AGN -Chapter 334 Let Me Demonstrate

When it came to buying plane tickets, Zang Liang was unquestionably a man of action.

He showed up at Yunzhi Canteen by noon the very next day.

In fact, he came dragging his suitcase with him. Chen Huihong hadn’t expected him to arrive so early, so the air purifier in the room prepared for him hadn’t even been fully set up yet.

By the time Zang Liang arrived, Qin Huai was still slicing radishes.

Since Qin Huai had already gone to sleep when Tan Wei’an replied to his message the night before, he hadn’t informed everyone in the work group that a new exchange trainee would be coming today. He had only briefly mentioned it to Huang Xi after arriving in the morning, so most of the staff at Yunzhi Canteen had no idea who Zang Liang was, why he was coming, or what he was here to do.

And Zang Liang, without a doubt, was the sociable type.

He dragged his suitcase up to the glass window, greeted Qin Huai through it, then stuck his head into the kitchen to ask Tan Wei’an where the changing room was and whether there was a work uniform for him. After that, he wheeled his suitcase into the changing room, got dressed, and promptly charged into the kitchen to watch Qin Huai slice radishes.

The whole sequence flowed so smoothly that anyone who didn’t know better would think he was a regular employee who had just returned from a business trip and rushed straight back to work after landing.

Pei Xing was dumbfounded.

As a semi-connected insider himself, he could tell at a glance that Zang Liang was the same kind of “well-connected, formally trained insider” as he was.

“Who’s this guy? Does Zhiweiju have someone even more connected than Tan Wei’an now? He just parachuted straight in!” Pei Xing whispered to Li Hua. If his whisper hadn’t been so sharp, it might not have revealed how shaken he was.

“No idea,” Li Hua shook his head. “If even you don’t know him, how would I? I’m just a regular apprentice graduate. Let’s just focus on our own work.”

Pei Xing nearly ground his teeth to dust. “Of course you’re fine—none of the new apprentices from Zhiweiju who overlap with your specialty are better than you!”

“I specialize in the exact same things as Su Qian, and Chef Qin didn’t even eat the siu mai I made this morning!”

Li Hua: “…Why do you insist on making siu mai?”

His expression practically screamed: Do you really think your siu mai can compare to Gu Li’s golden-thread siu mai?

“Because siu mai is what I’m best at for breakfast,” Pei Xing said.

Li Hua sighed helplessly. Considering they had worked together for months and that Pei Xing was decent, not as competitive, and rather simple-minded (and thus easy to persuade), he offered a friendly reminder:

“You can’t think like that. It’s not about what you’re good at—it’s about what Chef Qin likes.”

“I remember your char siu buns are decent. If nothing else, make those.”

“And it’ll help you practice your dough fermentation.”

Meanwhile, Tan Wei’an and Zang Liang had already struck up a conversation.

As Zang Liang chatted about the usual gossip they could’ve just as easily discussed over WeChat, he also watched Qin Huai slicing radishes from afar. Seeing Qin Huai chatting on his phone while steadily slicing fine radish threads—and noticing how much his knife skills had improved compared to the last time in City A—he couldn’t help but exclaim:

“Damn, how many hours a day is Qin Huai practicing his knife work now? Is he planning to switch specialties? His improvement is seriously obvious. Last time I saw him, his radish strips were still kind of crooked—now they look like a proper apprentice’s work!”

Tan Wei’an had long since gotten used to it. “If you’d tasted his four-happiness tangyuan before the New Year, you’d be even more shocked… Oh right, you already had them in City A.”

At the mention of the tangyuan, Zang Liang smacked his lips, his face full of fond memories of that birthday banquet.

“Seriously, that tangyuan—let me tell you—I never even liked tangyuan before. But that one? Oh my god, it was insane. Absolutely incredible!”

“My master was already full that day, and he still forced down two more. Tell me that’s not impressive! It was the first time I’ve ever seen him eat himself that stuffed!”

Tan Wei’an: ?

Where did you even learn to flatter like that?

Qin Huai’s tangyuan were good, but not that exaggerated, right? Come on—are you really dragging your master’s reputation into this just to flatter someone?

Does Master Zang even know about this?

Looking at Zang Liang’s completely sincere expression, Tan Wei’an felt like he no longer recognized his old friend. Your level of flattery is making me uncomfortable.

“So when do we start making the crab roe sauce?” Zang Liang asked.

“We can start now,” Zheng Siyuan suddenly said from the side, having been quietly listening all along. “I’ll handle the seasoning—you do the thickening.”

“Deal.” Zang Liang was already eager. “Not to brag, but I’m not just good with knife work—I’m also pretty solid at thickening sauces. Tan Wei’an already told me about your requirements yesterday. It’s a bit tricky, sure, but don’t worry—leave it to me.”

Zheng Siyuan simply nodded. “Alright, let’s begin.”

At the same time, Cao Guixiang, who had been chatting with Qin Huai, suddenly smiled and said, “Xiao Qin, having trouble with the thickening, so you called in outside help?”

Qin Huai hadn’t expected her hearing to be so sharp—she could even catch Zang Liang’s bragging over the phone.

Well… to be fair, Zang Liang was pretty loud.

Qin Huai smiled, his hands still working. “We tried the method you taught us yesterday, and it does help. After tasting it, I also think that kind of crab roe sauce works better for buns. But your requirements for thickening are too high—we white-dough chefs can’t quite manage it. Luckily, a friend who’s skilled in hot dishes was willing to help, so we invited him over.”

Cao Guixiang grew interested. “What cuisine does your friend specialize in?”

“Huaiyang cuisine.”

A meaningful smile appeared on her face.

“Then he’s got quite a bit of practice ahead of him.”

“Huh?” Qin Huai was startled.

“For a Huaiyang chef to achieve the kind of thickening I described, he might find it a bit… incompatible with his background. A Shandong cuisine chef might handle it better. You’re not familiar with thickening techniques, Xiao Qin—you don’t understand the intricacies or the difficulty.”

“This kind of thickening is just like the cold sea cucumber recipe I gave you. It looks simple, but when you actually make it, you’ll find the result isn’t quite right. Even being slightly off will make a big difference in the final product.”

Qin Huai smiled bitterly. “Then aren’t you making things difficult for us, Master Cao? I don’t even have any friends skilled in Shandong cuisine.”

Cao Guixiang chuckled. “Who said you don’t? I know a bit of Shandong cuisine myself. Haven’t you noticed how quickly your knife skills have been improving lately? I’d say in at most two weeks, you should come back to Qiu County and let me check your progress.”

“When the time comes, you make the request, and I’ll handle the thickening.”

“But let’s make one thing clear—when the double crab buns are ready, I want the first taste. I’ve never had buns made with both crab roe and sea cucumber. If I’d known such buns existed in Suzhou, I would’ve gone there when I was young.”

Zhang Chu muttered from the side, “Back then we were so poor we couldn’t even afford a train ticket back to Beiping. We had to borrow stamps just to send letters—and you’re talking about going to Suzhou for fun?”

Cao Guixiang shot him an annoyed glance. “Just pick the beans properly and stop thinking about fishing all day. You barely catch anything anyway. Yesterday’s rain was so heavy and you still went out with an umbrella—now look, you’ve caught a cold. Stay home and rest. If you’re bored, make a couple more molds for Xiao Qin.”

“Xiao Qin, are you getting used to the molds Zhang made for you?”

“Very used to them,” Qin Huai quickly replied. Zhang Chu’s woodworking skills were beyond question. “I’ve just been busy lately and haven’t used them much.”

“That’s normal. Learning cooking can’t be rushed—it has to be step by step. Focus on what you want to do first. Build a solid foundation before worrying about techniques like hand skills, thickening, or wok tossing. Those are just the finishing touches. A strong foundation is what really matters.”

“See? The moment we started talking about something substantial, you lost focus again. Those last two radish strips you cut weren’t as good as the previous ones.”

Qin Huai: …

He could only refocus and continue slicing.

While Qin Huai concentrated on his knife work, Zang Liang, unsurprisingly, ran into trouble.

Admittedly, Zang Liang’s thickening skills were better than Zheng Siyuan and Tan Wei’an combined. After all, he was a professionally trained hot-dish chef with solid fundamentals. Though his earlier words had some bragging mixed in, his skills were indeed quite good for a Huaiyang chef.

Thickening is a technique that requires strong fundamentals and extensive practice.

Zang Liang thought his skills were decent.

Sure, his movements weren’t flashy or dramatic—not the kind you see in TV dramas—but everything else seemed fine.

He had met the requirements.

A light thickening. Done twice.

The purpose was to dilute the intensity of the crab roe sauce with starch water while also giving it a heavier texture—so that when used as a bun filling, it wouldn’t feel abrupt and would produce a better result after steaming.

Zang Liang didn’t think he lacked understanding. As far as he could tell, his interpretation of the crab roe sauce wasn’t off.

But both Zheng Siyuan and Tan Wei’an felt something was wrong.

Zheng Siyuan couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—it just wasn’t right.

He had made a large amount of crab roe sauce recently, and since he already knew how to make crab roe–based double crab buns, the more he practiced, the clearer his understanding became of what kind of sauce he needed.

He couldn’t explain where Zang Liang fell short.

But he knew—it just wasn’t it.

Tan Wei’an felt it wasn’t right because he truly understood crab roe dim sum.

From a chef’s perspective, he acknowledged Zang Liang’s skill. But from a diner’s perspective, he felt it just wasn’t good enough.

Zang Liang: …

“What, are all you white-dough chefs like this now? You don’t even explain the reason—just say ‘I feel it’s not right’ and brush me off?”

Left with no choice, Zang Liang grabbed Qin Huai—who had just finished slicing radishes—to judge.

Qin Huai came over very naturally, already holding a spoon.

Although he hadn’t made a single batch of crab roe sauce recently and his research on the double crab buns was mostly theoretical—plus some experience with cold sea cucumber—he had extensive tasting experience.

One bite was enough for him to tell whether the crab roe sauce was right or not.

If you asked him what exactly was wrong, Qin Huai could only say: he felt it wasn’t right.

That’s right—under Qin Huai’s leadership, the “double crab bun research team” had completely turned into the “feeling-based faction.”

Normally, during the research phase of pastry-making, if something feels off, you’re supposed to point it out, explain it, analyze it, and discuss it.

That’s the standard process—especially when multiple people are involved, since everyone has their own approach. Without clear reasoning, it’s hard to convince others and reach consensus.

Back when they were researching the mixed-fruit filling for the four-happiness tangyuan at Huangji, Zheng Siyuan and Zheng Da had nearly fallen out as father and son due to differing philosophies.

But now, the double crab bun research team clearly didn’t have that problem. All it took was one sentence: “I feel it’s not right.” No need to ask why—if you ask, the answer is simply “it’s a feeling.”

Whether you understand that “feeling” is your own problem. Those who get it, get it.

Qin Huai tasted all the batches of crab roe sauce Zang Liang had made, one by one. After more than ten seconds of silence, he said:

“I feel it’s not right.”

“See?!” Tan Wei’an immediately backed him up. “That’s exactly what I said earlier, but Zang Liang wouldn’t believe me.”

Zang Liang: ? When did you say that?

Still, Zang Liang respected Qin Huai. After all, he wanted to learn this elusive “feeling” from him.

“Then Qin Huai, where do you think it’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Qin Huai shook his head.

Zang Liang: ?

“It’s just… not quite right. It’s not the flavor or texture we’re aiming for. Of course, it’s better than what we made before, but we still haven’t found that exact feeling. You know what I mean? That kind of feeling… It’s probably still an issue with the thickening. Master Cao told me earlier that her requirements for thickening are actually quite high.”

Zang Liang: ??

Looking at the confusion on Zang Liang’s face, Tan Wei’an felt a sense of satisfaction, as if venting yesterday’s frustration. I thought you understood Qin Huai’s ‘feeling’ so well—turns out you only get part of it too.

“How about you try making it again and let me watch?” Qin Huai suggested.

“Sure.” Zang Liang agreed readily. He had come here to help anyway and was fully prepared to spend his days at Yunzhi Canteen thickening sauces until he was sick of it.

“But…” Zang Liang hesitated and glanced at Qin Huai. “Do you actually know what kind of thickening we’re aiming for?”

Qin Huai smiled. “I roughly have an idea.”

“Even though I don’t know how to do it myself, I watched Master Cao cook and thicken sauces during the New Year. I have a general sense of what she meant—what it should look like and what effect it should achieve.”

“You go ahead. I’ll watch from the side.”

“Alright.” Zang Liang nodded, preparing to give it his all and show them the skill of a professionally trained hot-dish chef.

The earlier steps were still handled by Zheng Siyuan—simmering the crab roe sauce until it boiled and released oil.

Zang Liang had already prepared the starch slurry.

Seizing the right moment, he made a smooth, stylish motion.

The slurry poured into the wok in one sweep. It might not look impressive on TV, but in real life, Zang Liang felt it was already pretty cool—something that would normally earn him a scolding from his master in the kitchen.

Adjust the heat.

Stir.

Perfect.

A flawless first thickening.

Zheng Siyuan took over the next steps—seasoning and stir-frying the sauce until it became fragrant, golden, and glossy with oil.

Soon, they reached the final stage.

Zang Liang held the prepared slurry again, waited for the right moment, and made another sweeping motion.

A bit too sweeping this time—the pour wasn’t perfectly even. Still, not a big issue; his movements were quick enough.

Stir.

Stir-fry.

Adjust the heat.

Done.

Zang Liang was quite satisfied with his performance. Aside from a small mistake in the second round, the first had been nearly perfect. If it were scored out of 100, he’d confidently give himself a 95.

“So? How is it?” he asked with confidence.

Qin Huai frowned slightly. “I don’t quite know how to describe it, but… when Master Cao thickens, her movements are more exaggerated than yours—larger in range.”

“Not exaggerated for show—just naturally so. Because she needs to move that way, so the motion has to be big.”

“And faster.”

“I don’t really understand thickening myself, but… maybe it’s because I don’t understand it that I feel like it shouldn’t be that hard.”

Qin Huai almost scratched his head again but forced himself to stop.

At that moment, he really hated how clumsy he was with words. He clearly knew what it should look like, but just couldn’t describe it.

He made a suggestion:

“How about this?”

“I’ll try to imitate Master Cao and do the thickening once for you. It’ll definitely fail, but you can at least get a sense of the state we’re aiming for.”

“If that still doesn’t work, I’ll ask Master Cao if she’s willing to demonstrate it over video. It’s not that she’s hiding anything—she’s been retired for years and doesn’t want to take on apprentices. I never asked before because I felt it might not be appropriate…”

Qin Huai didn’t finish his sentence, but Zang Liang understood.

It was only natural. A master has skills, but with no personal ties, there’s no obligation to demonstrate or teach them.

“I’ll demonstrate,” Qin Huai said. “Zheng Siyuan, could you handle the earlier steps again?”

“Sure.”

Zang Liang quietly moved over to Tan Wei’an and whispered, covering his mouth, “Is Qin Huai always like this? He doesn’t even know how to do it, and he still dares to demonstrate?”

Tan Wei’an replied calmly, “You’ll get used to it. Nothing he does surprises me anymore.”

“Even if he succeeds at thickening later, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Zang Liang: ?