AGN -Chapter 343 Soup-Filled Yellow Croaker

After quickly finishing the Four Happiness Tangyuan, Apprentice Xiao Qin returned to his loyal kitchen.

The kitchen was filled entirely with washed radishes—box after box, leaving almost no room to stand. Cao Guixiang didn’t even step inside; she simply stood at the doorway watching.

“Once you finish cutting the radishes here and consolidate your practice, you can move on to the yams in the storage room,” Cao Guixiang said.

Qin Huai understood. Today was a day dedicated to practicing knife skills by cutting vegetables.

He had been cutting in his dreams last night, and upon waking, he seamlessly continued in the kitchen—clearly a more effective “treatment.”

Without hesitation, Qin Huai picked up his knife and began rapidly slicing radishes into shreds.

His speed was about the same as the night before—his knife fell fast, precise, and decisive, without the slightest hesitation. His movements were clean and efficient, the blade striking the cutting board with a steady, rhythmic sound.

The only difference was that this time, Qin Huai was consciously cutting radishes. It wasn’t like last night, when it felt as though his soul had ascended to a higher realm—his body cutting radishes while his spirit cultivated somewhere above in a strange, transcendent state.

Cao Guixiang pulled up a small stool and sat quietly at the kitchen doorway watching. Zhang Chu, experienced as ever, lounged comfortably on the sofa playing with his phone.

Of course, the phone was on silent.

The entire house was quiet, filled only with the sound of chopping. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on the floor and furniture, and also on Cao Guixiang’s hair, casting her face half in light and half in shadow.

Qin Huai stood facing the window in the kitchen, bathed in sunlight. Even the shredded radish on the cutting board looked especially translucent.

“Xiao Qin, stop shredding. Try slicing radish instead—make it as thin as possible,” Cao Guixiang said.

“Okay.” Qin Huai nodded and changed his technique.

He knew how to slice radish. Fundamentally, it wasn’t difficult—it was just the difference between shredding and slicing. The reason he had only shredded before was because his skill wasn’t refined enough; his slices weren’t thin enough. Forget “as thin as a cicada’s wing”—to make them translucent, he would practically need to shine a flashlight through them.

Shredding was relatively easier, with lower requirements. As long as the strands were uniform in thickness, it was acceptable—making it more suitable for practice.

Qin Huai began slicing.

First slice.

A bit thick.

Much thinner than before, but he knew he could do better—thinner and more even.

Without hesitation, he made the second cut.

Slightly thinner than the first, but still not his best.

Third slice.

The blade angle was slightly off—a mistake.

Fourth slice.

This one was good—thinner and more even than before—but still room for improvement.

Fifth slice, sixth slice…

He kept going, one cut after another, rapidly slicing. Mistakes didn’t matter—he continued cutting until he found the right feel.

Finally, as he was about to finish an entire radish, he sliced a piece he felt was extremely beautiful—about as good as he could manage in his current state.

He put down the knife, picked up the slice, and examined it carefully for a few seconds. Glancing back at Cao Guixiang—who was watching silently with a faint smile—he didn’t turn around. Instead, he raised the slice toward the sunlight streaming through the window.

The sunlight shone through the radish slice.

It was translucent—but not completely.

Semi-translucent.

It wasn’t a perfectly crystal-clear slice, but it was undoubtedly the best one Qin Huai had ever cut since he began practicing knife skills.

At least now, when he held it up, he didn’t feel a wave of despair at how terrible his knife work looked.

Cao Guixiang smiled in satisfaction. “You’re starting to feel that cutting a fully translucent radish slice isn’t such a distant goal anymore, right?”

Qin Huai nodded sheepishly.

“With your current level, practice for another ten days or so, and you’ll be able to cut slices as thin as a cicada’s wing—fully translucent.”

Qin Huai: …

Those words felt strangely familiar.

Not just familiar—he felt like he had said them himself somewhere before.

His eyes widened in horror as he stared at Cao Guixiang, his face full of disbelief, as if to say: If this is true, I might as well die—while we’re cutting radishes today, can someone just slice me up too?

“I couldn’t have…” Qin Huai didn’t dare face this terrifying possibility.

Cao Guixiang pressed her lips together, giving him a meaningful look. Her mouth twitched into a strange expression before she finally burst out laughing.

“Your Grandpa Zhang and I were really curious—what exactly were you dreaming about this morning?”

“How could you talk in your sleep so loudly? We could hear you clearly through the door.”

Qin Huai: …

=()

“I’m done. Just end me. Someone slice me into radish pieces.”

So that lingering shout he heard when he woke up—it hadn’t been in his head. It had really echoed out loud.

“Alright, I won’t disturb you anymore. Keep slicing radishes. Remember to slice, and pick up the pace—otherwise we won’t be able to have dinner on time tonight,” Cao Guixiang said with a smile.

Qin Huai quickly resumed slicing.

This was critical—no room for carelessness. If he slowed things down and delayed Cao Guixiang’s cooking, making dinner late, he’d truly become a sinner.

Two hundred jin of radishes—not a small amount, but not overwhelming either. At his previous speed, it would have taken nearly the entire afternoon.

But now that his knife skills had advanced from beginner to intermediate, his speed had improved significantly. And with Cao Guixiang not distracting him with conversation, his efficiency was even higher.

In the end, Qin Huai successfully finished slicing all the radishes before 4 p.m., clearing out the kitchen for Cao Guixiang to cook.

He stayed nearby to watch—and to rest.

Cao Guixiang even thoughtfully prepared a hot towel, in case two consecutive days of such intense cutting had strained his wrists and arms.

That evening, Cao Guixiang was preparing a grand feast.

Most of the dishes were ones Qin Huai had eaten before—such as steamed chicken with straw mushrooms, braised shark fin in brown sauce, braised duck liver, two-color prawns, Tan Family-style beef, braised pork with preserved vegetables, and golden broth bamboo shoots. Most of these dishes had been prepped in advance. If not for the delayed arrival of the Lüsong yellow shark fin, Qin Huai could have eaten this feast the night before. In fact, much of the preparatory work had already been completed days earlier.

Only one dish was made fresh from the main ingredient—and it was also the only dish Qin Huai had never tasted before.

Soup-Filled Yellow Croaker.

Knowing Qin Huai probably didn’t know what it was, Cao Guixiang explained it while cooking, much like Huang Shengli would.

In one sentence: Soup-Filled Yellow Croaker is a famous dish from the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast and also a classic dish of Shandong cuisine.

Since it’s part of the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast, the ingredients are naturally luxurious. Cao Guixiang had mentioned more than once that many famous and elaborate dishes aren’t necessarily difficult to cook, but their ingredient preparation is extremely complex and extravagant.

She knew many top-tier dishes, but rarely made them in daily life. Usually, she only prepared them during holidays or when Zhang Zhiyun and Chang Qingqing performed especially well in exams—as a reward for her grandson and granddaughter.

She admitted that these famous dishes deserved their reputation—the taste was excellent, with a very high ceiling. It wasn’t about cost; she simply found them too troublesome. Just preparing the stock alone could take several days.

If the family ate such luxurious dishes every day, the children wouldn’t feel rewarded anymore. Then they wouldn’t be motivated to study hard for a treat, and when the time came to reward them, there would be nothing special left to offer.

Cao Guixiang had her own unique philosophy for raising children.

Qin Huai agreed completely. Though he didn’t have children, he had a younger sister. Over the years, he had followed the same principle—delicious snacks couldn’t be eaten every day; their quantity and quality had to be controlled.

With Qin Luo’s personality, if she ate too many good things for too long, her standards would rise too much, and it would be hard to motivate her with food rewards.

Qin Huai watched as Cao Guixiang used chopsticks to remove the internal organs of a large yellow croaker.

For this dish, the fish needed to weigh at least two and a half jin—the bigger, the better. The main ingredient was the croaker, and the accompaniments included shark fin, ham, sea cucumber, abalone, shrimp, dried scallops, and dried shrimp—this was the full, premium version. A simpler version could be made by choosing only a few of these ingredients, but Cao Guixiang wanted Qin Huai to taste the best version right away, even using Lüsong yellow shark fin.

From the ingredients alone, it was clear the dish focused on one thing: freshness—the pure, oceanic kind.

After removing the innards, the entire fish had to be deboned.

Back when Qin Huai worked at Huang Ji, Huang Shengli often made elaborate dishes that required deboning—such as dismantled braised bighead carp head, braised whole pig’s head, and three-stuffed duck. These dishes heavily tested a chef’s deboning skills, which essentially came down to knife mastery.

At that time, Huang Shengli never avoided letting Qin Huai watch—but there was nothing to hide, because Qin Huai simply couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

Back then, his knife skills were only at a beginner level—because that was the lowest rating in the system.

Now, after a moment of enlightenment, his skills had advanced to intermediate level. So could he understand Cao Guixiang’s deboning technique?

The answer: not really.

For an apprentice still struggling to cut radish slices as thin as cicada wings and translucent, understanding how to debone an entire fish like this was far too difficult.

Cao Guixiang didn’t use any flashy techniques either. To Qin Huai, it looked like she simply inserted a small knife through the fish’s mouth into its belly, casually twisted it a few times, stood the fish upright, bent it slightly—

Crack, crack.

And just like that, the deboning was done.

Plain and unadorned—yet almost like magic.

Seeing Qin Huai’s confused expression, Cao Guixiang laughed and explained:

“These deboning methods aren’t really part of knife skills anymore—they’re more like techniques.”

“Deboning fish, whole chicken, whole duck, or pigeons all require different methods. They need practice. A chef must be careful—light when needed, firm when needed, decisive when needed. No hesitation, no dragging.”

“Of course, with your current knife skills, you can’t practice these yet. You need a solid foundation first. Right now, your skills are only at the entry level—not enough to reach the threshold.”

Qin Huai: …

So even intermediate knife skills only counted as “entry-level.” Truly the foundation of foundations. He decided to just stick to slicing his radishes.

After handling the fish, Cao Guixiang lightly marinated it. Qin Huai casually asked, “Master, how long does it need to marinate?”

“Not long—just two hours,” she replied.

Qin Huai: “? Aren’t we eating at 6:30 tonight?”

He clearly remembered that dinner was set for 6:30. Earlier than that, the kids wouldn’t be back from school; later, and they’d be so hungry they might start chewing on the kitchen door.

“Right, but this fish needs two hours to marinate—and that’s already short. After that, it still needs to air-dry for 12 hours,” Cao Guixiang said.

“…Huh?” Qin Huai was stunned.

Seeing his expression, she burst out laughing. “Alright, I’m teasing you. That’s for tomorrow’s fish. Today’s was already prepared yesterday.”

“That’s how red-cooked dishes are—the more famous and expensive they are, the more troublesome. Otherwise, I wouldn’t avoid making them. Spending over ten hours on one dish? I’d rather just make some braised pork and stir-fried vegetables.”

“I’d love to eat like this every day—but cooking like this every day? Then why would I have retired? I might as well go back to the restaurant and work a few more years—maybe even own the place.”

Qin Huai realized something—his master truly enjoyed teasing children… and she clearly still treated him like one.

“But Master,” Qin Huai said softly, removing the hot towel from his wrist, “why are you making so many elaborate dishes today? It looks really troublesome.”

“Because I’m the master,” Cao Guixiang said with a smile. “It’s standard practice—to show your skills, flex a bit, cook a great meal, and win over your apprentice.”

“And now that I’ve already ‘won you over,’ I should make sure you don’t feel like you were tricked for nothing.”

“I’m a conscientious master. You didn’t kneel or serve tea, and I won’t be giving you red envelopes during holidays—but at least you should get to taste some good food.”

She blinked playfully.

“Just don’t let it slip in front of Zhiyun and Qingqing tonight. Those two have loud voices—they cry like alarm clocks. At my age, even with bad hearing, it still hurts my ears.”