Chapter 16 The First Customer

The filling in the wok was still simmering over low heat. Qin Huai took a moment to check the fermentation of the dough nearby, then set up another pot and began preparing the filling for Three-Diced Buns.

As the name suggests, Three-Diced Buns are the youthful, mini version of Five-Diced Buns.

The preparation steps are almost identical, except two ingredients are missing—no diced shrimp and no diced sea cucumber—so the flavor is slightly different. Not worse, just different in its own way.

Five-Diced Buns use richer ingredients and are more difficult to make. Anyone who has cooked with sea cucumber knows it’s a tricky ingredient: naturally bland, often sandy and fishy. If used well, it elevates the dish; if mishandled, it can completely ruin it.

Compared to the riskier Five-Diced Buns, Three-Diced Buns are much simpler and easier to handle. Aside from requiring high-quality ingredients, as long as there are no major mistakes during preparation, it’s hard to mess up—the taste won’t be far off.

For Three-Diced Buns, the chicken should be a tender, slightly fatty hen; the pork should be well-balanced streaky belly; and the bamboo shoots depend on the season—winter shoots are the best.

Whether Three-Diced or Five-Diced, the key to both is freshness. This freshness doesn’t just come from the variety of ingredients, but from how fresh those ingredients are. The standards for raw materials are extremely high—any shortcuts will significantly affect the taste.

And that also means these buns can never be cheap.

As the Three-Diced filling began to simmer, the Five-Diced filling had already reached the stage of thickening and reducing.

Qin Huai handled both simultaneously with ease. He was used to this—every Lunar New Year was like this.

On New Year’s Eve, the Qin family would gather together. On the first day of the new year, guests would arrive carrying chicken, duck, fish, shrimp, pork belly, fresh bamboo shoots, and sea cucumber—eager to pay their respects, all for the limited-edition holiday treat: Five-Diced and Three-Diced Buns.

If Qin Huai didn’t multitask, he simply couldn’t keep up. During the entire holiday, he wouldn’t even have time to step out of the kitchen.

Qin Luo, now changed into proper clothes, upgraded from squatting at the kitchen door to squatting beside the workstation, staring longingly with hunger written all over her face.

Being closer made the aroma even stronger.

Slurp.

Once the reduction was complete, Qin Huai placed the Five-Diced filling into the fridge to chill, then checked the dough on the board.

Still needed a bit more time.

Qin Luo turned and cast a resentful glance at Qin Congwen. “‘Press it lightly and it doesn’t sink even half an inch; relax it and it still stands tall.’ Dad, when will you be able to knead dough like what’s described in The Suiyuan Food List?”

Qin Congwen: ?

Was that directed at me?

Zhao Rong shot Qin Luo an annoyed look. “Why are you quoting classical texts now? I don’t see you scoring high in Chinese exams usually. If your dad could make that… whatever it is, would we still be running a breakfast shop for over twenty years? Stop slacking—come help wrap buns.”

“Okay.” Qin Luo went to wash her hands.

“Wait, don’t wrap buns yet,” Qin Huai stopped her. “Go get the molds from the rack. The red bean and mung bean fillings should be thawed. Use Dad’s dough and press five batches with each mold.”

At this, Qin Luo lit up instantly. To her, using molds was far more fun than wrapping buns by hand. Usually at home, Qin Congwen wouldn’t let her touch them.

“Be careful,” Qin Congwen reminded.

It wasn’t that he cared about the molds—the real issue was that they were quite heavy. He was worried Qin Luo might hurt herself. Zhao Rong, however, always thought his concern was unnecessary. Qin Luo had always been strong despite her modest height—barely over 1.6 meters—and was the family’s go-to person for carrying watermelons in summer.

As Grandpa Qin would say, “Put this kid in the countryside, and she’d be a great farm worker.”

“Don’t worry, Dad!” Qin Luo happily went off to play with the molds.

The family worked together like this until 5:30, when the sun began to rise.

Just as the sky outside started to brighten, someone entered Yunzhong Canteen—from the outer entrance.

It was a capable-looking woman in her early thirties, with short hair and flat shoes. Qin Huai found her somewhat familiar but couldn’t immediately recall where he’d seen her. Just as he was wondering whether to step out and take a look, the woman walked over to the kitchen door herself.

“Boss, I’m Huang Xi,” she said, accurately spotting Qin Huai behind the workstation.

After entrusting all canteen operations to Huang Xi, Qin Huai had set only one rule: anyone not part of the kitchen staff must change into proper attire before entering the kitchen. Huang Xi was following it perfectly, standing about thirty centimeters from the entrance—just the right distance.

Qin Huai suddenly realized—he’d only seen her photo before. Having been busy preparing ingredients and planning the menu these past few days, he hadn’t met her in person.

“Chef Qin, Chef Zhao, Luo Luo—good morning,” Huang Xi greeted the others with a smile.

“No need to call me boss… just call me Little Chef Qin,” Qin Huai said. Back in Qiu County, neighbors used to call him that.

Qin Congwen was “Old Qin,” Qin Huai was “Little Qin,” and the owner of the stir-fry shop next door—also surnamed Qin—was nicknamed “Bald Qin” since the other two names were already taken.

“Little Chef Qin,” Huang Xi complied easily. “The rest of the staff should arrive around 6. The dim sum is already steaming—should I hang up the menu boards now?”

Qin Huai nodded.

Huang Xi immediately got to work, while Qin Luo ran to the window to tell her which menu boards to display.

They were custom-made wooden boards prepared two days ago, each clearly listing dishes and prices for easy swapping.

Though Qin Huai hadn’t met Huang Xi before, they had communicated frequently over messaging. Due to the long operating hours, she had divided the staff into long and short shifts.

The long shift ran from 6:30 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., and the short shift from 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. The shifts rotated every half month. The general workers had it tougher, working only long shifts, so their salary was increased by 500 yuan.

After hanging the boards, Qin Huai finished wrapping a batch of Three-Diced Buns and placed them into the steamer. Taking a moment, he leaned out the window and asked, “Isn’t work supposed to start at 6:30? Isn’t 6 a bit early?”

Huang Xi smiled. “It’s the first day of opening. Coming early to prepare is only right. After a few days, once things are running smoothly, it won’t be like this.”

Just then, the inner door opened.

An elderly man in a sleeveless undershirt walked in, clearly dressed for a morning run. He peeked inside cautiously before stepping in.

“Are you open yet?” he asked, then immediately spotted the stack of steamers piled high in the kitchen.

Without waiting for an answer, he walked straight to the window and examined the menu.

“Xiaolongbao—6 yuan per basket. Pork buns—1.5 each. Mushroom veggie buns—1 yuan… pretty cheap. Three-Diced Buns—25 per basket, two pieces. Five-Diced Buns—35 per basket, one piece… what are these? Why so expensive?”

“And red bean buns are all 3 yuan? Why are sweet buns more expensive than meat buns?” The old man looked skeptical, clearly thinking, I’m not some fool with money to burn—you’re not tricking me.

Huang Xi tried to explain, but he cut her off again.

“Oh right, I got one of your flyers the other day—it said 30% off with the flyer. I didn’t bring it this morning. Can I still get the discount?”

Finally getting a chance to speak, Huang Xi quickly replied, “Of course! The flyer was just for promotion. Until the 10th, all customers get 30% off.”

The old man nodded, muttering to himself, “30% off… 24.5.”

“Still expensive.”

“But it’s 30% off…”

“What if it’s good?”

“Hmm… still a bit pricey.”

“Ah, whatever. I’ve eaten 35-yuan crab roe soup dumplings before—what’s 24.5 for a bun? Give me one basket!”

“And one basket of that Three-Diced Bun too. And a cup of soy milk.”

Without waiting, he had already convinced himself.

“Alright,” Huang Xi said. “But the buns are still steaming—you may need to wait a few minutes.”

The old man went to the cashier to pay and get his receipt, then asked for a bowl of soy milk first—his morning run had clearly left him thirsty.

At the moment he paid, a notification sounded in Qin Huai’s mind.

“Ding! Congratulations on completing the main quest [Canteen Opening]. Reward: Popularity +100.”

“Ding! New optional main quest detected. Please check the quest panel.”

Qin Huai continued wrapping buns, while the old man—now seated at table number 9 near the window—made a phone call.

“Hello? What do you mean I’m late again for morning exercise? Do I look like someone who’s late? I rushed out today without even drinking water—I just went to the convenience store across the street to grab some. Five minutes, I’ll be there soon!”

After hanging up, he shouted toward the window, “Young man! Hurry up with those buns—I’ve got things to do!”

Then he gulped down another mouthful of soy milk—he really was thirsty.

Qin Huai: …

Sir, it’s generally not recommended to eat breakfast before a run—it can cause indigestion.