AGN -Chapter 465 No Need to Eat So Fast

Xia Murui didn’t understand, but he didn’t say anything.

Anyway, he was a big shot, and Fen Yuan was his restaurant. As long as he stood there expressionlessly watching Qin Huai knead dough without saying a word, no one would dare to ask him anything.

Xia Murui stood beside Qin Huai for five or six minutes, then turned his gaze to Zhao Cheng’an and frowned slightly.

It wasn’t because Zhao Cheng’an was worse than Qin Huai. In terms of skill, the two were actually on roughly equal footing, each with their own strengths. It was just that Qin Huai was like a “cheat character” who kept improving nonstop (constantly grinding proficiency), and his everyday performance was far more stable than Zhao Cheng’an’s, so his pastries always seemed slightly better.

If Zhao Cheng’an focused on his specialty—laminated pastries—and performed exceptionally well, he could also reach A- level.

The reason Xia Murui frowned was because he noticed Zhao Cheng’an was clearly slacking off. He was only doing basic supporting tasks, and supporting tasks meant no difficulty. As the direct disciple of the number one white-dough pastry master, doing something without difficulty basically meant slacking off.

Xia Murui instinctively frowned whenever he saw someone slacking off.

“You’re not making pastries?” Xia Murui asked. His tone wasn’t harsh, but it still made Zhao Cheng’an’s hand tremble.

“I… I… I should… should I be… what pastry was I supposed to make again, Qin Huai?” Zhao Cheng’an stammered nervously.

Qin Huai quickly stepped in to help.

“Aren’t you making brown sugar steamed buns? Brother Cheng’an, thanks for helping me prep these ingredients. I’ll handle the rest. You go make what you want to eat.”

“Right, right, brown sugar steamed buns.” Zhao Cheng’an immediately slipped away like grease on the soles of his feet, heading off to get brown sugar. He accurately took a packet from the cabinet—clearly he had memorized where everything was while “checking ingredients” earlier.

Xia Murui said nothing, just stood silently watching.

He watched Zhao Cheng’an knead dough for more than ten minutes before finally speaking in a low, slightly hoarse voice: “I just wanted to see your skills.”

There was nothing special in his tone. It was calm, but Qin Huai somehow heard a hint of regret and apology in it.

After saying that, Xia Murui quietly walked away and went to another workstation a bit further off, separating himself from the two as he prepared ingredients for dinner.

Qin Huai instinctively looked at Zhao Cheng’an again and found that Zhao Cheng’an hadn’t even heard what Xia Murui had said. He only let out a long sigh of relief.

“I was scared to death,” Zhao Cheng’an whispered to Qin Huai. “It felt like a dean was standing next to me watching me take an exam.”

“Senior Xia doesn’t mean any harm. I think he just wanted to see our skills,” Qin Huai said in his defense.

“I know. What could he possibly have against us? We’re not even red-dish chefs. He only really scolds red-dish chefs anyway,” Zhao Cheng’an said, then suddenly looked expectant. “What are we eating tonight?”

“If tonight’s dishes are better than yesterday’s, I might not even want to eat steamed buns.”

Qin Huai: “……”

You’d better eat them. If you don’t, how am I supposed to complete my side quest?

“Stop thinking so much. Just do what you’re good at. Since we rarely get the chance to perform in front of Senior Xia, don’t miss it,” Qin Huai said.

At that moment, Zhang Guanghang entered the kitchen.

By then, Qin Huai had already started making yam cakes.

Suddenly having two white-dough pastry chefs in Fen Yuan’s kitchen made Zhang Guanghang feel slightly disoriented. For a moment he even thought he had walked into the wrong place. After a brief pause, he walked over to Xia Murui’s side and started handling some more complicated and delicate ingredients.

He soon noticed his master seemed a little distracted.

His techniques were still flawless, but his state wasn’t right. There was a faint sense of low mood—not anger, but something closer to guilt, like someone who felt they had done something wrong.

Zhang Guanghang observed carefully and realized Xia Murui occasionally glanced toward Zhao Cheng’an’s back.

On Zhao Cheng’an’s side, he would work for a bit, then turn to chat with Qin Huai. His mouth never stopped moving. This was the first time Zhang Guanghang had seen a pastry chef talk this much in the kitchen, as if he couldn’t make pastries without talking.

Zhang Guanghang couldn’t fully understand the situation, but strangely felt it was normal, because ever since last night, his master had been acting odd.

Qin Huai also noticed Xia Murui secretly watching Zhao Cheng’an.

Having worked in his family’s breakfast shop selling buns, Qin Huai had developed sharp observational skills—he could notice everything happening within his field of vision.

If Zhao Cheng’an weren’t awake and Xia Murui were purely human, Qin Huai would almost suspect he was some spirit who had recognized Zhao Cheng’an and wanted to reunite with his junior brother.

He even felt the urge to quietly ask Xia Murui:

Senior Xia, do you think Zhao Cheng’an resembles someone you once knew?

But he restrained himself.

At Xia Murui’s age, even if his mental resilience was good, it probably wasn’t that good. If the old man got too emotional and collapsed, Qin Huai would become a historical sinner in the literal sense.

With Zhang Guanghang’s 1.88-meter height and his physique as a savory-dish chef, Qin Huai might not even be able to beat him.

Still, Qin Huai wanted to do something. This might be the only chance he had to interact closely with Xia Murui. If Zhao Cheng’an’s final memory ended and he woke up, at least he should leave “Fleeting Life” with some memories of his senior brother.

So Qin Huai thought for a moment and asked Zhao Cheng’an: “If we ordered yesterday’s meal individually, it would cost at least six figures at Fen Yuan, right?”

“Of course!” Zhao Cheng’an nodded vigorously. “If it were à la carte, my master would probably fly back just to come to the airport and beat me up right there.”

“Today’s meal probably won’t be cheap either,” Qin Huai continued.

“I hope so,” Zhao Cheng’an smacked his lips. “I wonder if there’ll be shark fin today. Senior Xia’s signature shark fin isn’t just claypot shark fin—there used to be a three-shred shark fin dish too. But that one was probably smaller portions, likely served per bowl.”

“We’re already making pastries,” Qin Huai said. “Whether it’s for two people, four people, ten, twenty, or thirty—it’s all still making pastries.”

Under Zhao Cheng’an’s horrified gaze, Qin Huai continued calmly: “Fen Yuan doesn’t serve pastries because Senior Xia isn’t specialized in them. But we’re white-dough pastry chefs. If we could make them at Baobao Zhai yesterday, why can’t we make more here today?”

“Senior Xia treated us to another meal because we didn’t get to try ‘Peach Blossom Float’ yesterday. We shouldn’t be ungrateful or show favoritism, right? Shouldn’t we return the favor with a batch of pastries?”

Zhao Cheng’an was stunned.

In his mind, a small voice screamed:

This is emotional blackmail. Pure emotional blackmail!

Even if what you’re saying makes sense, I think you just want to make more pastries!

Why are we suddenly grinding like crazy? Weren’t we on vacation? Weren’t we here to eat?

Did we change our flight just to come here and work?

Though his inner voice was screaming, Zhao Cheng’an still nodded seriously.

“I think what you said makes perfect sense. I also want to make more pastries for Senior Xia.”

“If Fen Yuan had the right equipment… I’d even want to make some high-difficulty laminated pastries to show him.”

After Qin Huai’s suggestion to make more pastries as thanks for the meal, Xia Murui’s mood visibly improved.

Although he still occasionally glanced at Zhao Cheng’an, the earlier low pressure had vanished, and he even became more focused while preparing ingredients.

Zhang Guanghang silently observed and thought:

Master’s mood really is like British weather—changeable.

He also glanced at Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an.

These two southern pastry chefs were truly strange—yesterday they made pastries at Baobao Zhai, today they came to Fen Yuan to make pastries for themselves, and even wanted to make more on top of that.

As expected of people from Zhiwei Residence—they really love making pastries.

Qin Huai’s idea of “making more pastries to thank Xia Murui” did not mean that he himself would make extra items. The pastries he had originally planned were already more than enough. White steamed buns, rice cakes, and yam cakes were all basic items, but they were essential tasks for the day. They had to be treated seriously, and he couldn’t split his time and energy to make additional non-essential pastries.

The “thank-you portion” would be handled by Zhao Cheng’an—he would be the one making the flashy, decorative items.

And Zhao Cheng’an truly made things very flashy.

He only made two items: red date flower pastries and lotus-shaped crisps.

Both were highly decorative, textbook-style pastries—exactly the kind suited for Zhao Cheng’an, who had not yet found his own culinary path.

Because these two pastries had extremely high requirements for appearance and were very time-consuming, Zhao Cheng’an only managed to make less than two jin (about one kilogram) of pastries in the entire afternoon.

Normally, it wouldn’t be this little, but this wasn’t a normal situation—Zhao Cheng’an had a habit of slacking off.

As for why they used the strange unit “jin” to describe it…

It was because Qin Huai, in the same afternoon, had made over a hundred jin of white steamed buns, rice cakes, and yam cakes, giving Zhang Guanghang—a Franco-Chinese chef specializing in savory dishes—a small but serious shock from a “breakfast-shop-style production explosion.”

Zhang Guanghang looked at Qin Huai’s side—large quantities, filling, and plain, basic pastries—and then at Zhao Cheng’an’s side—small, exquisite, highly stylized, and visually impressive creations. His expression was so full of shock it was almost spilling out in words.

His face basically said: Do pastry chefs really differ this much in style?

At 6 p.m., the exhausted Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an sat down in a private room at Fen Yuan.

The private room also had an Eight Immortals table—just one size larger than the one in the main hall. The moment they saw that big table, both of them immediately understood: tonight’s dinner was going to be excellent.

Chefs who often treat friends to “private meals” know this well—if a private meal is especially extravagant, it must be eaten somewhere out of sight, otherwise ordinary diners will feel shocked and jealous.

Sitting in the room, Zhao Cheng’an said happily to Qin Huai:

“Qin Huai, I get it now. You dragged me here all afternoon to make pastries just to make Senior Xia happy. Once he’s happy, he directly arranged a private room for us. With such a big table, how many dishes are we going to get?”

“And unlike yesterday, we didn’t come here starving today. This morning we already ate half a pot of shark fin soup. We weren’t hungry in the afternoon, but we did some pastry-making exercise—perfect timing. I feel like I can eat three more dishes tonight!”

“Ah, I messed up. I should’ve made steamed buns like you. Making buns is good exercise—you have to knead so much dough!”

Qin Huai: “……”

You understood it very well. Please don’t understand it again.

You may not be fully awake yet, but you’re definitely getting closer—your brain is already starting to act a bit… off, like your “first-life mode” is taking over your intelligence.

In the kitchen, Xia Murui returned to his usual state of cooking while occasionally glancing at the “monitor.”

He saw Zhao Cheng’an and Qin Huai happily touching everything in the private room. Zhao Cheng’an even carefully touched an antique vase on the shelf and smiled.

Xia Murui smiled faintly.

“Xiao Hang, steam a batch of the buns Qin Huai made earlier. Serve a plate to every table in the hall,” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

At that moment, there was only one table of guests in the hall. The four diners were pleasantly surprised, thinking they had lucked out by having the whole place almost to themselves.

After sitting for a few minutes, they were still whispering about how fortunate they were.

Then Zhang Guanghang came out carrying the buns.

The four were confused. They hadn’t ordered buns. And since when did Fen Yuan even sell buns?

“Because there is a private room guest today, the kitchen is busy and serving may be slightly delayed. We ask for your understanding. This plate of buns is complimentary. Please enjoy,” Zhang Guanghang said, placing the buns down and leaving.

The four immediately started whispering again.

“There’s actually a private room guest today? It’s been so long since Fen Yuan’s private room was booked out. Isn’t it usually for six people? I thought Senior Xia wasn’t accepting groups over four this year because of his health. Who has that kind of connection to book it? No wonder we’re the only table here.”

“I don’t know, but I heard Senior Xia was in a great mood yesterday. Two young first-time diners ordered a set meal and ended up eating six or seven dishes. The set even included ‘Fortune Meat’ and a deluxe version of shark fin soup!”

“That’s fake, right? Who made that up? That’s impossible.”

“It’s true! Old Fang said it!”

“Hey… Li, why are you already eating?”

All three turned to the fourth person, who had been silent—not because he didn’t want to talk, but because his mouth was full of buns.

“These buns are really good,” he said while eating. “Soft, chewy, and springy. I didn’t expect Senior Xia to have this skill. I didn’t even know he could make buns this well.”

He continued eating rapidly, finishing one bun and immediately grabbing another.

Heh. There were four people, but only five buns on the plate. Whoever ate faster would get an extra one.

The four continued eating while watching the kitchen expectantly, waiting for more dishes to be served from the private room.

Under their intense observation, Zhang Guanghang soon returned carrying a cold dish covered in sesame paste.

“What dish is that? Stir-fried cabbage? Why isn’t it steaming?”

“Cold dish maybe? It looks like ‘Qianlong Cabbage.’”

“Why would they order that? Fen Yuan has so many famous cold dishes. That one isn’t even top tier.”

Before they finished discussing, Zhang Guanghang quickly came out again with another extremely elaborate dish and headed toward the private room.

It was a dish arranged like a peacock—or more accurately, a phoenix spreading its wings.

“What is that?”

“No idea.”

“Who’s in that private room? Xu Cheng? But even he didn’t get a private room last time.”

Inside the private room, Zhang Guanghang looked at the empty plate where the “Qianlong Cabbage” had just been devoured in seconds and fell silent for a moment.

He once again gained a clearer understanding of Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an’s eating speed.

Quietly, he placed the next dish on the table.

“Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix. Please enjoy.”

“There are still many dishes coming. No need to eat so fast.”

“Would you like your staple food served now, or later? And which ones?”