AGN -Chapter 390 Scalding Hot

Qin Huai opened a video tutorial on glutinous rice balls made with lotus root starch and began watching.

To be fair, lotus root starch balls were not some highly advanced, difficult, or technically demanding dessert. At first glance, they looked delicate, refined, and tricky to make—but in reality, they were quite easy to pick up. Even beginners could successfully make them by following a recipe or video tutorial.

Of course, dishes like this could be made complicated if one wanted to. The complexity would come from the filling.

Lotus root starch balls were a standard sweet dessert. If one wanted to elevate them into something luxurious—fit for palace consorts—the difficulty could rival the complexity of the three sweet fillings in the “Four Happiness Glutinous Dumplings.”

However, Master Jing’s version clearly wasn’t that complicated, because the conditions didn’t allow for it. Complex fillings required complex ingredients. Master Jing’s lotus root starch balls were simply something he casually made to solve a disciple’s family conflict. The filling was just lard and white sugar.

Because ingredients were scarce in that era, both lard and sugar were precious commodities. As a result, Master Jing’s lotus root balls were very small—tiny, almost miniature.

Their color also differed from modern, high-end versions that were pinkish translucent or golden and glossy. Those colors belonged to premium varieties.

Master Jing’s version was a deeper, traditional off-white—somewhere between brown and tea-colored. The balls themselves were translucent, smooth, and glossy.

The preparation process wasn’t particularly difficult either.

The filling was especially simple: just lard, white sugar, and dried osmanthus flowers. The three ingredients were mixed thoroughly and rolled into tiny balls about the size of a fingertip.

Then came the lotus root starch part.

Qin Huai had never made anything with lotus root starch before and wasn’t very familiar with it. His only real exposure to it came from when Qin Luo was in elementary school. Back then, she loved buying cheap packets of lotus root starch from the school shop for a few yuan, mixing them with boiling water, and eating them as snacks.

At that time, Qin Luo would sit in front of the TV watching cartoons. Before the show started, she would automatically boil water, prepare the lotus starch, and eat while watching.

Qin Huai had tried it a few times too. He thought it tasted alright—nothing special, just mildly sweet with a faint lotus fragrance and a smooth texture. It was quite pleasant.

Because he wasn’t familiar with it, Qin Huai was slightly surprised when he saw Master Jing’s method in the tutorial.

It was different from what he had imagined.

He had thought the process was simply: make the filling first, then wrap it like glutinous rice dumplings.

But that wasn’t it.

Master Jing’s lotus starch was likely handmade pure starch, sent by Zheng Da’s uncle. Or more precisely, Qin Huai guessed Zheng Da’s uncle had given it to Zheng Da’s family, and Zheng Da had quietly passed it on to his master.

Homemade lotus starch couldn’t be as fine as the instant kind Qin Luo used to buy.

Qin Huai watched the video closely as Master Jing scooped the starch from a bag and finely ground it into powder. Then he took out a bamboo tube, placed the prepared filling balls inside, sprinkled lotus starch over them, shook the tube to coat them evenly, and then briefly blanched them in boiling water—no more than two or three seconds—before repeating the process.

Roll, blanch, roll again. This was repeated three times in total.

Each time was carefully controlled in duration and amount. In the end, although the sizes varied slightly, the finished lotus starch balls were small, round, and delicate—visually exquisite.

The final step was boiling. As Qin Huai expected, they were cooked in plain water until they floated to the surface.

Freshly cooked, the balls looked slightly grayish, with a translucent outer layer. In sunlight, they resembled display pieces in a glass case—glowing from the inside out.

After they were done, Master Jing added sugar and honey into the soup, tinting it a light yellow. This made the final color of the balls appear somewhere between gray and tea brown.

Finally, dried osmanthus flowers were sprinkled on top as garnish.

And so, an A-rank lotus root starch ball dish was born.

After watching the video once, Qin Huai felt he still didn’t fully understand it. It didn’t seem hard, but it also wasn’t entirely simple. The only slightly complex step was rolling the starch coating—other parts, like the filling, were actually quite easy.

Yet the dish was rated A-rank.

Game ratings didn’t make mistakes. An A-rank dish meant a master-level creation—even if simplified, it was still made by a master.

Qin Huai felt there must be something he was missing.

So he watched it again. And again. And again.

Eventually, he concluded that just watching wasn’t enough. He didn’t understand lotus root starch well enough—he needed to understand the ingredient itself first.

Master Jing must have had deeper intent behind this method.

So Qin Huai decided to ask his master, Cao Guixiang.

“Master, help!”

In his message, Qin Huai explained that he had come to Suzhou and become interested in lotus root starch balls, but couldn’t understand the method or the technique behind them, so he sought guidance.

Cao Guixiang immediately called him.

“Xiao Qin, your desserts are getting more and more impressive. Now you’re even working on this famous imperial-style dessert, lotus root starch balls.”

Qin Huai paused. “Huh? Famous?”

He hadn’t expected her to describe it that way—this was the first time he had heard Cao Guixiang use such a phrase.

“Does it have some special origin?” he asked cautiously. “Is there some hidden secret I don’t know about?”

“There’s no special origin,” she said. “But it used to be very famous in one restaurant in Beiping—it was their signature dessert. I heard about it often when I was learning cooking from my master, so I remember it well.”

“A signature dish?” Qin Huai became genuinely curious.

From what he knew, restaurants in Beiping mostly specialized in savory cuisine. Even the ones slightly good at pastry, like Ba Bao Zhai, had long declined in their pastry section. So how could a place have a signature dessert like lotus root starch balls?

“Do you know Tai Feng Lou?” Cao Guixiang asked, then answered herself. “You probably don’t. By the time I was learning, it had already been closed for many years.”

“In my master’s time, Tai Feng Lou was the most famous restaurant in Beiping. It was mainly known for savory dishes, but their head chef had a very famous dessert—lotus root starch balls. It was almost a must-order item at banquets, especially popular among wealthy families’ women. It even drove up the price of lotus starch for a while.”

“But that version was much more complicated than what you’re trying to learn. Just the preparation alone took a long time, and even the soup had to be specially made.”

“I don’t remember the exact filling anymore. My master only mentioned it once, and it made me crave it terribly. I used to dream about eating it.”

“I think it had osmanthus, almonds, walnuts, pine nuts, candied kumquat, preserved fruit, fresh fruit pieces, sugar, sesame… basically all kinds of sweets children love. Back then, I couldn’t even get that many snacks during New Year, but one tiny ball had them all. When I first heard about it, I really wanted to eat it so badly.”

Qin Huai quickly understood something.

Cao Guixiang’s master trained disciples by first tempting them—telling them all the good food in the world, and dangling it like a bait in front of them.

As for whether that “pie” would ever actually be delivered—it didn’t matter. The important thing was getting the disciple in first.

While Qin Huai was internally complaining, Cao Guixiang had already moved on to what he cared about most.

“As for the ‘blanching’ method you mentioned, I know a bit about it. It’s actually quite difficult.”

Qin Huai immediately sat up straight. “Master, I also feel that the blanching process isn’t as simple as it looks… I mean, it’s not as simple on the surface. There should be technique involved.”

Cao Guixiang chuckled twice. “Then I’ll test you. Do you know the properties of lotus root starch?”

Qin Huai: ?

“Huh?”

“You can just look it up online. Lotus root starch has a very high starch content—over 85%. As for starch properties, things like polysaccharides, amylose, amylopectin… I’m not too familiar with those either.”

“You just need to know this: amylose has low swelling and gelatinization capacity, poor water solubility, and doesn’t dissolve in fats. Its gelatinization temperature is relatively high, so it doesn’t dissolve in cold water but does in hot water. Amylopectin, on the other hand, is poorly soluble in water, but when heated to boiling, it forms a highly viscous gel.”

“Does that sound incomprehensible? Good—that means you’re listening correctly. I just looked it up online myself.”

Qin Huai: …?

“In simple terms for chefs: because of these properties, blanching helps create clearer lotus root starch balls.”

“Clarity isn’t just for appearance. This method also makes the texture more elastic and chewy. The deliciousness of lotus starch desserts actually comes from the chewing experience.”

Qin Huai finally understood.

“So the most important step is actually the blanching process. The filling only changes the flavor, but blanching determines the soul of the dish.”

“Exactly,” Cao Guixiang said. “Since you’ve noticed that blanching is key, your thinking is correct. Go ahead and experiment. As for the exact technique—you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

“I’m a pure savory-dish chef. I’m not very good with pastries like this either. Even I would need a few days of research to understand its secrets.”

Qin Huai laughed. “Alright then, Master. Sorry to trouble you. I’ll keep researching on my side as well. If I run into something I can’t solve, I’ll ask you again.”

“Also, you should get some rest. Don’t stay up late on your phone anymore. Last night at 3 a.m. you were still sharing mini-game links with me.”

Cao Guixiang was shocked. “Huh? I sent it to you? I clearly sent it to Old Wang. Oops, must’ve clicked the wrong person.”

Qin Huai hung up amid her frustrated muttering and rewatched the lotus starch tutorial twice more before heading to wash up.

Shi Dadan had already left, and Wang Gensheng was also resting. The computer was gone from the dining table in the living room—likely taken into his room by the cautious accountant.

After a quick wash, Qin Huai fell asleep, planning to try making lotus root starch balls at Huang Ji the next day.

Of course, before that, he still had to make chicken noodle soup first. The chefs at Huang Ji—and Zheng Siyuan—had been starving for a day already. If he overslept again tomorrow, it really wouldn’t do.

The next morning, Qin Huai got up early. When he woke, Wang Gensheng had already gone out for his morning run.

The old man truly lived a healthy life—rain or shine, good breakfast or not, he always ran.

By the time Qin Huai arrived at Huang Ji, even Zheng Siyuan hadn’t arrived yet. For once, he was the first one there.

He checked the kitchen briefly and found two large new bags of lotus root starch on the shelf. He couldn’t help but admire Huang Anyao’s efficiency—his work capability had really improved.

Because he arrived so early, even after finishing kneading noodles, no one else had come to the kitchen. With nothing better to do, Qin Huai decided to start making lotus root starch balls directly.

The starch Huang Anyao provided was very fine, so there was no need to grind it further. Qin Huai just gave it a symbolic pass with a rolling pin.

The filling was simple—white sugar, lard, and a bit of dried osmanthus. Almost no difficulty at all.

Honestly, rolling the little balls was strangely therapeutic, like playing with modeling clay in elementary school.

Qin Huai enjoyed it thoroughly.

Soon, it was time for the blanching step.

Huang Ji naturally didn’t have bamboo tubes, and bamboo-based dishes weren’t even on the menu. But for rolling starch balls, many other tools in the kitchen could work.

He rummaged through the cabinets and found a small metal cylinder that seemed more suitable. Just as he picked it up and tested its feel in the air, Zheng Siyuan arrived.

Seeing Qin Huai arrive so early—and seeing noodles already prepared on the cutting board—he was clearly surprised.

But what shocked him more was the neat row of small starch balls on the board and the metal tube in Qin Huai’s hand.

“What are you making?” Zheng Siyuan asked.

“Lotus root starch balls.” Qin Huai was still studying the metal tube, casually shaking it to test the feel. Satisfied, he looked up. “Is Master Zheng alright?”

“Yesterday Dong told me Master Zheng stayed in the kitchen making crab roe buns until 8 p.m., shocking everyone. When is he coming today? Once I finish these, I’d like him to taste them.”

Hearing this, Zheng Siyuan’s expression turned flat again.

“My father isn’t coming today.”

“He just messaged me—said a neighbor’s dog had diarrhea, and he’s taking it to the vet. No idea when he’ll be back.”

“You have a dog?” Qin Huai was shocked.

Zheng Siyuan sneered. “No. It’s our neighbor’s dog.”

“My dad insisted on taking it to the vet. Nobody could stop him.”

“I thought he’d finally come around and return to cooking seriously, but I guess I was wrong.”

“He’s still the same old man. Not changed at all. Even his excuses are as flimsy as ever.”

Qin Huai: “……”