AGN -Chapter 459 Where Is My Dinner?

Qin Huai said he would make yam cake, and he really did just make yam cake—he made it for an entire day, all stamped with the words “Chen Sheng,” in massive quantities that were filling and plentiful.

Qin Huai told Ling Guangzhao that his yam cakes could be sold freely outside, as if they were pastries “dropped” by Little Chef Qin at Baobao Zhai. After all, it was only for this one day anyway.

Ling Guangzhao did not sell Qin Huai’s yam cakes. Instead, he gave them away—to Baobao Zhai’s long-time customers, VIP clients, and shop owners in Beijing who had good relations with him.

Since they were gifts, it obviously couldn’t be as simple as putting a few pieces of yam cake in a plastic box. During holidays, Baobao Zhai usually sold gift boxes of dishes, so Ling Guangzhao brought out those boxes and filled them entirely with yam cakes. It gave the impression of using a 188-yuan gift box to package 8.8-yuan yam cakes.

As for why the words “Chen Sheng” were on the yam cakes, Qin Huai did not explain to Zhao Cheng’an, but he gave Ling Guangzhao a standard answer.

Qin Huai told him that his family had a book called The Complete Collection of Pastries, which he had bought for one yuan at a flea market when he was in elementary school. It contained many precious pastry recipes, and most of what Qin Huai knew came from studying it.

This yam cake recipe was not listed in the table of contents of The Complete Collection of Pastries, but it was tucked inside the book. When Qin Huai found it, the paper was already yellowed—clearly an old recipe from many years ago.

Because his skill level was previously insufficient, Qin Huai had never been able to successfully make the yam cake from this recipe, and over time he forgot about it. Yesterday at the hotel, he suddenly remembered it, pulled up a digital version on his phone, studied it for an afternoon and an evening, and finally achieved enlightenment. Only then did he borrow Baobao Zhai’s kitchen today to try making it.

The story that Little Chef Qin’s cooking came from an ancient book called The Complete Collection of Pastries was already widely known in Yunzhong Community, Huang Ji, and Zhiwei Residence. But in Baobao Zhai, this was clearly a brand-new story—at least Ling Guangzhao had never heard of it.

Ling Guangzhao was completely stunned.

He felt like the cliché storyline from childhood novels—where the protagonist falls off a cliff, finds a martial arts manual, trains for ten years, and then returns to shock the world—had become reality right in front of him.

Zhao Cheng’an was also stunned. After returning, he quietly asked Qin Huai, “Didn’t you say you learned from video tutorials? How did this recipe from The Complete Collection of Pastries suddenly appear?”

“Both, both,” Qin Huai replied. “Boss Ling hasn’t heard my ‘Complete Collection of Pastries’ version of the story. I just added a bit of artistic embellishment to shock him a little.”

“Did you feel anything special when eating the yam cake?”

“What kind of special feeling could I have?” Zhao Cheng’an opened the gift box he brought from Baobao Zhai, picked up a piece of yam cake, and ate it.

In fact, he could have just packed it in a plastic box. Even bringing a plate back to the hotel would not have bothered Ling Guangzhao. But Zhao Cheng’an liked the fancy gift box too much and insisted on taking one.

“I just think it tastes pretty good. It’s tasty. Your yam cake isn’t exactly earth-shattering—what kind of realization am I supposed to have?”

“You’re not expecting me to write you an 800-word essay after eating it, are you? I heard from Tan Weian that when you were making Four Happiness Tangyuan, you liked asking people for food reviews. The aunties and uncles in your neighborhood wrote essays longer than each other. I’m telling you, I can’t do that. I’ve hated writing since I was a kid.”

Zhao Cheng’an kept eating piece after piece, and in the blink of an eye, he finished half the box.

Seeing that Zhao Cheng’an had eaten for an entire day and still hadn’t triggered any side quest, Qin Huai knew that extracting the final hidden task—and thus the last fragment of the dream—was probably hopeless.

Qin Huai casually pulled the box closer to himself and picked up a piece of yam cake.

“Looking forward to tomorrow’s meal at Fenyuan?”

“Of course!” Zhao Cheng’an said excitedly.

“This is Fenyuan—we’re talking about an 18,000-yuan-per-person meal. I’ve never eaten anything that expensive in my life. We shouldn’t eat anything in the morning or afternoon tomorrow, right? I’m definitely not planning to eat anything. I’m going to post like crazy on social media tomorrow night. I just wonder what dishes we’ll get.”

“I wonder if the signature dish Mr. Xia mentioned is braised intestines or sweet-and-sour carp. I’m not even hoping for dishes like shark fin soup or clear soup bird’s nest. If we can get an extra dish like braised sea cucumber with scallions or stir-fried seafood double treasure, I’ll be satisfied.”

“This is the cooking of a top-10 chef in the Famous Chef Rankings. My master didn’t even make the top 30—I can’t even imagine how good the top 10 must be.”

Qin Huai: “……”

He didn’t even dare imagine what would happen if this recording was sent to Chef Zhou. Zhao Cheng’an might not even survive the meal tomorrow.

Qin Huai personally didn’t mind eating a set meal for two. Although he didn’t have the appetite of Qin Luo, Ou Yang, or Shi Dadan, if necessary, Qin Huai could eat.

The next day, Qin Huai rarely slept in, waking up only after the sun was high in the sky.

When he woke up, Zhao Cheng’an was already sitting on the sofa, tapping an “electronic wooden fish,” worshipping an “electronic Guanyin,” and making cyber prayers, muttering for blessings that he would draw shark fin soup in tonight’s “blind box.”

Look at him—still thinking about shark fin soup.

“Is Chef Xia’s shark fin soup really that good?” Qin Huai asked in confusion. “Better than braised fish fin?”

Qin Huai had once eaten the most extravagant version of braised fish fin at Cao Guixiang’s home—braised fish fin mixed with rice. To many gourmets, this was an act of blasphemy, a waste of ingredients, but Qin Huai had learned it from Zhang Zhiyun.

Honestly, he thought it was pretty good—very rice-friendly.

Zhao Cheng’an gave him a look that said, “What kind of humble brag is this?” and replied, “How would I know? I’ve never even had braised fish fin.”

“I only saw people post shark fin soup from Fenyuan on social media. A huge portion—a whole pot. 58,000 yuan per serving. The entire pot is simmered in clear broth, with shark fin filling the whole clay pot, accompanied by bamboo shoots, ham, mushrooms, and lily buds. That’s the original version.”

“There’s also an upgraded version at Chef Xia’s place—68,000 yuan. It adds fish balls, beef balls, shrimp balls, scallops, bok choy, and tofu. All the meatballs are handmade by Chef Xia himself.”

Qin Huai: “That sounds like hotpot.”

“It basically is hotpot. Originally, shark fin soup wasn’t Chef Xia’s signature dish. It was actually his disciple—someone surnamed Zhang… Zhang something—who loved it. Chef Xia kept cooking it for him, turning it into a giant hotpot-style dish. Whatever his disciple wanted, he just added it in. That’s how it ended up like this.”

“Using shark fin soup as a hotpot base—what kind of lucky guy is that disciple Zhang?”

Qin Huai: “……”

He wanted to agree, but considering he himself was someone who ate braised fish fin with rice, he really had no standing to comment.

Well… in a way, it made sense. A master chef could cook whatever he wanted. Turning shark fin soup into hotpot wasn’t unreasonable.

Zhao Cheng’an stared at him.

“…Why are you silent? You’re supposed to be on my side, indignantly criticizing that guy surnamed Zhang for being too lucky!”

“You traitor. You’ve switched sides.”

Zhao Cheng’an stared at Qin Huai, while Qin Huai gave a slightly guilty smile and slipped away to wash up.

After that, the two of them spent the rest of the time frantically researching Fenyuan’s signature dishes online.

And it turned out—Fenyuan really had quite a lot of signature dishes.

Fenyuan, as the number one private kitchen restaurant in Beiping, had been operating for many years, and its signature dishes had constantly been updated and iterated.

In its earliest days, Fenyuan’s signature dishes were things that could no longer legally appear on menus—such as orchid bear paw and similar dishes.

Later, Chef Xia Murui realized that entertaining foreign guests was a highly profitable opportunity, so the signature dishes shifted to items designed specifically to impress foreigners. These included dishes like Peach Blossom Wave (sauce-poured crispy rice), Jade Fan of Emerald (a cold vegetable platter arranged in the shape of a fan), Snow Hides Treasure (scrambled eggs with shrimp, ham, and crab meat), and Dark Clouds Embrace the Moon (quail eggs stewed with seaweed).

All of these had grand-sounding names and beautiful presentation, tasted decent, but had extremely poor cost performance.

It wasn’t until Chef Xia took on disciples that Fenyuan’s signature dishes became more “normal,” shifting into proper Shandong cuisine using luxurious ingredients and extremely difficult techniques. Abalone, shark fin, sea cucumber, and bird’s nest became regular signature items on the menu.

As for which dishes remained permanent, that was generally decided according to Zhang Guanghang’s preferences.

When Zhang Guanghang became Chef Xia’s disciple, he was still a child—a French-Chinese mixed-race foreign boy—so his tastes naturally differed from local Beiping children.

From the appearance of dishes like candied hawthorn, candied sweet potato, and other items that clearly were not traditional Shandong cuisine but rather a strange fusion of Chinese and French cuisine—some of which had inexplicable names—Qin Huai could easily tell that Chef Xia had gone to great lengths to please his disciple.

Under normal circumstances, Qin Huai would not feel hungry even if he skipped breakfast and lunch.

But today, he was a little hungry.

He had gotten hungry just from reading about Fenyuan’s signature dishes over the years.

Chef Xia really was all-around impressive.

As a Shandong cuisine chef, he was naturally best at Shandong cuisine, but in earlier years, in order to make money, he had also dabbled in Cantonese and Fujian cuisine. Later, after taking in a French-Chinese disciple, Qin Huai felt that Chef Xia likely even had some understanding of French cuisine.

Taken together, his signature dishes alone could probably form an entire “Collection of Signature Dishes.”

Yes—an entire collection of signature dishes.

That was the confidence of a master.

Originally, Qin Huai wasn’t very excited about the blind-box dinner that night. After all, Ling Guangzhao and Tong Deyan had already mentally prepared them—recently Chef Xia’s mood hadn’t been good, and the probability of drawing a “gold item” from the blind box was close to zero.

Not to mention shark fin soup—even braised sea cucumber hadn’t been drawn for ten months. If Chef Xia’s mood was bad enough, even scallion tofu might be considered a dish.

The hotel where Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an were staying wasn’t far from Fenyuan. A taxi ride, even with traffic, would take at most forty minutes. To be safe, they set off at five o’clock sharp, armed with a phone full of Fenyuan’s historical signature dishes, marching out with great enthusiasm.

“Qin Huai, what do you think we’ll get tonight?”

“Don’t know. But I kind of want candied apple.”

“You’ve got no ambition at all. Why can’t you hope for ‘Wanfuruo’ pork? If not that, oil-poached white carp is fine too. I don’t know why, but I really want fish today.”

Two ambitious young men boarded a taxi heading to Fenyuan.

Meanwhile, at Fenyuan, which had not yet opened for business, the kitchen was already busy.

As a private restaurant located in a traditional siheyuan courtyard, Fenyuan had no waiters or kitchen assistants. Daily cleaning was handled by part-time cleaners, and all kitchen work—from ingredient preparation to cooking—was done entirely by the master and his disciple.

Because manpower was limited, the number of tables opened for reservation each day was very small—no more than 18 tables in total for lunch and dinner combined—and groups larger than six were not accepted.

Even with such limited service, the workload for Chef Xia Murui, who was already ninety years old, was still extremely heavy.

In the kitchen, Zhang Guanghang, whom Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an had met a few days earlier at the entrance of Taifeng Tower, was diligently assisting Chef Xia while reporting updates.

“Master, Boss Ling from Baobao Zhai just replied. He said the yam cake was made by Qin Huai from Huang Ji in Suzhou. The recipe came from a book called The Complete Collection of Pastries that Qin Huai bought when he was younger. The ‘Chen Sheng’ characters on the cake might have been written on the original recipe, and he faithfully recreated it.”

Chef Xia, who was simultaneously managing several stoves, paused slightly.

“A recipe tucked inside a book?”

“You said that pastry boy’s name was what again?”

“Qin Huai, from Huang Ji in Suzhou. He has a pastry called Guo’er, which made it onto the cover of Zhiwei’s New Year issue. He’s not exactly unknown,” Zhang Guanghang replied. “Also, Boss Ling said that tonight, this Qin chef and a young chef named Zhao from Zhiwei Residence are coming to Fenyuan for dinner. They booked a double set meal. Boss Ling even asked if he could pay extra to add an additional dish for them.”

Chef Xia let out a cold laugh.

“Pay extra? Does Ling Guangzhao think I care about his little bit of money?”

“He sends over a box of yam cake and expects me to add an extra dish? What a big face he has.”

Zhang Guanghang was already used to this attitude and continued working silently, not paying attention to Chef Xia’s expression.

Chef Xia, while controlling the heat on several stoves and seasoning meat slices at the same time, continued talking:

“This yam cake wasn’t even made by Baobao Zhai’s chefs. Ling Guangzhao really likes putting gold on his own face. If I were to send dishes, it wouldn’t be because of his face either.”

Zhang Guanghang: “?”

He looked up in confusion.

Then he saw his master—whose mood had been unstable since last year—suddenly speaking in a fierce tone: “Are there any extra ingredients today?”

Zhang Guanghang replied cautiously, “If there are… oil-fried double crunch, tofu supreme, and fish maw soup. We could easily make an extra portion.”

“What’s the point of just adding one more of those? We ate their yam cake. If I only return this much, it makes me look stingy.”

“Guanghang, did you eat anything this afternoon to hold you over?”

“…I think I did.”

“Good. Then you’re not eating the shark fin soup tonight.”

“Serve the shark fin soup first when they arrive. Let them have it as hotpot-style side dishes.”

“Also prepare two cold dishes. Make them look nice. Don’t embarrass Fenyuan.”

Zhang Guanghang: “……”

At this moment, he began to wonder if yam cake had suddenly become so precious in China that it was worth sacrificing his entire dinner.

“…Understood, Master.”

He didn’t understand—but he nodded anyway.