AGN -Chapter 324 Exchange

After hanging up the video call, Qin Huai did not immediately call Cao Guixiang to continue the online class. Instead, he walked over to Zheng Siyuan, who was making fresh pork mooncakes, and silently watched him.

Seeing Qin Huai approach, Zheng Siyuan said without even looking up, “Thirteen minutes until the mooncakes are ready.”

“I’m not here for the fresh pork mooncakes,” Qin Huai said. After glancing at the dough molds, he changed his mind. “Alright… save one for me later.”

“Did you tell Tan Weian this morning that I needed new helpers?”

Just now, Boss Su had said that he heard from Tan Weian in the morning that Qin Huai needed helpers. Qin Huai had indeed said something similar earlier that morning—but that was in a private conversation with Zheng Siyuan.

It didn’t take much thinking to figure out that Zheng Siyuan must have deliberately told Tan Weian.

“I did,” Zheng Siyuan nodded. “Don’t you need helpers from Zhiwei Restaurant? Coincidentally, that place never lacks them. Every year, a large number of apprentices apply out of admiration. After being accepted, they start as general helpers doing odd jobs in the kitchen. If they show talent, they are taken in as disciples or named disciples by the senior chefs. If they fail to secure a master after a long time, most of them give up after three or four years and leave to find better-paying, more respectable jobs elsewhere.”

“Zhiwei Restaurant is a very traditional old-style banquet kitchen. All apprentices start from the basics, known for being hardworking and enduring hardship. That’s why even former apprentices are highly welcomed by other restaurants.”

“This training model has made Zhiwei Restaurant very famous. Although it’s just a restaurant, in a sense, it has disciples all over the country. Many white-staff pastry chefs in restaurants nationwide come from Zhiwei. Even Yunzhong Cafeteria has them—aren’t Pei Xing and Li Hua both from Zhiwei?”

“I know,” Qin Huai said. “But I still don’t understand why you specifically told Tan Weian about this. Isn’t that basically asking him to talk to Boss Su and request workers for me? That feels a bit awkward. I’m not even close to Boss Su—we’ve only added each other on WeChat.”

“You still don’t get it,” Zheng Siyuan said, stopping his work and deciding to properly explain the industry logic to Qin Huai, this self-taught, semi-professional cook.

“In this system, Zhiwei never lacks apprentices.”

“The helpers you want are demanding, but Zhiwei’s apprentices are already very high quality. Most of them meet your requirements—hardworking, diligent, and willing to endure hardship.”

“You’d be hard-pressed to find so many people like that anywhere else.”

“And Boss Su would actually be very happy to facilitate this kind of exchange, because it works.”

“The results are obvious. After Tan Weian and the others spent a few months at Huang Ji, their skills improved dramatically. Even someone like Tan Weian saw noticeable progress, let alone the ordinary helpers.”

“You might think that coming into the kitchen every morning, tasting pastries one by one, then giving feedback and guidance is perfectly normal and not troublesome. But that’s because you don’t have disciples. You have the time to guide chefs who have nothing to do with you.”

“For senior chefs at Zhiwei, they already have many direct disciples to teach personally. Those apprentices without talent, who were not chosen, are just ordinary kitchen staff. When they feel like it and are in a good mood, they might give a few pointers; when they’re busy, ignoring them is normal. For ordinary apprentices, getting even one piece of advice every three or four days from a master chef is already extremely lucky.”

“Tan Weian probably didn’t tell you, but during the New Year he kept bragging about how much his cooking improved during his exchange at Huang Ji. Many apprentices—even named disciples of masters at Zhiwei—regretted not fighting harder for the opportunity. They thought going there would just mean doing hard labor, but it turned out to be a pastry training program. If they had known, they would have fought tooth and nail to get in.”

Qin Huai: “……”

If it weren’t awkward to scratch his head in the kitchen, Qin Huai really would have done so, and said he truly didn’t understand these Zhiwei-trained chefs.

Are they really that obsessed with competition?

He couldn’t help but glance back at Pei Xing and Li Hua, who were quietly working.

No wonder these two were eliminated—compared to the real “overachievers” from Zhiwei, they really weren’t that competitive.

“You just never mentioned it. If you had brought it up even once when talking to Tan Weian, Boss Su would have packed up a batch of apprentices and sent them to Yunzhong Cafeteria the next day for training exchange.”

Qin Huai: “…I still feel like I might be taking advantage of this?”

“They pay their own transport, their own rent, and you don’t even need to pay wages,” Qin Huai continued. “Isn’t that basically free labor? Doesn’t that feel a bit wrong?”

Boss Su had made it very clear earlier—he would send people over, and Qin Huai wouldn’t need to handle anything, not even meals.

It was practically fully automated, nuclear-powered labor.

“You’re providing guidance,” Zheng Siyuan said. “Have you not realized yet?”

“Even though you’re very specialized, with your level, the pastries you make, and Chef Xu Cheng’s praise, even in Zhiwei Restaurant, you’re qualified to take disciples as a master chef.”

“For ordinary apprentices, getting daily guidance from a master chef is something to be thrilled about. Let alone you not paying them—some would even be willing to pay you monthly just for the opportunity.”

After hearing this, Qin Huai no longer felt awkward or worried.

The apprentices from Zhiwei were indeed hardworking, diligent, and professional. They were polite, efficient, and endlessly respectful—constantly thanking Chef Qin and apologizing for bothering him.

It was hard not to like them.

“Then I’ll message Boss Su later to finalize it. How many helpers do you think we need?”

Zheng Siyuan scanned the kitchen and counted the workstations.

“The Yunzhong Cafeteria kitchen is quite large—five to eight people. You’re short-staffed right now. Not many people, but efficiency isn’t high.”

“Tell Boss Su to send two or three who can handle themselves with some basic pastries, plus five regular apprentices. That way, even if both of us focus entirely on the Double Crab Bun research and don’t have time for other pastries, the cafeteria can still maintain normal pastry supply—just with slightly lower quality.”

“I’ll also have to make fewer buns and steamed buns.”

When Zheng Siyuan said this last sentence, he smiled faintly. Qin Huai could clearly see it—the relaxed expression of someone who had returned to a leisurely neighborhood bakery life, a Chef Zheng who no longer wanted to be overworked.

It was obvious that after a month of rest, he was struggling to adapt back to the intense workload.

Sure enough, increasing workload is something that has to be done gradually.

Qin Huai also reflected on himself internally. He shouldn’t have handed over both the three-delicacy buns and fermented rice buns to Zheng Siyuan all at once. The elderly men and women of Yunzhong Community were extremely skilled at flattering people depending on the situation. They had already figured out Zheng Siyuan’s personality long ago, and every day they would speak nonsense with open eyes, showering him with nonstop praise—praising him so much that his workload kept increasing day by day.

In the end, as expected, it was still Little Zheng who bore it all.

Qin Huai glanced at the elderly men and women sitting upright in the dining hall, all staring toward the serving window in unison, eagerly waiting for the fresh pork mooncakes to come out of the oven.

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely talk to Boss Su properly and try to get two more exchange students of Tan Weian’s level!”

“I’ll definitely bring Tan Weian over!”

Tan Weian’s “treasure bag” of recipes was full. He could pull out something impressive from time to time. Bringing him over wouldn’t just mean a good helper for making pastries—it would also make him a key member of the Double Crab Bun research team.

On top of that, Tan Weian had a good palate. During the tasting for the Four-Delicacy Soup Dumplings, he had already made great contributions. This time, he could also help taste-test the Double Crab Buns.

After the discussion, Qin Huai returned to the worktable, continued slicing radishes, and attended his online class with Cao Guixiang while telling her about what had just happened.

It could only be said that Zhiwei Restaurant truly was the most famous purely pastry-focused restaurant in the country. Even Cao Guixiang, who had retired many years ago and lived far away in Quxian, had heard of its reputation.

“If that’s the case, Xiao Qin, won’t you be going to Zhiwei Restaurant for an exchange for a month or two in the second half of the year?” Cao Guixiang became very interested in the exchange. “That’s a great opportunity. When I was learning cooking back then, people didn’t even have the chance to exchange like that.”

“Why not?” Qin Huai asked curiously. In his view, exchanging skills between chefs was very normal—and most chefs seemed quite willing to do it.

His previous exchange at Huang Ji had gone very well, and at the end he even received a large payment. It was both learning skills and earning money.

“Because of fear of stealing techniques,” Cao Guixiang said with a smile. “Back then, information wasn’t developed, and chefs rarely interacted. Each school or restaurant had its own signature skills and secret recipes. Some of those techniques were actually not very difficult—if someone deliberately tried to learn them, they could definitely succeed.”

“It wasn’t uncommon for an old restaurant to lose its secret recipe to others and end up declining and closing down. At that time, craftsmanship was a means of survival. Some masters were so afraid of teaching apprentices too well that they’d ‘teach the apprentice and starve the master,’ let alone exchanging skills between restaurants.”

“It’s not that people were overly suspicious either. I was born in a peaceful era, but my master and grandmaster lived in turbulent times. Life was unstable; no one knew if disaster would come tomorrow. People could only cling tightly to what they had, not willing to share even the smallest thing.”

“So if any master from another place took the initiative to exchange knowledge, it was like rain falling from a clear sky—everyone would be overjoyed and welcome them warmly.”

“Were there really such masters?” Qin Huai asked curiously.

“Yes,” Cao Guixiang nodded with a smile. “And quite a few. But most exchanges were superficial. Deep exchanges involving true family secrets and core techniques—I only know of one case.”

“That master was from my grandmaster’s generation. My master had seen him, but I never did. When I was learning cooking, I admired him greatly just from hearing my master talk about him.”

“When all the restaurants in Peking were guarding their secrets tightly, afraid of others stealing their techniques, Master Jiang Chengde from Taifeng Tower personally visited major restaurants in Peking to exchange skills. The first person he visited was my grandmaster.”

“At that time, it was unprecedented. He directly proposed exchanging his Jiang family’s signature techniques for my grandmaster’s Tan family cuisine.”

Hearing the name Jiang Chengde, Qin Huai was stunned. He naturally knew how legendary this chef was. Even to this day, he still couldn’t fully understand Jiang Chengde’s tutorial on hawthorn flower buns.

“Did your grandmaster agree?” Qin Huai asked quickly.

“Yes,” Cao Guixiang said. “My master said it was because my grandmaster set a good example first—promising that exchanged techniques would never be leaked—that others gradually followed. Eventually, other restaurant masters agreed to exchange and learn from Jiang Chengde. That’s how he was able to integrate knowledge from many schools and become the undisputed number one chef in Peking at the time.”

“Some people also say my master was the number one chef in Peking, but he himself said he didn’t deserve that title. He had seen the true number one’s skills and knew what it meant to look up to a mountain too high to reach. So he never claimed that title.”

“What happened to Jiang Chengde afterward? His descendants or disciples must have been very skilled too, right?” Qin Huai asked with emotion.

Cao Guixiang shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“After the war, when Peking fell into chaos, no one heard from him again. My master said he had seven sons, but all of them also went missing. At least by the time I left Peking, there was no news of them.”

“Because of war and instability, the culture of exchange in Peking’s restaurants gradually returned to its old guarded nature. By the time I was learning cooking, exchanges only happened occasionally, and only between people with very close relationships or complete trust.”

“So Xiao Qin, you must cherish the opportunity to exchange at Zhiwei Restaurant. Many chefs would never even get such a chance in their lifetime.”

“You don’t have a formal master lineage, which is both a disadvantage and an advantage. If you did, others might hesitate during exchanges. But because you don’t, people like me, and the Huang chef and Zheng chef you mentioned earlier, are willing to teach you everything without reservation.”

“A blank slate is the easiest to teach. Otherwise, mixing too many different styles and philosophies can be dangerous—like in martial arts novels, you might go astray if you’re not careful.”

“I understand. Thank you so much, Chef Cao.”

“Don’t just thank me,” she laughed. “Next time you come back, bring me more pastries. Your Grandpa Zhang likes them.”

“Definitely!”