AGN -Chapter 397 The “Version Answer”

To seize this rare moment of Zheng Da entering a burst of inspiration (though it wasn’t actually that rare, since he had only made double-crab buns a couple of days ago), Qin Huai adopted a sweet-talking strategy, addressing him repeatedly as “Master Zheng” until Zheng Da nearly lost himself in the honorifics.

Master Zheng did have real skills.

Even with the cloud-pattern rolls—something he was least good at—his level was still enough to completely outclass most other chefs.

Zheng Da felt a bit nervous.

He realized it had been a long time since he had done a group teaching session like this, especially one where he was teaching many people at once. He had never formally taken apprentices in his life; the only two people he could truly be considered to have taught were Zheng Siyuan and Qin Huai.

And both were one-on-one instruction.

Zheng Da vaguely remembered that the last time he had taught multiple people at once was ten years ago. At that time, the Dong brothers—Dong Shi and Dong Li—had not yet become disciples of Huang Shengli, and Huang Jia had not fully completed his training either. Huang Shengli, then at the peak of his culinary career, was often invited to places like Hangcheng and Huaiyang for cooking seminars.

Whenever Huang Shengli went out, all his disciples would be temporarily “entrusted” to Zheng Da. Of course, Zheng Da couldn’t really teach them anything meaningful; at best, he functioned like an after-school caretaker, just keeping the kids safe until their real teacher came back.

That was the entirety of Zheng Da’s experience in group teaching—summed up simply, he had none.

Zheng Da felt that the last time he had been this nervous was when he taught Qin Huai how to make crab roe shumai, staying up late at night rehearsing how to explain things better the next day. Back then, he had desperately wanted Qin Huai as his apprentice and had been extremely anxious. Now, however, that was no longer an issue—because Qin Huai would never become his disciple.

Truly disheartening.

For a moment, Zheng Da even lost the desire to teach. He wanted to go home and lie down, maybe check how his neighbor’s dog was recovering.

Qin Huai immediately noticed his retreating spirit and spoke up in time: “Master Zheng, what’s the correct way to do the ‘front roll’ for the cloud pattern?”

The question itself wasn’t necessary, but the words “Master Zheng” deeply warmed Zheng Da’s heart. He instantly abandoned the idea of going home. Opening his mouth, he tried to explain Qin Huai’s question—but quickly realized that, with his language skills, he couldn’t properly articulate it at all.

Zheng Da began regretting what he had done during his month in Sanya. He had only focused on practicing double-crab buns and hadn’t taken time to improve his teaching explanations.

“Uh… like this. I’ll demonstrate it once first. If anything isn’t clear, just ask,” Zheng Da said, recalling how Huang Shengli used to teach his apprentices, deciding to copy his senior brother’s teaching method.

With that, he began working immediately.

Qin Huai had already prepared everything: dough kneaded, scallions and diced ham ready, even a small bottle of sesame oil placed neatly on the workstation.

When Zheng Da saw the ingredients, he paused and looked around again, confirming there really was nothing else before asking:

“That’s it?”

Qin Huai nodded.

“No pork fat cubes?”

Only then did Qin Huai remember that the version Zheng Da knew was the version by Master Jing, which used pork fat cubes instead of ham to reduce costs.

In fact, pork fat wasn’t even the best option—minced meat with both fat and lean would taste better. But in those days, oil and meat were scarce. Cloud-pattern rolls were originally something Master Jing made at his own expense so that ordinary people could afford a festive snack during the New Year. Pork fat provided more richness and was considered good value at the time, practically equivalent to a meat dish.

“Do cloud-pattern rolls need pork fat cubes?” Qin Huai asked, looking confused. “The recipe I got only mentions ham cubes.”

Zheng Da froze, then fell into deep thought. After two or three minutes, he asked slowly:

“Your recipe… never mind.”

“It says ham cubes?”

“Yes.” Qin Huai nodded. “And it also includes general steps. I followed them yesterday to make cloud-pattern rolls, but I feel like the written instructions are incomplete. There must be many techniques and key points missing. I can tell something is wrong, but I don’t know where.”

At this point, everyone present believed Qin Huai indeed had a legitimate recipe. Otherwise, it was hard to explain how he had managed to produce such a spectacularly failed version of the dish yesterday.

Zheng Da didn’t ask further. Qin Huai guessed he assumed the recipe came from Cao Guixiang, and with his emotional intelligence and professionalism, Zheng Da would never probe into private matters involving secret recipes or mentorship transmission.

“Ham cubes…” Zheng Da muttered, staring at them. “So it’s ham cubes. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve used pork belly, lean meat, minced meat… right, why didn’t I think of ham cubes!”

He slapped his thigh in frustration.

“Ham cubes! Yes, it should be ham cubes!”

Then he ignored everyone else and immediately began making the rolls.

Zheng Siyuan shot Qin Huai a confused look—his expression clearly asking: What’s wrong with my father? Has he gone mad? Should we take him to the hospital?

Qin Huai waved his hand, indicating this was normal.

The cloud-pattern roll had clearly left Zheng Da with deep psychological trauma—so much so that he usually avoided it, only secretly making it at home during New Year.

Zheng Da himself knew there was something wrong with the recipe, but he had never found the answer. Today, Qin Huai had casually pointed out the “version answer,” so how could he not be excited?

Looking at Zheng Da fully focused on making the rolls, Qin Huai couldn’t help but silently admire Xu Nuo’s culinary insight.

Zheng Da had spent decades unable to solve this recipe, yet Xu Nuo had already found the “version answer” long ago and even made it at home every year.

And Xu Nuo likely didn’t learn it from Master Jing either—because Master Jing never even told his own direct disciples the complete version, let alone an outsider.

Whether Xu Nuo obtained it by spending money to buy it or figured it out himself, either possibility was impressive.

The former meant incredible wealth.

The latter meant terrifying talent.

Zheng Da was now completely immersed in the art of making cloud-pattern rolls.

He worked quickly.

With pre-prepared ingredients and already-kneaded dough, cloud-pattern rolls could indeed be made fast.

At their core, they were just an elaborate, high-difficulty flower roll—the real challenge lay in the rolling technique.

One forward roll, one reverse roll. After both steps, the final result couldn’t be judged immediately. Only after steaming and slicing it open could one see whether the cloud pattern was clear and beautiful enough to be considered a success.

Without experience, no chef could judge the quality just from the raw roll. It was pure muscle memory—an entirely independent skill. Even if one’s basic cooking skills were excellent, it didn’t help here; it had to be trained from scratch.

Qin Huai could see that Zheng Da had clearly been practicing cloud-pattern rolls over the years, but not often.

His movements were fast, yet occasionally hesitant. The forward roll was smooth and practiced, but when it came to the reverse roll, he would pause slightly, as if thinking something through.

It almost revealed exactly where he was skilled, where he wasn’t, and why years ago he had been scolded mercilessly by neighbors for failing at this dish.

So it turned out Zheng Da wasn’t bad at cloud patterns.

He was simply bad at the reverse roll inside the cloud-pattern roll.

Not that he couldn’t do cloud patterns—but that he couldn’t master the upgraded version hidden within them.

Zheng Da finished rolling the first one very quickly, then immediately started on the second.

Just like the first, the forward roll was smooth and fluid, but the reverse roll got stuck again.

Qin Huai watched Zheng Da’s hand movements, but what came to his mind were the words Gu Li had said yesterday while teaching them the rolling technique.

Tan Weian’s forward roll always had too large a curve—especially at the finishing stage—and he often couldn’t resist his bad habit of pressing it down slightly.

According to Tan Weian himself, he felt that pressing it a bit would make the cloud-pattern roll look better.

Gu Li told him that pressing it would destroy the cloud pattern, but Qin Huai felt it wasn’t that exaggerated. It was more of a disagreement in approach between the two senior brothers.

Tan Weian’s instinct to press came from his rolls having too large a curvature in the first place. Pressing slightly on an overly curved roll wasn’t necessarily wrong. From this, it was clear Tan Weian did have excellent talent—his first instinct when a problem appeared, or even his subconscious reaction, was to correct it. That was talent.

Gu Li, on the other hand, didn’t have this kind of instinctive talent. He followed everything strictly according to what he had learned back then, step by step.

He would correct mistakes he could recognize in others, but he didn’t understand that many “mistakes” were actually compensations for earlier problems.

Because Zheng Da’s skills were strong enough, his method was closest to Gu Li’s “standard answer” from yesterday.

Especially the forward roll.

It was nearly perfect—tight and precise, textbook-level from the very start, from spreading the ham and scallions onward. Every curve of the roll looked deliberately designed. It was clear Zheng Da had spent years refining cloud-pattern rolls; otherwise, he could not have achieved such standard and beautiful results.

But the reverse roll stood in sharp contrast.

Qin Huai could immediately see where the problems were.

The reverse roll wasn’t simply rolling the pastry backward—it required far more technique and adaptability. In theory, Zheng Da absolutely had that ability. But whether due to deep psychological trauma or simply an unusual lack of “feel” for it, every hesitation from him clearly indicated a mistake. Each pause produced another problem.

It was extremely obvious.

Even though Zheng Da was fully immersed in his own world, completely absorbed in making the rolls, Qin Huai felt this was actually a very good teaching opportunity—because Master Zheng was simultaneously demonstrating both a perfect version and a flawed version of the cloud-pattern roll.

One demonstration, two outcomes—double the learning.

If there had been an objective commentator beside them, it would have been even better.

Qin Huai looked at Gu Li.

Gu Li was watching very seriously. Among the “cloud-pattern research team,” he was the one who cherished this learning opportunity the most. For him, masters who could teach cloud patterns were extremely rare.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have mistaken Zheng Da’s corrections earlier that morning as Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan helping out.

“Gu Li,” Qin Huai said. “Master Zheng is going a bit too fast—we can’t really follow clearly. Could you help explain what’s happening?”

“Huh?” Gu Li was a bit confused. He didn’t understand why Zheng Da’s cooking required him to explain it, but since Qin Huai said so, he must have a reason. Without hesitation, Gu Li nodded and began explaining.

He focused even more closely on Zheng Da’s movements.

“Master Zheng’s ham cubes are laid out very well. For cloud-pattern rolls, the ham layer mustn’t be too thick, but also not too thin. This kind of light layer with slight gaps between pieces is ideal—just like what Chef Qin mentioned yesterday.”

“The amount of sesame oil brushed on is also very good—just enough to coat the surface, not soaking into the dough.”

“Senior brother, did you see? The starting curve of the forward roll should be like this. You need to control the dough with your little finger. You usually just move your pinky half-heartedly—but that step actually has a purpose.”

“Master Zheng’s forward roll is really excellent. Chef Qin, look—the final result is very beautiful. Yesterday you asked why your forward roll looked strange; it’s because every roll of the cloud pattern builds on the previous one. If each curve is controlled properly, you get Master Zheng’s result. But if each step goes wrong, the final product will look strange.”

“Senior brother, look—there’s no need to press at the end at all.”

“Little Zheng Master, look at the side of this roll—the ratio of scallions to ham is perfect, evenly split. After rolling, every layer is the same thickness. If your curve were slightly larger, you could achieve this effect too.”

“Now Master Zheng’s reverse roll has a bit of a problem.”

“The curve was a bit too big… no, now it’s too small. The reverse roll should be more exaggerated than the forward roll, but not excessively so—and especially must not be pressed. Ah, Master Zheng pressed it.”

“This roll also has an issue, though I’m not sure exactly where. But my master once said that no matter how cloud patterns are made, the final product must not be too swollen—otherwise the pattern will deform when cut.”

“Master Zheng pressed it again.”

“But this press is actually fine—the reverse roll can be slightly adjusted at the end.”

Gu Li was like a perfectly responsible commentator, not missing a single movement from Zheng Da—or a single flaw.

Zheng Da didn’t care at all, because he wasn’t listening.

He was still completely immersed in his own world.

But someone else was listening.

Huang Shengli stood with his arms crossed, watching Zheng Da make cloud-pattern rolls and listening to Gu Li’s commentary with interest. Smiling, he said to Gong Liang, who had somehow slipped into the kitchen again: “This setup is actually pretty good. Zheng Da teaches by cooking, and there’s a commentator on the side—perfectly solves his problem of being bad with words.”

Gong Liang focused on something completely different: “When is Zheng Da’s batch going to be steamed?”

“After eating two of Chef Qin’s cloud-pattern rolls last night, I’ve been craving them all day.”

“Honestly, Chef Qin’s version—even though it looks like a flower roll—it tastes really good. Feels way better than Zheng Da’s from back then.”

“I think he’s made quite a lot now. Should be going into the steamer soon.” Huang Shengli said, smacking his lips as well. “Now you’ve got me craving it too.”

“I haven’t eaten Zheng Da’s cloud-pattern rolls in years. That guy is too sensitive—he’d rather secretly make them at home every New Year, eat them himself, and even feed leftovers to the neighbor’s dog, which ended up with gastritis and hospitalization—than share them with us. He was afraid we’d find out he was still making them.”

“Tch.”