Chapter 40 Is This Illness Contagious?

Qin Huai, who was lacking in confidence, was enthusiastically promoting the fermented rice steamed buns to the elderly gentlemen.

Today’s buns were not for sale—they were being given away as a special surprise for regular and long-time customers.

The reason they weren’t being sold was mainly because the menu hadn’t been finalized yet. As for pricing, Qin Huai had tentatively set it at 8 yuan. Compared to the buckwheat buns—which were all over the place, freely customizable, and could have almost anything added for 5 yuan each—the B- rated fermented rice buns at 8 yuan were an absolute bargain!

Zhao Rong, who had participated in the pricing decision, felt the same way.

“Chef Xiao Qin, it’s not that I have a complaint, and it’s not that I don’t like buns. My spouse also comes to grab those buckwheat buns you sell every afternoon. I’m just offering a reasonable suggestion, a sincere expectation from a diner, and—”

“Alright, Wang Laogen, why are you rambling at the window? If you want something, just take it. If you want to speak, speak quickly!” Uncle Cao urged impatiently.

Uncle Wang could only slowly say, “Could you make more crab-shell pastries? Preferably shrimp-filled ones.”

As soon as he said this, the other elderly diners immediately voiced their objections.

“Wang Laogen, what’s with you? Eat what’s available, wait if there isn’t any—why are you giving feedback now?”

“Exactly, how many crab-shell pastries can you even eat?”

“Where’s the spirit of a 40-year accountant who never falsified accounts or made mistakes?”

These morning-run regulars were all familiar with each other, and upon hearing Uncle Wang’s comment, everyone began attacking him verbally.

The veteran accountant Wang blushed deeply and hurried away with his tray, nearly dropping the fermented rice bun from the small side dish.

Qin Huai helplessly served the next customer, an elderly lady.

These well-off elderly customers had a rather peculiar rule, which Qin Huai had vaguely heard about.

In short, since everyone had different tastes—“some like radishes, some like cabbage”—and the offerings at Yunzhong Cafeteria (except for the five-spice and three-spice buns) were not fixed, not everyone could get what they wanted.

To ensure fairness and prevent anyone from “paying extra” to influence the balance of meals, no one was allowed to directly contact Qin Huai using any means—including emotional appeals, flattery, claiming familial ties, or bribery—to privately request specific dishes.

What Granny Ding had done yesterday was already borderline and was criticized by everyone. What Uncle Wang had done today was outright violation and strictly forbidden.

“Chef Xiao Qin, don’t mind Wang Laogen. He’s been an accountant for so long that his wife even suspects he might have dementia. Same as usual—two cages of five-spice buns and one cage of three-spice buns. Could you give me two extra buns? My wife likes buns, but she can’t get up early. I’ve told her many times to come eat with me in the morning, but she just can’t get up.”

While criticizing Uncle Wang, Uncle Xu also didn’t forget to ask for extra buns.

As the first customer of Yunzhong Cafeteria, Qin Huai felt he had to give Uncle Xu some special treatment and promptly gave him two extra buns. Uncle Cao behind him watched this with envy.

Qin Huai had some understanding of these regulars’ backgrounds.

As for how he knew… Qin Huai could only say that Ou Yang’s community work over the past few years hadn’t been in vain. He might not remember much about his job, but when it came to gossip, his memory was impeccable.

Take Uncle Wang, who loved reminiscing about the past and was often suspected of early signs of dementia. His full name was Wang Gensheng, nicknamed Wang Laogen, a local resident and a genuine university graduate.

In his youth, he worked as an accountant at a state-owned factory in Suzhou, with 40 years of professional experience. His greatest pride was that he had never falsified accounts nor made calculation errors throughout his career. He had repeated this claim 19 times during breakfasts—so often that Qin Huai could recite it by heart.

Uncle Wang, who had lived a life of integrity and never earned side income, remained an ordinary elderly man even after retirement. His sudden wealth came in a way somewhat similar to Qin Huai’s—his family’s property was demolished and relocated.

Unlike most wealthy retirees who accumulated their wealth through decades of hard work, Uncle Wang was truly a “sudden wealth” case. This was also why other elders often called him stingy. In his own words, he had been frugal all his life—why shouldn’t he continue being frugal now that he had money?

The frugal Uncle Wang silently cursed Uncle Cao in his mind.

He had simply been speaking as a diner, expressing a sincere wish to fight for the recognition of crab-shell pastries—what had he done wrong…

Well… he might have indeed violated the rules a bit.

Having followed rules his entire life, Uncle Wang lowered his head in embarrassment and ate his bun.

Although Chef Xiao Qin didn’t like making crab-shell pastries, his skills with buns were undeniable. The bun was soft yet chewy, with a subtle aroma of alcohol that added the finishing touch…

Wait a second—this is a fermented rice bun?!

Uncle Wang looked down at the bun and widened his eyes.

As if in disbelief, he pressed the bun firmly and watched it slowly spring back.

Pressed again.

It bounced back again.

Uncle Wang: !!!

Uncle Cao, sitting across from him: ?

Oh no—had their earlier joke actually come true? Had Wang Laogen really developed dementia?

What a sin. Don’t worry, Laogen—we’ll do our best to find you the best doctor!

Qin Huai, behind the counter, also noticed Uncle Wang’s unusual behavior and asked, “Uncle Wang, is there something wrong with the bun?”

“This bun… this bun! This is fermented rice bun!” Uncle Wang said excitedly.

Uncle Cao facepalmed in despair. It’s over—it really is dementia.

“This tastes exactly like the fermented rice buns I used to eat in Suzhou when I was young! I never expected to taste this flavor again after so many years! This is the taste—no mistake! I haven’t had buns like this in half my life!”

“Back when I was an accountant at the cotton mill…”

Uncle Cao, already searching in his mind for a doctor’s contact, felt like flipping the entire steamer basket onto Uncle Wang’s head.

Damn it, Wang—if you’re reminiscing, just reminisce properly. Why change your words like that? You scared me half to death.

Amid the familiar monologue, Qin Huai keenly caught a new piece of information.

“Uncle Wang, have you had fermented rice buns similar to these before?”

“Yes, yes!” Uncle Wang was still excited. “Chef Xiao Qin, don’t take this the wrong way, but the fermented rice buns I had back then were much better than yours.”

Uncle Cao felt it was really necessary to call a doctor.

Qin Huai’s eyes lit up. He walked straight out from the kitchen and said eagerly, “Uncle Wang, please don’t stand—sit down. Could you carefully tell me what was better about the fermented rice buns you had back then?”

Uncle Cao: …

It’s over. The illness is contagious.

Chef Xiao Qin has actually been foolish enough to believe Wang Laogen’s reminiscing nonsense.

With a bun still in his mouth, Uncle Cao took out his phone and decided to seriously look up a doctor’s contact information.