Chapter 15 Five-Diced Bun

July 1st, Sunny, Temperature 26°C–33°C, Excellent Air Quality, Everything Auspicious, A Great Day to Start Work.

At 4 a.m., the sky wasn’t even bright yet. A crescent moon still hung in the treetops, and outside the window it was completely silent—no birds chirping, no cicadas buzzing.

Qin Huai, who hadn’t gotten up early to steam buns for quite some time, was jolted awake by his alarm. He struggled to open his eyes, rolled over, and dragged himself out of bed.

Strange… both he and Qin Luo had always dreamed of earning enough money to turn their breakfast shop into a dim sum restaurant, so they could finally stop waking up early and sleep until they naturally woke up. Now that a windfall had practically fallen from the sky, why was he waking up even earlier than before?

Sitting on the bed, Qin Huai pondered life.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated violently. It was Qin Luo calling.

He answered, and Qin Luo’s miserable wail came through the speaker.

“Bro, are you up yet? I’m suffering here! Mom dragged me up at 3:30! She and Dad didn’t sleep at all last night—and they wouldn’t let me sleep either. I’ve scrubbed all the stainless steel bowls in the kitchen until they shine like mirrors. The fillings are already thawed from the freezer, and the minced meat has been chopped so fine it’s practically paste now. Dad is so bored he’s about to start carving radishes into flowers! When are you coming?!”

“Stop talking nonsense. Your father and I are just used to getting up early,” Zhao Rong’s voice chimed in.

“Huaizi, don’t listen to Luo Luo. It’s still early, no rush—take your time. Your dad has already prepped all the ingredients. It’s still dark outside, so be careful when walking, don’t fall.”

Qin Huai smiled helplessly. “Mom, there are lights everywhere in the neighborhood—how could I fall? I’m heading over now. Give me ten minutes.”

After hanging up, Qin Huai was fully awake. He quickly washed up, casually liked the posts Chen Huihong and Ou Yang had made last night on social media, and hurried out the door toward the Yunzhong Canteen near the east gate of the residential complex.

The canteen was already brightly lit.

Come to think of it, Qin Huai—though effectively the owner of Yunzhong Canteen and the only white-dough chef in the dim sum section on the first floor—had actually been the one who visited the least. He’d only come twice when he first took over, and hadn’t been back since the renovation.

In his memory, the canteen was quite spacious. The décor followed Ou Yang’s previous fish hotpot restaurant style—somewhat traditional Chinese.

As someone who had lost 6.6 million yuan in a single year running a restaurant, Ou Yang had spared no expense on renovation. He had basically bled himself dry, but it ended up benefiting whoever took over later.

Qin Huai scanned his face at the internal entrance and went in.

The canteen had two entrances: the inner one was for residents of Yunzhong Community and required facial recognition, while the outer one was the regular entrance facing the street.

“Bro, you finally came! What are we eating this morning?” Qin Luo, who had been slumped over the table playing on his phone, instantly perked up.

“Buns,” Qin Huai replied concisely.

After saying that, he looked around the first floor. Something felt different.

“Did the tables get changed?”

They were all vintage-style wooden tables now. He remembered the old ones weren’t like this.

Qin Luo nodded. “Sister Hong said since we’re selling dim sum on the first floor, the old tables didn’t match the style. She happened to have a batch that fit, so she replaced them for free. You didn’t know?”

Qin Huai nodded without saying much, mentally noting it. He went to the changing room, changed clothes, and entered the kitchen to start work.

Qin Luo, too lazy to change, couldn’t enter the kitchen and could only squat at the doorway, watching eagerly from afar.

Qin Congwen, who hadn’t slept all night, had already prepared all the raw ingredients. Everything was neatly sorted into different bowls—flour and warm water included. It was extremely thoughtful.

And thoughtful as he was, Qin Congwen didn’t sit idle. He pulled over a small stool and sat at the workstation, making buns together with Zhao Rong.

“Huaizi, it’s our first day opening. Can we really sell all these buns?” Qin Congwen asked worriedly while wrapping buns, though his hands moved quickly.

“We’ll sell them,” Qin Huai answered without hesitation.

With a base of 200 people drawn in by promotion, he was confident in today’s sales.

“Ou Yang has been distributing flyers for days. Anyone with a flyer gets 30% off buns—we’ll definitely sell out.”

“But Huaizi, we’re only selling pork buns and mushroom-vegetable buns this morning. Isn’t that a bit too simple?” Qin Congwen continued. “Even the convenience store across the street has more varieties—curry beef buns, pork buns, vermicelli buns, red bean buns—seven or eight types. Aren’t we offering too few?”

“Why don’t your dad keep making buns while I go make some wontons? Or at least fry some youtiao?” Zhao Rong added, now worried as well.

“Mom, no need to worry. We’re cheaper than the convenience store,” Qin Huai said. “And I’ll be making a few more items too—we won’t lack variety.”

Since Yunzhong Canteen had no rent cost, if Qin Huai wanted to start a price war, he could crush every breakfast shop within a ten-mile radius.

Of course, he had no intention of using such a mutually destructive tactic.

Price wars required capital—and he had none.

His strategy was simple: quality over quantity.

In the morning, they would sell two affordable, high-value basic buns made by Qin Congwen, along with two to three premium dim sum items made by himself—more expensive but delicious and suitable for breakfast.

Pastries like flaky cakes, pan-fried pancakes, crab-shell buns, and fried rice cakes—requiring ovens and oil—would be made later in the morning.

Traditional sweets like donkey rolls, pea cakes, victory cakes, and eight-treasure cakes would be released in batches depending on demand.

After all, manpower was limited. Unless Qin Huai could grow eight arms like an octopus, it would be impossible for him alone to make so many items simultaneously.

He began kneading the dough.

Previously, to get more sleep, he would prepare the dough the night before. As long as the steaming time and heat were controlled well, overnight dough didn’t taste much worse. But things were different now—they were aiming for premium quality, not quantity. Freshly made dough naturally tasted better.

After finishing the dough, Qin Huai began preparing the filling.

He heated oil in a wok, stir-fried diced pork until it changed color, then added diced chicken, fresh shrimp, crunchy bamboo shoots, and finely diced sea cucumber. He poured in chicken stock prepared the night before, brought it to a boil over high heat, then simmered it on low.

Soon, the entire kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of meat broth.

Qin Luo’s voice trembled with excitement from the doorway.

“F-Five-Diced Buns!”

No wonder she was so excited. If there was anything in their household that counted as a rare treat only available during the New Year, besides red envelopes, it was Five-Diced Buns.

Five-Diced Bun—a dish once designated as imperial cuisine during Emperor Qianlong’s southern tours.

Unlike the street snacks that also claimed to be “Qianlong’s favorites”—like preserved vegetable pancakes or meat flatbreads sold for a few yuan—Five-Diced Buns were the real deal.

Legend has it that during one of Qianlong’s southern inspections, local officials asked what kind of breakfast should be prepared. He replied:

“Nourishing but not overly rich, flavorful but not overly intense, fragrant with oil but not greasy, crisp but not hard, tender but not soft.”

A dim sum chef in Guangling pondered deeply and finally understood:
Sea cucumber nourishes—use sparingly;
Chicken is flavorful—use sparingly;
Pork is fragrant—use sparingly;
Winter bamboo shoots are crisp—use sparingly;
Shrimp is tender—use sparingly.

Thus, these five ingredients were diced and used as filling—creating the Five-Diced Bun.

From the preparation process alone—stir-frying, stewing, and using pre-made stock—it was clear how complicated it was.

After the ingredients were fully cooked, a starch slurry had to be added for thickening, and the mixture then chilled in the refrigerator for a period.

Qin Huai often felt that if you skipped that final step and served it straight from the wok, it could easily pass as a standalone dish.

The first time Qin Huai tried making Five-Diced Buns at home, Qin Congwen thought his son had suddenly developed an interest in cooking and decided to start with a high-difficulty dish involving stock.

As for how Qin Huai learned such a complex imperial recipe…

He could only say that the best decision he made in elementary school was spending one yuan at a flea market to buy that “Complete Dim Sum Guide.”

That guide… truly covered everything.