandong cuisine to Cantonese cuisine, eventually mastering techniques from all schools.

Under the influence of that senior, established chefs like Cao Guixiang’s master felt embarrassed if they didn’t know a bit of everything. So when she was learning, she picked up a little of all skills from her master.

Buns, mantou, zhajiang noodles—these everyday staples, Cao Guixiang knew how to make them all.

It’s just that in recent years, she rarely made pastries, and her dough skills had grown rusty. She had long retired from being a chef and usually just cooked simple home meals. With the time it takes to make buns and freeze them for daily steaming, it was easier to just grab a portion of rice rolls from the breakfast shop at the neighborhood entrance.

Recently, perhaps because she had been interacting more with Qin Huai, every time he practiced knife skills over video call, she would chat with him nonstop to distract him. Qin Huai’s life was very monotonous—besides pastries, there were customers, his younger sister, and friends. After talking so much about pastries, Cao Guixiang herself felt the itch to pick up her long-abandoned dough skills again.

At this point, Qin Huai couldn’t help but make a rather ruthless comment.

Even though Cao Guixiang wasn’t primarily a dough chef and hadn’t made pastries in years, the dough she kneaded still looked beautiful—better than Pei Xing’s.

Pei Xing, don’t listen—this is harsh criticism.

“I’m not tired, Master Cao. I just feel like I couldn’t find the right feeling earlier,” Qin Huai explained. “When holding the knife, it just didn’t feel natural—this way felt wrong, that way of applying force felt off. I had to adjust several times before it finally felt comfortable.”

“You just haven’t practiced enough to build muscle memory, so everything feels awkward,” Cao Guixiang said with a smile. “Many beginners have this problem—they want to get everything right in one go. But some things rely on understanding, some rely on practice, and some require both.”

“Xiao Qin, you once told me that when you teach others, you often can’t explain things clearly—you say it’s about feeling, strength, or finesse, but you can’t find the exact words. That’s exactly why.”

“Things that rely on insight can’t really be taught.”

“Take knife skills as an example. Last time you asked me how long you should keep cutting radishes—I didn’t know. You asked what level counts as ‘good’—I couldn’t clearly say either.”

“Is it good if you can slice radishes so thin they’re translucent like cicada wings? Of course.”

“Is it good if you cut radish shreds so uniform that they can be spread out and then reassembled into a whole radish? I’d say yes.”

“What about cutting them into neat cubes that can be stacked like building blocks? That also sounds fine.”

“But is practicing knife skills just about these things? Do chefs practice just to cut beautiful slices, neat shreds, or pretty cubes? Can’t machines do that?”

“If machines can easily achieve it, why do chefs spend years—sometimes decades—practicing day and night?”

“Because machines are dead, but cooking is alive.”

“When you truly cook a dish, when your skills are fully developed and your understanding is sufficient, you’ll know exactly what kind of ingredients you need—what thickness of slices, what length of shreds, what size of cubes.”

“Only when you reach that level will you truly understand how important knife skills are, whether in hot dishes or even dough work. You’ve just started practicing, but you already know how important they are—otherwise, you wouldn’t specifically choose helpers with good knife skills.”

“Sometimes, not being able to explain and only calling it ‘feeling’ isn’t a bad thing. If you can say ‘feeling,’ it means you’ve already sensed it. If others don’t understand, it means they haven’t reached that level yet.”

“There are many masters who can’t teach well, and even more who can’t express themselves. When I was learning, some masters couldn’t explain things at all and just forced their apprentices to practice endlessly—but without exception, they were all good teachers.”

Qin Huai was deep in thought. He even wondered whether Zheng Da’s poor articulation was actually because he had too much insight—so much feeling that he simply couldn’t put it into words. Maybe he wasn’t bad at speaking—maybe he was just too talented.

Just then, Cao Guixiang’s gentle tone suddenly turned stern, like a teacher who had been kindly chatting with you one second and then immediately caught you breaking rules the next.

“You spaced out again. You can listen to me, but your mind shouldn’t wander. Your attention wasn’t fully on the cutting board—if your hands hadn’t stopped just now, you’d have already cut yourself.”

“Seems like that business trip affected you. You really need a strict master watching you every day.”

Qin Huai: …

Helplessly, he said, “Master Cao, you’re setting traps again!”

Cao Guixiang smiled. “All’s fair in war.”

“Since you’ve stopped, come take a look at my dough. Oh, and is my phone camera not very good? Yours looks pretty clear—what brand is it? Send it to me, I’ll ask my son to get me a new one in a couple of days.”

Qin Huai quickly went over to look at the dough she had just kneaded.

At several cooking stations farther away, Zheng Siyuan was diligently working as “Little Master Zheng,” ensuring the desserts for the afternoon and evening went smoothly.

If nothing unexpected happened, his reputation would once again spread throughout the Yunzhong Canteen’s customer circle tonight.

Pei Xing and Li Hua were secretly watching Zheng Siyuan make pastries.

Neither of them was blind or foolish—they could tell at a glance that Zheng Siyuan was highly skilled, classically trained, with standard movements, proper procedures, and attention to detail.

At times like this, if they didn’t take the chance to observe and learn a bit secretly, they’d be doing themselves a disservice.

“I have a question,” Zheng Siyuan said, lightly pressing the fermented dough and glancing at Qin Huai, who was attending an online lesson in the distance. “Has Qin Huai been taking online classes like this recently?”

When Qin Huai was in class, no one in the kitchen disturbed him. They even deliberately kept their distance, leaving an empty space around him.

This wasn’t just to avoid disturbing him—it was also to make sure they couldn’t hear clearly what he and his teacher were saying, avoiding improper eavesdropping.

Pei Xing and Li Hua understood this basic etiquette. They had heard Qin Huai mention that Master Cao was highly skilled, and just because she was willing to teach Qin Huai didn’t mean she was willing to teach others.

In a kitchen, you could secretly learn by observing others’ movements—but you absolutely shouldn’t shamelessly listen in when a master was personally teaching an apprentice.

That would be considered extremely unethical, and decades ago, it would have been condemned by peers.

“Seems like it,” Pei Xing replied, not quite understanding why Zheng Siyuan asked. “We heard Chef Qin say that Master Cao is a retired senior chef from his hometown. They met during the New Year, and she thought his knife skills were too poor, so she’s been teaching him when she has time.”

At the end, Pei Xing added, “Master Cao is really a kind person.”

Zheng Siyuan nodded and asked, “Has Qin Huai’s knife skills improved a lot?”

This question was hard for Pei Xing and Li Hua to answer.

Although Qin Huai practiced knife skills every day, when he was actually working, he was rarely responsible for prep work like cutting ingredients.

At Pei Xing and Li Hua’s level, they could only tell that Qin Huai’s knife skills had improved—and quite noticeably at that—but it was still the kind of improvement you’d expect from a beginner. As for the finer details—whether his training methods were correct, how standard his grip was, or whether this level of progress was outstanding for someone his age—they couldn’t say.

Pei Xing hesitated for a long time, unable to answer. In the end, Li Hua, who was relatively better at knife work, said, “Chef Xiao Qin’s way of holding the knife is completely different from before.”

In other words, Qin Huai had abandoned his previous foundation and started over.

Zheng Siyuan was a little surprised.

But he didn’t say much. He simply nodded and continued making pastries. Only after finishing several batches did he wash his hands, go to the locker room, take out his phone, and send a message to his father, Zheng Da.

Zheng Siyuan: I’ve figured it out. Qin Huai’s knife skills teacher is a retired female senior. They met during the New Year—she appreciated his talent and had the time, so she’s been guiding him daily.

Zheng Siyuan: She’s very professional. She corrected his grip and made him start from the basics. You don’t need to worry about him being misled by some unreliable teacher.

Zheng Siyuan: I think this Master Cao is much more reliable than you—at least she’s willing to supervise Qin Huai’s practice for several hours every day through online lessons.

Zheng Siyuan: So stop overthinking and worrying. With Master Cao around, Qin Huai’s knife skills won’t be a problem.

Zheng Da, still vacationing in Sanya and not yet back, replied instantly.

Zheng Da: What do you mean “more reliable than me”? Is there anyone in this world who understands Xiao Qin better than I do? No matter how reliable that Master Cao is, she’s still a hot-dish chef. Xiao Qin is a pastry chef—what he needs is a professional pastry master like me to guide him.

Zheng Da: Even if Xiao Qin probably won’t take me as his master, I’ll always be his Master Zheng—the first Master Zheng!

Zheng Da: Keep investigating and report back.

Zheng Siyuan: Busy. Not investigating. Not reporting.

After sending that final message, Zheng Siyuan put his phone back in the locker and returned to the kitchen to continue working.

Zheng Da, who had sent three more messages but received no reply: …

This unfilial son!

Not only does he not take blind dates seriously, he can’t even do a proper job as a “war correspondent”—he stops working after gathering just a bit of information.

With no one to vent to, Zheng Da could only call his dear senior brother Huang Shengli to complain.

Huang Shengli, sipping tea, listened perfunctorily to his junior’s complaints and then asked a soul-searching question: “Didn’t you say you’d given up and didn’t want to be Xiao Qin’s master anymore?”

Zheng Da: “…Well, Qin Huai is about to go on Zhiwei again, isn’t he?”

“Even though he declined, Xu Cheng still reserved a permanent spot for him on Zhiwei! That’s something even I… I don’t have!”

At the end of his words, Huang Shengli could hear nothing but pure, intense, overwhelming jealousy.

Huang Shengli burst out laughing. “Doesn’t that just prove you’ve got no chance? Xiao Qin has already surpassed his teacher.”

Zheng Da: …

Zheng Da angrily hung up the phone.

Meanwhile, Qin Huai, still cutting radishes, had no idea that Zheng Siyuan had already finished his role as a “war correspondent” and gone on strike. He was chatting while continuing his work.

As he cut, a game notification suddenly rang in his mind.

“Ding! Congratulations to the player for completing the main quest [King of a Single Dish]. Rewards obtained: Popularity Boost +1000, [A Segment of An Youyou’s Dream].”

Qin Huai froze.

?

??

???

Whose dream?

An Youyou?!

Subconsciously, Qin Huai turned to look behind him. Seeing An Youyou happily frying radish cakes, no matter how he looked at her—whether carefully observing or rationally analyzing—she didn’t resemble a spirit creature at all.

There are spirit creatures this normal?

Compared to An Youyou, Chen Gong definitely looked like one.

Wait.

As a spirit creature, An Youyou was doing way too poorly—she was practically working for him.

Compared to her, even Qu Jing could be considered a wealthy and successful spirit creature.

Seeing Qin Huai suddenly freeze, Cao Guixiang asked, “What’s wrong, Xiao Qin?”

Qin Huai snapped back to his senses. “Uh… Master Cao, sorry, I need to go to the restroom first.”

With that, Qin Huai slipped away, leaving Cao Guixiang smiling helplessly.

Qin Huai dashed into the restroom, opened a stall, closed and locked the door in one swift motion, and immediately opened the game interface to check the compendium.

Another new entry had been unlocked.

The compendium now showed (8/12).

Name: An Youyou
Species: Unknown

Status: Awakening

Memory: 1/?

Dishes: None
Gifts: None

Her status was still “awakening.”

After thinking for a moment, Qin Huai decided the restroom was safe enough. Since the opportunity was here, he might as well check An Youyou’s memory right now.

It had been a long time since he last viewed a memory.

(As for Chen Gong’s memory… the author couldn’t write it and just skipped it.)

Qin Huai tapped [A Segment of An Youyou’s Dream] and selected “Yes.”

[Loading dream—]