Chapter 56 The Key to the Problem Is Finding the Key Problem

Two bowls of small wontons.

One bowl had wonton skins that puffed up like bubbles, their paper-thin wrappers nearly translucent and pale white. Served in a white porcelain bowl with added seaweed for umami and garnished with chopped scallions, the wontons looked like a painting.

The other bowl also had paper-thin wrappers—so thin one could see the filling through the wrinkled skin. The ingredients inside were visible to the eye. In addition to the usual seaweed and scallions, this white porcelain bowl also contained dried shrimp and thin egg strips. The mix of colors made the bowl, placed beside the “bubble wontons,” look especially vibrant.

Qin Luo, who had already eaten two five-ingredient buns and two three-ingredient buns, was swallowing saliva like crazy.

At this moment, she really wanted to tell Qin Huai: Brother, I think Brother Zheng is more reliable than Uncle Zheng. Why don’t you apprentice under Brother Zheng instead?

“The ones on the left are bubble wontons, and the ones on the right are crepe-wrapped wontons,” Zheng Siyuan said. “Both are focused on freshness.”

“Because we didn’t have enough time, the filling and dough are the same. The bubble wontons use a lard-based broth with a drizzle of sesame oil. One bowl is roughly this portion size—you can decide the pricing yourselves.”

“Want to try?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Qin Luo sprang into action.

One wonton per spoon, she scooped them up along with the soup and put them into her mouth. She barely chewed before it slid straight down her throat.

Her eyes were almost filled with tears.

“Mom, Brother Zheng’s wontons are much tastier than yours!”

Zhao Rong thought about Qin Luo’s still-undecided high school plans and briefly considered disciplining her in front of outsiders.

By the time the first bowls of bubble wontons and crepe-wrapped wontons were finished, it was already 7 a.m.

At this hour, the first batch of early breakfast customers had already finished eating and gone home. Only a few loyal regulars remained—people like Uncle Xu and Uncle Cao, who lived in the neighborhood or nearby, didn’t have to work, and had nowhere else to go. They preferred sitting in the cafeteria chatting and bragging, and when thirsty, they could order a freshly made lemon tea.

There were no menu boards specifically labeled for crepe-wrapped wontons or bubble wontons, only general labels for wontons and fresh shrimp wontons.

“Xixi, go find the fresh shrimp wonton label and hang it up. Cover the words ‘fresh shrimp’ with a cloth and say it’s a limited-time new item,” Qin Huai said loudly from the kitchen entrance.

This wasn’t the first time the cafeteria had done something like this. When a variety of buckwheat buns were made in the afternoon, it wasn’t possible to create individual labels for each—everything was simply labeled as “new buns, limited-time special.”

Xiang Xi nodded in understanding and went to find the label.

The group of elders chatting about their children and grandchildren instantly perked up.

Uncle Xu straightened up immediately and, while Qin Huai was still at the kitchen entrance, asked loudly, “Little Qin chef, do you have wontons now?”

Qin Huai was a bit surprised. “Grandpa Xu, you had a bowl of mung bean soup this morning, ate two cages of five-ingredient buns, and one cage of three-ingredient buns. Just now I personally saw you drink a cup of freshly made lemon tea, a cup of soy milk, and eat a tea egg. Can you still eat wontons?”

Uncle Xu hadn’t expected Qin Huai to be paying such close attention to him. For a moment, he was so moved he almost wanted to post about the conversation on social media. He replied loudly, “I can!”

His voice was so firm it sounded like he was ready to pledge allegiance.

Qin Huai shook his head, not understanding these morning-exercising elders, and returned to the cooking station. He instructed Zheng Siyuan to secretly prepare only half a portion of wontons for Uncle Xu, and to make up the rest tomorrow to avoid the old man overeating.

After giving the instructions, Qin Huai resumed making fermented rice buns.

Zheng Siyuan began cooking the wontons while also observing Qin Huai make the rice buns.

“The technique you use for these fermented rice buns is somewhat similar to mine,” Zheng Siyuan said. “My skills were taught by my father, and his were taught by his master.”

“Is that so,” Qin Huai replied. “I learned mine from a pastry compendium, right, Luo Luo?”

“Yes, yes,” Qin Luo nodded while eating. “My brother used to struggle with fermented rice buns. Recently, he’s been making buckwheat buns every day. Maybe all that practice helped him suddenly improve—his fermented rice buns became really good!”

Zheng Siyuan: …

For some reason, hearing that made him feel a bit annoyed.

These so-called “natural talent” people.

“The key to fermented rice buns is temperature,” Qin Huai continued enthusiastically. “The temperature of the fermented rice, the dough kneading temperature, and the fermentation temperature are all important. Also, based on my experience, it’s better not to blend the fermented rice with a juicer. Manually mashing and then filtering yields better results.”

Zheng Siyuan nodded, indicating he had learned something and would try it when he got back.

By around 8 a.m., Zheng Da—who hadn’t been a pastry chef for many years—arrived at the cafeteria and changed clothes to start work.

At this point, regular customers of Yunzhong Cafeteria assumed that the two pastry chefs Qin Huai had mentioned had finally arrived and started working.

Everyone gave high praise to the two new pastry chefs’ skills—saying the food was delicious, they loved it, and even skipping work or sneaking away was worth it to eat.

But what they didn’t know was that soon, both Zheng chefs would share the same confusion as Xiao Qin.

Why couldn’t the locust flower buns reach the expected standard?

Zheng Siyuan’s thoughts were aligned with Zheng Da’s. Qin Huai’s techniques, methods, and process had no obvious issues—but the final product didn’t match the expected level.

In simple terms, Qin Huai’s baseline skill level was around B to B-, meaning under normal circumstances he should be able to produce pastries at that level without issue.

Of course, the actual taste depends on the specific pastry and recipe, but Qin Huai’s ability to make B-level pastries was beyond doubt.

However, the locust flower buns were only at a C to C- level in taste, which indicated something was wrong somewhere.

And not just that—the recipe itself was S-tier.

The problem was significant.

And the biggest problem now was: they couldn’t find the problem.

In the afternoon, Qin Huai made another batch.

This time, Zheng Da and Zheng Siyuan pulled up chairs and sat right beside him, almost ready to record the entire process frame by frame to analyze it later at home.

Still, they couldn’t find the issue.

“That shouldn’t be,” Zheng Da said, now genuinely troubled.

He had originally thought that with his experience and Zheng Siyuan’s talent, solving a simple bun would be effortless.

Now, however, the father and son had been stumped by a bun.

“Siyuan, any ideas?” Zheng Da looked at his son.

After a moment of silence, Zheng Siyuan asked, “Can I try making it myself?”

Zheng Da thought that was an excellent idea. If observing didn’t reveal the issue, then trying it personally might.

So the situation flipped: Qin Huai sat on a small stool watching Zheng Da and Zheng Siyuan take over.

The result wasn’t great either.

Zheng Siyuan had a major flop, and Zheng Da a minor one.

Each of the three had a bun in front of them, and the room fell into complete silence.

After a long while, Zheng Da finally spoke.

“Let’s do this.”

“Siyuan, later we’ll go to the mall and buy a few sets of clothes for changing.”

“We’ll extend the hotel stay by another week.”

“I refuse to believe it—I’ll solve this bun within a week!”

Zheng Siyuan: …

Dad, don’t speak too soon.

Don’t end up failing to take in a disciple and failing to solve the bun.