AGN -Chapter 355 Losing Oneself in a Chorus of Praise

The Yunzhong Canteen was busy in the early morning.

Of course, it hadn’t always been this busy. But ever since Qin Huai went to Guangdong Province for further training, the mornings at Yunzhong Canteen had become increasingly hectic.

The apprentices from Zhiwei Residence had suddenly exploded with “top-tier grinder” energy. Without reason, without purpose, and without warning—they all started grinding hard.

At Zhiwei Residence, extending working hours was only the first step of “grinding,” but also the fastest way to start grinding.

When Qin Huai was around, he repeatedly instructed everyone not to come in too early to work overtime. As a result, the apprentices had been somewhat suppressing their nature.

You had to know: a normal Zhiwei Residence apprentice usually lived within five minutes of the workplace. Out of 24 hours a day, after 8 hours of sleep, 1 hour of eating, and 1 hour of rest, they practically wanted to spend every remaining second working.

Working 14 hours a day, 365 days a year without rest was absolutely not rare at Zhiwei Residence. Many apprentices, when they first arrived, were so afraid of falling behind and being eliminated that they didn’t even have time to call home. Their families would even travel long distances, worried something had happened, just to confirm whether their child was still breathing—such cases were everywhere.

After all, if you spent an extra half hour calling home every day, you would be half an hour less hardworking than others. Half an hour less per day meant 15 hours a month, 182.5 hours a year.

How were apprentices eliminated? Why did the master chefs choose others but not you? Wasn’t it simply because you worked 182.5 hours less than others in a year?

Right, Pei Xing?

And it might not even be just 182.5 hours. Eight hours of sleep a day was normal human sleep. Some particularly energetic apprentices at Zhiwei Residence didn’t even need a full 8 hours—like Gu Li, who only needed 6 hours a day.

As Tan Weian put it, since everyone was always grinding, when meal time came, he felt like his coworkers had turned into prison inmates. Everyone was racing against time to call their families or people they wanted to contact during the precious meal break—it felt like visiting hours. A guy like him, who only worked 10 hours a day, felt completely out of place.

If he weren’t a shareholder, he would have wanted to eliminate himself.

For most Zhiwei Residence apprentices, coming to Yunzhong Canteen for exchange felt like a vacation.

The workplace was close, working hours were significantly reduced, but efficiency didn’t drop. Feedback from master chefs—once something they could only look forward to—was now available every day. It was practically within reach.

The team leader, Tan Weian, was a bit of a mascot and figurehead, but he was a good person and actually quite skilled—a very nice leader.

The deputy leader, Su Qian, didn’t even need mentioning: he was the undisputed future disciple of Master Zhou, a genius-type grinder with strong connections, combining talent, hard work, and “relationship advantage” all in one. He was the backbone of the younger generation at Zhiwei Residence, with extremely strong leadership and planning abilities—an action-oriented person.

With leaders like these, the apprentices could practically laugh themselves awake in their dreams.

But what truly made them happiest wasn’t even that. It was that at Yunzhong Canteen, they were no longer the lowest tier—no longer errand runners, apprentices, or background extras who occasionally had to do chores while learning skills. They were proper pastry chefs.

Not nameless “little x,” but “Chef XX” whose surname—and even full name—would be remembered by customers.

For the customers at Yunzhong Canteen, although these apprentices were far inferior to Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan in skill, and most were also not as good as Pei Xing and Li Hua (after all, those two were graduates), they were still much better than Chen An and Qin Congwen.

Most importantly, they could do a lot of things, had a wide range of skills, produced large quantities, and were responsive to requests.

As long as customers remembered their names, praised them a little at the right time, and said things like “I want to eat this” or “it would be great if this were available in the morning,” or “if I could eat Chef XX’s breakfast I’d be so happy today,” these newly minted pastry chefs would happily work overtime to satisfy them.

What were Yunzhong Canteen’s customers best at?

Of course—providing emotional value. They had already trained this skill thanks to Zheng Siyuan.

Because of this, during Qin Huai’s absence, the apprentices had started coming earlier and earlier every day, and the Yunzhong Canteen breakfast scene had returned to its peak glory. It couldn’t all be blamed on these “grinders.”

Customers like Xu Tuqiang, Grandma Ding, and Grandpa Qian bore undeniable responsibility.

The above was what Qin Huai discovered when he arrived at the canteen a little after 7 a.m.

The kitchen was packed with people, and the shelves were filled with a dazzling variety of breakfasts from all over: fried dough cakes, stuffed pancakes, scallion pancakes, Hu spicy soup, sesame balls, lamb stewed noodles, mixed noodles, fried rice noodles, hot dry noodles, wontons, shrimp dumplings, and rice noodle rolls—everything imaginable.

For a moment, he was so shocked he thought the canteen had been bought out and turned into a breakfast expo.

Su Qian, knowing Qin Huai disliked employees coming in early, took responsibility immediately, saying it was his management mistake.

The regular elderly customers, seeing their beloved Chef Su take the blame, couldn’t bear it and quickly stepped in: No! It wasn’t Chef Su’s fault—it was all our doing!

After a series of chaotic explanations and discussions, Qin Huai finally understood the situation while eating a steamed bun.

He didn’t know what to say for a moment.

Honestly, he felt no one was really at fault. The problem was mainly his. He had forgotten to remind Su Qian not to be fooled by the sweet talk of the elderly customers—they were far too good at charming pastry chefs!

Even Zheng Siyuan had fallen for them before, and even now he still occasionally got lost in their endless praise.

Since he didn’t know what to say, Qin Huai simply chose not to speak. He silently swallowed the bun and asked, “Who made this soup dumpling?”

A Hu apprentice who now had a surname eagerly raised his hand.

“I made it, Chef Qin! I made it! It came out of the steamer at 7:11—the temperature should be just right!”

Qin Huai nodded slightly.

“The temperature is indeed quite good. Your wrapping technique has improved too—at least it looks very nice, much better than your soup dumplings on the second day.”

The apprentice almost gasped in excitement. He didn’t expect Qin Huai to remember what he made on his second morning.

“However, the skin still has issues. I remember I told you on the second day: soup dumpling skin needs to be thin yet elastic. You only achieved elasticity; it isn’t thin enough. If it’s not thin, the texture suffers, and it doesn’t look translucent. The soup you worked so hard to bring out during steaming will also feel ordinary.”

“Keep practicing—focus on kneading dough.”

“If you don’t understand, you can ask Pei Xing. His kneading is quite good.”

“Yes, Chef Qin!” the apprentice shouted, almost tearing through the ceiling.

Qin Huai finished the last soup dumpling, smacked his lips, and while listening to the elderly customers recount the truth behind the recent “grinding craze,” he had already eaten small portions of three-treasure buns, osmanthus cakes, shrimp dumplings, meat pancakes, and soup dumplings.

Naturally, these were all “Chef Qin special tasting portions”—just a bite or two each.

What apprentices at Zhiwei Residence hated most was that Qin Huai and Qin Luo, the siblings, did not share the same appetite. If Qin Huai had Qin Luo’s appetite, the apprentices wouldn’t just wake up smiling in their dreams—they would actually wake up laughing.

Qin Huai felt he needed to get some shumai.

Not Gu Li’s golden-thread shumai—Gu Li was very consistent and didn’t like experimenting. He made the same pastries every day. Before Qin Huai went to Guangdong, he had eaten golden-thread shumai and ruuyi rolls every day and was already a bit tired of them.

Gu Li had already received enough feedback from Chef Qin; at his current rate of progress, Qin Huai didn’t need to taste-test him for half a month.

If he remembered correctly, there was someone else who loved making shumai…

Who was it?

Qin Huai narrowed his eyes in thought for two seconds.

Then he remembered.

Pei Xing!

Speaking of Pei Xing, even Qin Huai wasn’t sure what exactly his hobby was.

Before the Zhiwei Residence apprentices arrived, Qin Huai had never noticed that Pei Xing loved making shumai so much. Pei Xing’s specialty was clearly layered pastry techniques, overlapping almost entirely with Su Qian’s skill set. Yet ever since the apprentices arrived, the dim sum Pei Xing made every morning had become shumai—lots of it too—and the taste was only so-so.

What’s more, at first this guy flat-out refused to admit he was the one making the shumai. But later, even though he kept denying it, he still made it every day. Qin Huai didn’t even need to guess anymore who was responsible for the shumai that couldn’t be finished in tastings and ended up all being fed to Ou Yang.

Speaking of which—where was Pei Xing?

Why wasn’t he around? According to normal narrative logic, he should be in a corner gritting his teeth right now. If it weren’t for the fact that Qiu Jing’s hospital didn’t have a dentistry department, Qin Huai even felt like handing Pei Xing a couple of checkup cards so he could go to Qiu Jing’s hospital and get his molars examined—he might bite so hard he’d break his teeth at this rate.

Was Pei Xing off today?

Qin Huai stretched his neck and looked around the kitchen corners, finally spotting Pei Xing near the shelves, quietly searching for ingredients. He had a faint “dead-inside” aura on his face.

If you had to describe Pei Xing’s mental state over the past few days in two words, it would be: numb.

In one sentence: I’m tired, just destroy everything.

If in the first few days after the Zhiwei Residence apprentices arrived, Pei Xing still thought of using his graduate-level skills to crush them, then after Qin Huai went to Guangdong and the apprentices began to fully “let loose,” Pei Xing had already given up.

He couldn’t compete. He really couldn’t compete at all.

Heh, hilarious. If they hadn’t really started grinding like crazy, Pei Xing would have almost forgotten how, as a half-“relationship admission” graduate, he himself had once been eliminated from Zhiwei Residence.

Forget it. No more grinding. Do whatever makes you happy. Grind away—who could out-grind you people anyway? You all already ran away from Zhiwei Residence because you couldn’t handle it, and now you’ve come all the way to Shan City to continue grinding here?

What, is Yunzhong Canteen really that good a job? Worth abandoning Zhiwei Residence just to come here and compete?

…Well, actually, it really is pretty good.

Wuwuwuwu.

What to do? He really couldn’t compete. These people were insane. Too much. Too grind-obsessed. Were they even human?

No wonder they stayed at Zhiwei Residence for so long—if they liked staying there, then stay there! Was it easy for him to find a decent job? Why come here and steal his rice bowl?!

During this period, Pei Xing had already fallen into despair. He no longer thought about promotions, raises, achievements, or glory. Forget about “crushing Li Hua” or “defeating An Youyou”—those were now luxuries.

He didn’t even bother clenching his teeth anymore.

Too tired. Can’t even bite anymore.

In fact, he had even started considering writing a resignation letter so that if he got fired, he could just throw it out and say: I didn’t get fired—you’re wrong, I simply didn’t want to work here.

Even on Qin Huai’s first day back, Pei Xing didn’t rush over like others. He just quietly stayed on the side doing his own work. Of course, he wasn’t giving up—he just didn’t want Qin Huai to see the faint “dead energy” on him… and the shumai he made today.

Yes, he was still making shumai.

“Pei Xing, are we missing any ingredients in the shop? If so, tell Huang Xi and have her call the supplier.”

Qin Huai noticed him by the shelves and asked.

Pei Xing: !

Chef Qin called me! He has me in his heart! I’m not getting fired!!

He instantly brightened up, all “dead energy” gone. He became energized and even a bit excited as he walked over.

“No no, nothing’s missing!”

“You made shumai this morning? Haven’t had yours in a while. Let me see if you’ve improved.”

Pei Xing: !!

Chef Qin even knows I’ve been making shumai these days! He’s been silently observing me! He even wants to know if I’ve improved—he really cares about me!!

Hahahahaha! What Zhiwei Residence apprentices? What Su Qian? What Li Hua? What An Youyou? What do you all have to compete with me?!

Hahahahahaha!

“I made it! I made it! It was steamed at 7:13, just perfect for eating now!”

He happily went to fetch the shumai, almost bouncing as he walked.

Li Hua & Chen An & An Youyou: …

An Youyou was confused. “Wasn’t Chef Pei in a bad mood these past few days? He even looked unwell earlier—I thought he was sick. Why did he suddenly recover?”

Chen An turned to Li Hua. “We tried comforting him for days and it didn’t work at all. Chef Qin said a few words and he’s fine?”

Li Hua said calmly, “That’s how it is.”

“I told you, no need to persuade him. He’ll be fine once Chef Qin comes back.”

While they were whispering, Pei Xing had already flashed back with freshly steamed shumai and placed them in front of Qin Huai. Qin Huai picked the smallest one and took a bite.

Mm. Pretty average.

The wrapper was slightly too firm—not a big issue, but nothing special. Heat control was mediocre, nothing stood out. As for the filling… same old problem. Pei Xing always had this issue with shumai, and even though he had been told many times, he never changed it. Qin Huai really didn’t understand why he liked making shumai so much.

He explained a few points clearly and simply.

Pei Xing nodded enthusiastically the entire time, eyes shining.

To anyone watching, it looked less like criticism and more like praise.

Pei Xing returned to re-evaluate his work in high spirits.

Qin Huai finished his morning tastings, and the Zhiwei Residence apprentices around him dispersed to their own tasks.

He then leaned over to Zheng Siyuan and asked quietly, “When is Zang Liang coming? Same as before, around 8 or 9?”

“Probably,” Zheng Siyuan wasn’t sure. “Maybe a bit earlier since you’re back today, but he’s likely still asleep.”

“Why? Something urgent?”

Qin Huai grinned. “Not urgent.”

“I just got back from training with Chef Cao.”

“One person missing would be a shame. I can’t wait to show you, Zang Liang, and Tan Weian my results this time.”

“Honestly, you might not believe this, but my knife skills and heat control have improved so much it’s almost scary—even I’m a little afraid of it.”

Zheng Siyuan: ?

Knife skills and heat control?

Weren’t you supposed to be training in thickening techniques?