AGN -Chapter 358 Do I Really Have the Talent to Be a Master?

Since they were going to practice crab roe sauce, they naturally had to use Cao Guixiang’s specialty—her thickening technique.

Zang Liang secretly gave this thickening method a name: “Big Circle Thickening.” The idea was that the motion was very flashy, requiring a large circular stirring movement while thickening.

Qin Huai understood Zang Liang’s intention, and very considerately told him that it was a good name—but he should not name things like this again next time. As for “Big Circle Thickening,” they should just pretend it never existed.

At this point, someone might ask: hadn’t Qin Huai been frying yams at Cao Guixiang’s place for days? Didn’t he practice her unique thickening technique?

He did.

During those days, Qin Huai seemed to be just stir-frying yams and grinding his knife skills and heat control. And yes, he was indeed doing that—but fundamentally, what he was really practicing was thickening.

Thickening is not like knife skills or heat control, which are basic fundamentals. Thickening is a technique.

Cao Guixiang had said from the beginning that Qin Huai had never properly learned thickening, but by imitating her method, he had still picked up some of it.

Originally, he only had about 2–3 points of understanding—just imitation. But after Cao Guixiang broke down the technique for him step by step—like how she taught him knife grip—explaining the purpose of thickening, what effect it should achieve, when to use it, and how it differs depending on dishes and ingredients—Qin Huai had reached about 5 points.

Was 5 points enough?

For teaching Zang Liang—it was enough.

Qin Huai wasn’t really trying to become Zang Liang’s master. He was simply passing on Cao Guixiang’s techniques. Even if he didn’t fully understand them, he could still teach them, because Cao Guixiang had told him that if he got something wrong, he could always ask for help via video call.

So Qin Huai began his teaching.

He started directly with making crab roe sauce.

During Qin Huai’s absence, Zang Liang had been constantly making crab roe sauce every day. As the direct disciple of Huaiyang cuisine master Zang Mu, and a loyal believer in Qin Huai’s so-called “feeling-based cooking philosophy,” Zang Liang’s talent was unquestionable.

Definitely far above Tan Weian.

And as a master’s disciple, his ability to endure hardship was also unquestionable.

The apprentices at Yunzhong Canteen were famously hardcore—working more than ten hours a day practicing nonstop. But in the culinary world, this kind of intensity was not unique to them. Any disciple of a master—direct or named—worked extremely hard.

Especially in the early stages.

When Zang Liang first started learning cooking, he once cried and begged to go back to school. The hardship was imaginable.

He had also gone through those miserable days—cutting vegetables and practicing wok tossing until he cried, crying while still practicing. Even his dreams were filled with basic training, and he would wake up terrified—only to realize the nightmare was real, because he still had to practice after waking up.

So when someone like Zang Liang tried to find the “feeling” of crab roe sauce, he truly trained with full effort.

Recently, since Qin Huai had been away, the apprentices’ noodle-making skills weren’t as good, so selling crab roe mixed noodles wasn’t ideal. Yunzhong Canteen switched to selling crab roe sauce directly.

Compared to crab roe noodles, the sauce had very high value for money.

Huang Xi considered it a seasonal, limited product developed during the double-crab bun research period, not meant for long-term sale. So pricing was set at cost.

But once released, it was immediately snatched up by customers.

Old and new customers alike rushed to buy it.

Two bottles for you, three bottles for me—parents, partners, bosses, all got gifts.

Because of its taste and value, it was irresistible.

For many customers, this was the first time Yunzhong Canteen had something suitable as a gift product.

Previously, pastries spoiled too quickly to be given away. Only once had Chen Huichong’s younger brother Chen Yingjun ordered gift pastry boxes—but that was a one-time case.

Now, crab roe sauce had become the most cost-effective item in the shop, second only to Qin Congwen’s buns.

So naturally, Zang Liang continued making crab roe sauce.

His movements were very skilled.

Qin Huai could tell—he was already beginning to grasp the “feeling” of crab roe sauce, or more precisely, the double-crab bun.

Faster than expected.

Zang Liang wasn’t a white-bun specialist, yet his progress was quick.

Watching him, Qin Huai asked: “Did Zheng Siyuan make a double-crab bun?”

Zheng Siyuan, silently kneading dough nearby, paused.

Zang Liang was surprised.

“How did you know? I couldn’t find the feeling before, and Tan Weian even mocked me. So I asked Zheng Siyuan to make a double-crab bun for me to taste.”

“But he refused at first, saying he wasn’t ready and forcing it wouldn’t work. I really don’t understand his logic—what’s there to prepare? New dishes are always like this.”

Zheng Siyuan calmly said, “It’s not a new dish.”

Zang Liang didn’t hear him and continued.

“He finally made it once after I begged him for days.”

Qin Huai was surprised—Zheng Siyuan actually did it.

He knew why Zheng Siyuan had been hesitant: a previous failure had left him with a psychological shadow. That double-crab bun had completely collapsed—like a dish telling him “you’re still not good enough.”

If this were a cultivation novel, that bun would become his inner demon during a tribulation.

“How was it?” Qin Huai asked.

“It failed,” Zheng Siyuan said directly. “Same as last time—neither a proper bun nor a proper dish. It tasted like crab roe stuffed inside a bun.”

Zang Liang disagreed.

“I think it was interesting.”

“The filling is originally a fusion of red-cooking ideas into white pastry. It’s normal if it tastes a bit like a dish. We just didn’t control the balance well.”

“I only needed one taste to find the direction for crab roe sauce. If I had tasted it earlier, I wouldn’t have wasted so many days.”

Zheng Siyuan calmly responded, “That’s not the same. Without those days of practice, you wouldn’t have understood it anyway.”

Qin Huai asked, “Did you try again after that?”

Zheng Siyuan frowned slightly.

“I did. Several times.”

“But none of them were ideal. It’s not just balance issues… there are technical problems too.”

In other words—he was admitting he wasn’t good enough.

Qin Huai was shocked.

If even Zheng Siyuan admitted that, then things must have been serious.

Zheng Siyuan was a top-tier all-rounder in both pastry and savory cooking. Qin Huai and he were roughly equal overall.

So if Zheng Siyuan was “not good enough,” then almost no one here could claim to be strong.

“Is it that bad?” Qin Huai asked.

“Watch Zang Liang,” Zheng Siyuan replied.

So Qin Huai looked back at the crab roe sauce.

Zang Liang: “…You do realize I’m the one cooking right now?”

Soon, the sauce reached the thickening stage.

Zang Liang became visibly nervous.

He started thickening.

In terms of skill, Zang Liang was actually better than Qin Huai. As a pure red-cuisine chef, his fundamentals exceeded Qin Huai’s.

His thickening motion was very standard—but a bit too flashy.

Qin Huai evaluated silently: messy circling.

Cao Guixiang’s thickening was dramatic for a reason: to evenly pour starch. The key was wrist control—not the arm movement.

Zang Liang hadn’t grasped that. He only got the “flashy” part.

But his overall skill was still solid.

He adjusted the heat.

Excellent control.

Qin Huai realized: higher skill levels revealed finer details.

Cooking was all about precision.

The sauce was finished.

Looking at it, Qin Huai judged it around C+ level, possibly B- with luck.

Already quite good.

“Your thickening is wrong,” Qin Huai said directly. “Not that your skill is bad—it’s higher than mine—but your method is off.”

He demonstrated slowly, focusing on wrist movement.

“This is just a gesture. The real control is here in the wrist.”

“The motion is just a cover. The key is how you guide the starch.”

He continued explaining until Zang Liang suddenly shouted:

“I get it!”

“That feeling—you mean that feeling!”

“That kind of feeling that can’t be explained but you just know it’s that feeling!”

Qin Huai paused.

“…I think so.”

Tan Weian stood nearby, expression blank.

“Is he losing his mind… or is the world losing its mind?”

Zheng Siyuan had already gone back to kneading dough.

He said calmly: “Qin Huai explained it quite well. The technique demonstration was clear enough.”

“So it’s not strange that he understood.”

Tan Weian: ?

After Zang Liang said he understood, he immediately started making a completely new pot of crab roe sauce. Qin Huai stood nearby watching. As he watched, he suddenly realized Zang Liang actually seemed to have truly understood.

New techniques require practice to master. After all, someone like Qin Huai—who could simply “copy and paste” skills—was rare. Zang Liang wasn’t blindly echoing Qin Huai after becoming a loyal believer in “feeling-based cooking.” He had genuinely found the rhythm, truly synced with Qin Huai, and was learning extremely fast.

His comprehension was extremely high. Among all the chefs Qin Huai had ever taught, Zang Liang was the fastest learner—no exception. His improvement was visible to the naked eye.

Qin Huai: Damn, did my ability to explain actually improve? Am I starting to know how to teach people?

Is he really about to become “Chef Qin”?

Qin Huai glanced at Zheng Siyuan and saw he was still kneading dough. He then looked at Tan Weian and saw that Tan Weian had already started making his own pastries.

Qin Huai guessed Zheng Siyuan was most likely still making “double crab buns” today—that dough was clearly meant for them.

For the double crab buns, Zheng Siyuan handled most of the work since he was the only one truly proficient at it and had the most experience.

Qin Huai, by contrast, was the type who knew a little of everything.

He could make crab roe sauce, but not well. He could thicken sauces, but not as well as Zang Liang. He could handle sea cucumber, but not as well as Zheng Siyuan.

However, Qin Huai had one universally recognized strength—his seasoning was excellent. And the hardest part of double crab buns was precisely the seasoning.

Before this, Qin Huai had never discussed division of labor with Zheng Siyuan for the buns, but everyone naturally took responsibility for their own parts without needing to say it.

Zang Liang handled the crab roe sauce, Zheng Siyuan handled the sea cucumber, and both Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan could knead dough. But the most critical part—the filling composition, how crab roe and sea cucumber should be combined into the red-and-white “double crab bun” filling—was Qin Huai’s responsibility.

Before Qin Huai solved this, Zheng Siyuan needed to set the baseline: at least produce a non-disastrous version so Qin Huai could find direction—or even better, make enough mistakes to eliminate pitfalls for him.

So the research on double crab buns was Zheng Siyuan and Zang Liang working hard in front, while Qin Huai struggled at the back.

Seeing that Zang Liang had already gotten his thickening technique on track, and Zheng Siyuan was still kneading dough, while Tan Weian had completely withdrawn from the double crab bun research team, Qin Huai originally planned to go back to his station and make a batch of “Four Joy Glutinous Rice Balls” to ensure lunch supply.

The old and new regular customers of Yunzhong Canteen hadn’t eaten Qin Master’s glutinous rice balls for several days—they must be missing them terribly.

Of course, they also missed his mung bean cakes, triple filling buns, red bean rolls, glutinous rice cakes, osmanthus cakes, and water chestnut cakes…

But right now, Qin Huai just wanted to make glutinous rice balls. He simply felt like making them.

Yesterday afternoon, the glutinous rice balls he left at Luo Jun’s house had been delivered to Yunzhong Canteen this morning—and more than half were gone.

According to Zhang Shumei, Luo Jun said those missing ones were “storage fees and kitchen usage fees,” meant as a warning not to casually use his kitchen for cooking.

But Qin Huai could roughly guess the truth: Luo Jun just wanted to eat them and made up an excuse.

The glutinous rice balls from yesterday were made using meat prepared by Cao Guixiang, and they were noticeably better than Qin Huai’s usual version.

With Luo Jun’s picky taste, he would definitely notice the difference. Taking a few extra after tasting them wasn’t unreasonable.

After all, the old bird didn’t have much time left—if he liked eating, he might as well eat more.

Qin Huai had already planned it: from now on, there was no need for Zhang Shumei to come daily to buy pastries, and no need for Chen Huihong to provoke Luo Jun into coming out to eat. Qin Huai would just bring raw dough after work and steam it at Luo Jun’s house himself.

Chef Xiao Qin would provide doorstep service for Mr. Bi Fang every day.

As Luo Jun’s first-order heir—and sole heir to all inheritance—Qin Huai felt his end-of-life care service would be very well done.

As for the funeral arrangements and whether the tombstone should be flashy or to Luo Jun’s taste, those would be handled by Chen Huihong and Qu Jing. Qin Huai only needed to handle the care during his final days.

Qin Huai returned to his workstation and prepared to make glutinous rice balls.

Then he realized—there was no flour.

Well… it seemed everyone still respected him. During the days Chef Qin wasn’t around, no one used his workstation.

Qin Huai went to the storage room to get flour. He had only taken a couple of steps when an observant apprentice from the Zhiwei Restaurant quickly noticed and ran to fetch it for him.

Qin Huai casually glanced at the dough the apprentice was kneading.

Hmm… average. Even slightly worse than Pei Xing’s dough.

Right, Pei Xing.

Qin Huai started looking for him.

As a formal employee of Yunzhong Canteen, Pei Xing was one of the chefs Qin Huai taught relatively often—though not very successfully.

It wasn’t that Pei Xing lacked talent; in fact, his aptitude was decent.

The problem was specialization. Qin Huai wasn’t good at teaching dough skills—his strength was seasoning. When he taught Li Hua seasoning, the results were good. But when it came to Pei Xing, it looked like Pei Xing lacked understanding, and Qin Huai lacked teaching ability.

Also, Pei Xing had a very complicated inner monologue habit—he tended to overthink everything until his jaw nearly broke from clenching.

Because of that, Qin Huai would occasionally give him extra “boss-level care.”

Yes, Chef Qin was that considerate.

Now Qin Huai felt his teaching ability had improved, so the first person he thought of was Pei Xing.

After searching around, he finally found Pei Xing at a corner workstation—still inexplicably making siu mai.

Qin Huai: ?

So he really likes making siu mai?

He never noticed before.

Could it be that Pei Xing’s real dream wasn’t pastry chef, but breakfast specialist?

Qin Huai was almost moved by this realization. He didn’t expect a pastry chef to dream of becoming a breakfast master.

When Qin Huai realized he no longer needed to be a breakfast chef, he never again got up at 4 a.m.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

He walked over to Pei Xing and saw that his siu mai was still as bad as ever.

To put it simply: everything about it was bad.

Compared to his laminated pastries, it was really quite poor.

Qin Huai wasn’t a siu mai expert, but he still knew a bit.

“This siu mai skin is wrong,” Qin Huai said.

“Let’s not even talk about the filling—that hasn’t improved in a long time, that’s your old habit.”

“Normally, siu mai dough uses warm water first, then cold water. You did that, but you’re not adapting properly.”

“Your wrapper is thin and decent, with nice edges for filling, but the dough itself has issues.”

“I’ve told you many times—you need to find the feeling when kneading dough. That subtle touch. The moment your hand touches the dough, the pressure, the communication between you and it, the softness and firmness…”

“That feeling is…”

“Do you understand what I mean?”

“It’s not that kind of feeling.”

“That kind is…”

“This kind is…”

Qin Huai rambled on for a long time. Nearby apprentices watched Pei Xing with envy—the formal employee really gets special treatment, Chef Qin personally giving one-on-one instruction!

So lucky!

Qin Huai finished.

“Got it?” he asked.

Pei Xing was already dizzy. He could tell Qin Huai really wanted him to understand, but he couldn’t bring himself to say he didn’t understand.

So he nodded weakly: “I think… I get it. Thank you, Chef Qin!”

Qin Huai was pleased. “Then knead it again.”

Pei Xing: (°ー°〃) …there’s a test?!

Chef Qin, wasn’t this supposed to be just standard guidance?!

He had no choice but to knead again.

After watching for a bit, Qin Huai realized—he still didn’t get it.

Sigh.

Qin Huai sighed deeply. His teaching ability hadn’t improved at all—it was just his imagination.

But this sigh, in Pei Xing’s ears, sounded like disappointment in him.

Pei Xing suddenly felt an intense unwillingness rising in his heart.

He used to have ambition. But that ambition had long been crushed.

In his first month at Zhiwei Restaurant, he realized his mediocrity. In the second, he accepted it.

He had tried. But others worked just as hard—or harder. Others had talent greater than his. Zhiwei Restaurant had no shortage of geniuses, no shortage of hard workers, and no shortage of hardworking geniuses.

So he gave up.

But now, for the first time, he felt unwilling—deeply unwilling.

Not because of others—but because of his own stupidity.

Chef Qin was such a good person. Even with so many talented apprentices, he still remembered him, still came to guide him personally. Yet he still couldn’t understand anything.

And Chef Qin didn’t even scold him—just sighed.

He might as well have called him an idiot.

And a few days ago, he even thought about quitting.

What was he doing?

With this talent, this willpower, this mindset—if he weren’t a “related hire,” how did he even get into Zhiwei Restaurant in the first place?

And now he’s in Yunzhong Canteen and still not cherishing it?

How long are you going to stay mediocre?

Did you really want to live your whole life as an ordinary pastry chef, drifting through life?

Wasn’t the reason you applied here because you heard the boss was an incredible pastry master, hoping he could guide you into a breakthrough?

Pei Xing gritted his teeth and continued kneading.

At lunchtime, Ou Yang arrived as usual at 12:05, happily stepping into Yunzhong Canteen, ready to go to the back kitchen for his “VIP snack meal.”

Before he even reached the door, Qin Huai stopped him and handed him a plate of siu mai.

Ou Yang: ? Siu mai?

This time of day?

Isn’t siu mai a breakfast thing? Didn’t he already eat a lot this morning?

What about his vegetables and stir-fried pork?

He liked vegetables—especially Zang Liang’s.

Qin Huai said, “Try Pei Xing’s siu mai.”

Ou Yang obediently took a bite.

“How is it?” Qin Huai asked.

“Pretty good,” Ou Yang said blankly. “Feels a bit better than this morning’s. That was also Pei Xing’s, right? He’s been making siu mai every day lately.”

Qin Huai muttered, “Even you can tell it improved…”

He looked at the busy kitchen.

“Did I… actually improve at teaching?”

“Not just cooking skills, but teaching and communication too—and maybe that’s the biggest improvement?”

He glanced at Pei Xing, who was still kneading dough.

“Even though I don’t know why he went a bit crazy making siu mai all morning, he really did improve…”

“Do I… really have the talent to be a teacher?”