AGN -Chapter 408 Master Zhou

Qin Huai hadn’t expected that his first meeting with Master Zhou would happen under such circumstances.

In his left hand he was holding a lemon tea. His right hand was still sticky with oil from egg tarts he hadn’t properly wiped off. There were also crumbs of egg tart on his clothes that he hadn’t shaken off. Even his mouth hadn’t been cleaned. He looked somewhat dazed overall—his mental state and appearance clearly weren’t quite normal.

But his smile, at least, was a standard social smile.

Qin Huai reacted quickly. Realizing his right hand wasn’t clean, he immediately pulled tissues from his pocket and wiped it, then proceeded to shake hands with Master Zhou in what could only be described as a historic first meeting.

Luckily, there was no photographer nearby—otherwise this would have permanently captured one of Qin Huai’s greatest black history moments with a click.

Master Zhou looked at Qin Huai with clear appreciation. After sizing him up one last time, he asked in a genuinely gentle tone with no hint of sarcasm at all: “Where’s Su Qian?”

“I get a bit carsick, so Su Qian helped me take my suitcase upstairs directly. He should still be unpacking,” Qin Huai honestly explained. “It’s my first time in Hangcheng, so I just walked around nearby.”

Master Zhou nodded in satisfaction. His furrowed brows relaxed completely, every subtle expression showing he was in a very good mood.

“So you waited for Su Qian at the entrance of Zhiwei Ju and happened to eat an egg tart on the way.”

Qin Huai nodded again.

“How was it?”

Qin Huai was stunned again. He hadn’t expected Master Zhou’s focus to be the taste of the egg tart.

To be honest, he didn’t have much impression of it. When someone is carsick, their appetite is terrible. Qin Huai had basically eaten it while feeling both nauseous and hungry at the same time—like he was fighting a battle between disgust and appetite just to finish it.

As for the exact taste…

He tried to recall and could only say awkwardly:

“It was… pretty fragrant. I just happened to smell it when I passed by and got a bit tempted. It tasted… quite good. Maybe because I was carsick I couldn’t really tell the details, but it felt a bit different from the egg tarts I usually eat.”

A strange smile appeared at the corner of Master Zhou’s mouth.

Qin Huai: ?

Su Qian and Tan Weian had only told him that Master Zhou liked to tease people verbally, was an aggressive reformist, had high standards for his apprentices, and might have a slightly strange temper. But they hadn’t said it was this strange.

Focusing on egg tarts was one thing—but why did he seem both easy to talk to and a bit mentally unpredictable?

Is this what a top industry leader’s quirks are like? Someone who deliberately keeps his expression unreadable so others can’t guess what he’s thinking?

Master Zhou said calmly:

“I made them.”

“…Huh?”

“That batch of egg tarts just now—I made them,” Master Zhou repeated.

Qin Huai blurted out almost instinctively: “You usually… like making egg tarts?”

“Occasionally,” Master Zhou said calmly. “Sometimes I also make tiramisu and mango pudding. I’ve been studying Western desserts recently, starting with the simple ones.”

Qin Huai: ? ? ?

Oh no. He’s really a reformist.

Master Zhou seemed quite satisfied with Qin Huai’s shocked expression and continued:

“I heard you’re a promising talent discovered by Zheng Da, and that he was the one who brought you to Huang Ji in the beginning. I assume he’s said quite a few bad things about me.”

Qin Huai: …

Not really. Zheng Da usually didn’t badmouth Master Zhou—he rarely criticized pastry chefs who were better than him. To be precise, Zheng Da didn’t really insult people much at all; when he did, it was usually only Su Boss.

“Actually, no—” Qin Huai tried weakly to explain, but Master Zhou interrupted him directly.

“I’m not some rigid old fossil,” Master Zhou said lightly, raising his eyebrows. “Whether it’s Chinese pastries or Western desserts, there are shared principles worth learning from. Unlike places like Huang Ji, which collapse if the head chef falls, Zhiwei Ju is more diverse, more open, more innovative, and more inclusive. We have pastry chefs from all over the country, all schools of thought. There’s far more exchange here than at Huang Ji.”

Qin Huai: …

What a top-tier subtle flex. As expected of the number one white-dough restaurant—he had the confidence.

“Have you recovered from your motion sickness?” Master Zhou asked again.

Qin Huai really wanted to say no, but strangely enough, he suddenly felt completely fine. The nausea was gone, and he even felt like eating another egg tart.

“Yes,” he answered honestly.

“Then let’s go inside. Use the staff entrance.”

With that, Master Zhou turned and walked to the left. Qin Huai quickly followed.

The so-called staff entrance was just a side door at the back of Zhiwei Ju, requiring a card swipe to enter and looking very official.

Master Zhou took out his work badge, beeped it through the reader, and entered. Qin Huai followed about a meter behind him. Inside, it led directly to the staff lounge.

It really was a staff passage.

Master Zhou led Qin Huai through the lounge into the changing room, then took out a key and handed it to him.

“Number 13. There’s a uniform inside.”

Qin Huai took the key and went in while Master Zhou waited at the door.

The layout of Zhiwei Ju’s changing room was similar to Huang Ji and Yunzhong Canteen—basically like every changing room you’d see in TV dramas.

The only difference was that Zhiwei Ju’s was much larger, reflecting the sheer number of employees.

Qin Huai found locker number 13, opened it, and saw a staff uniform inside with his name embroidered on it.

He couldn’t help but admire how efficient Zhiwei Ju was. He had only learned two days ago that he would be coming here for an exchange today, yet they had already prepared a uniform with his name stitched on it in such a short time. Truly worthy of the number one white-dough restaurant.

He changed quickly. The size fit perfectly. After straightening his clothes and adjusting his hair to look more formal, he walked out with his back straight.

Master Zhou was still waiting at the door. He looked Qin Huai up and down again, clearly satisfied, and said:

“Follow me.”

Qin Huai obediently followed him into the kitchen.

Zhiwei Ju’s kitchen was extremely large. As Su Qian had mentioned, it was divided into several sections: baking, steaming, preparation, and stove areas were all separate. Even within preparation alone, there were two zones—one of which, slightly smaller, seemed specifically for kneading and fermenting dough.

Each area was separated by transparent glass doors, connected by corridors. Just passing by the smaller prep area, Qin Huai could already feel that the temperature inside was noticeably lower than elsewhere.

Master Zhou noticed Qin Huai glancing a few more times at the prep area and explained:

“Some doughs require low temperatures for fermentation. That area is only used for making special pastries, and very few people go in there.”

While speaking, Master Zhou didn’t stop walking. He continued leading Qin Huai deeper inside, only stopping when they reached the innermost door, which he pushed open directly.

This was the largest area in Zhiwei Ju’s kitchen.

It was hard for Qin Huai to describe it—maybe it was just… a normal high-end restaurant kitchen.

But more like the kind of “normal kitchen” you would imagine from TV dramas: clean, orderly, and well-organized exactly as audiences would expect. It was busy, but not chaotic; there was noise, but not noise pollution.

Machines, workstations, and shelves were all laid out extremely reasonably. Everyone had their own tasks, and everyone was focused. Whether kneading dough, chopping ingredients, preparing fillings, or mixing, everything was carried out with complete order and concentration.

At a glance, Qin Huai could even tell who were apprentices, who were direct disciples, and who were master chefs.

This area was like a giant beehive—every type of “bee” and every rank clearly visible.

In the corners, those doing miscellaneous work like chopping vegetables, mincing meat, or organizing shelves were mostly young, quiet, diligent—clearly apprentices.

Of course, even those not doing chores but kneading dough in slightly less cornered positions were also likely apprentices.

Zhiwei Ju’s apprentices had a very distinctive aura—a terrifying sense of urgency that said: If I don’t outwork you today, I’ll be outworked tomorrow. This feeling was rarely seen in direct disciples or their candidates.

People like Tan Weian didn’t need to be mentioned, and even someone like Gu Li, a hardcore overworker, gave off a vibe of “I just like grinding, no one is forcing me.”

Direct disciples and their trainees were scattered throughout the area, each doing their own pastry work—focused, serious, and hardworking, but relatively composed. They didn’t have the panic of “if I don’t finish this pastry today, I’ll be kicked out tomorrow.”

As for the master chefs, they were instantly recognizable.

Su Qian had said something right: the pressure at Zhiwei Ju was for apprentices and disciples—not for master chefs.

Every master chef here visibly exuded relaxation and ease.

Whether they were making pastries, walking around checking for promising talent, supervising their disciples, or teaching—every one of them radiated a natural sense of ease.

In a sense, Tan Weian’s state at Huang Ji and Yunzhong Canteen was very similar to that of a master chef—no one knew where he picked it up from.

Master Zhou entered first. The apprentices near the entrance saw him return and, without speaking, respectfully nodded in greeting. That was likely the way apprentices showed respect here.

Following behind Master Zhou, Qin Huai naturally drew a lot of attention.

Seeing a new face—especially one brought in personally by Master Zhou—some apprentices couldn’t help but look at him curiously.

Some tried to be subtle, pretending they just happened to glance up. Others made no effort to hide it at all, even pausing their work just to stare.

Master Zhou also made no attempt to hide his opinions. He glanced at the distracted apprentice, then at the dough in his hands, and walked a few steps forward before casually saying in a slightly mocking tone:

“Hiring standards really do get worse every year. Even cement mixers get hired now.”

Qin Huai: …

That apprentice’s dough might not have been perfect, but it wasn’t that bad, Master Zhou. Do you always talk like this?

Of course, Master Zhou only spared that one glance. His attention was too valuable to waste on apprentices who couldn’t even knead dough properly yet.

Qin Huai followed closely behind. As Master Zhou quickened his pace, Qin Huai also subconsciously sped up, eventually arriving at an empty workstation.

“This is your workstation,” Master Zhou said. “You’ve seen the different areas on the way in—baking is Zone 3, steaming is Zone 2. Su Qian told me you usually don’t rely on machines for pastries; most machines are in Zone 4. If you don’t know how to use them, you can ask Su Qian.”

“Normally, visiting chefs bring their own assistants. If you feel short-staffed, you can choose people you’re familiar with—Tan Weian or Gu Li, for example. If you want Su Qian, he can also be assigned to you temporarily.”

“I heard from Su Qian that you like Pu’er, Longjing, Tieguanyin, and Phoenix Dancong tea. The tea makers from your previous visit to Huang Ji weren’t very good, so I’ll assign someone specifically to make tea for you.”

“At Zhiwei Ju, we don’t have red-cuisine chefs, so our staff meals are slightly less varied than Huang Ji’s. Meals are usually pre-ordered. Su Boss handles that—you can contact him later and tell him your preferences. He’ll arrange something you’re satisfied with.”

“If you want anything special, you need to tell him at least a day in advance. But it’s best not to order strongly scented food. If you insist on eating things like snail noodles or stinky tofu, you’ll need to go outside. Zhiwei Ju strictly prohibits consuming strongly odorous foods inside the building.”

Qin Huai nodded repeatedly. Only after Master Zhou finished speaking did he realize that this seemed like an introduction to the workplace.

So his treatment was this high? The boss of Zhiwei Ju personally showing him his workstation?

Isn’t this basically like a new employee being received by the chairman on day one?

Seeing that Master Zhou had no intention of leaving, Qin Huai hesitated, unsure what to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure whether he should offer polite compliments, formal thanks, or something else entirely.

Finally, after carefully saying, “Thank you, Master Zhou, I understand. Sorry for troubling you to personally explain all this,” Master Zhou spoke again.

“I heard your ‘Guo’er’ was made together with Huang Shengli—you handled the rest while he handled the filling. You can’t make it independently.”

“Yes,” Qin Huai confirmed.

“I also heard you made a complex but unnecessary yet quite tasty mixed-fruit tangyuan filling, and that your four-flavor tangyuan is now your signature dish. Even Xu Cheng couldn’t help praising it recently and wanted to do another interview with you.”

“It’s not that great, but it is my signature dish now.”

“I also heard your mung bean cakes are quite distinctive.”

“They sell quite well.”

“Any progress on the ‘San Ding Bao’?”

“A little. I haven’t practiced it much recently.”

“I know. You’ve been practicing that so-called ‘Double Crab Bun’ lately.”

Qin Huai: …?

Where is Master Zhou getting all this information from? Is there a surveillance system on him?

Master Zhou simply looked at him quietly.

At that moment, Qin Huai understood.

“Why don’t I make a few of my best pastries for you now, and you can taste them yourself?”

Master Zhou immediately looked pleased again and nodded with a smile.

“Good.”