Chapter 85 Leading a New Trend

The second batch didn’t fail as badly as the first.

Half a batch of crab-shell pastries, half a batch of hollow flatbreads. Compared to the first attempt, the crab-shell pastries no longer tasted dry—at worst, they were just not flaky enough.

But crab-shell pastries are a type of layered pastry, with sesame on the outside and flaky layers hidden within. As long as the crust crumbles nicely when bitten, a slight lack of flakiness is something most people wouldn’t even notice.

Especially not someone like Ou Yang.

Even if the pastry were so dry that it was all crust and barely any shrimp flavor remained, he’d just assume he came too late and missed the freshest batch—not that there was anything wrong with the pastry itself.

Compared to the slightly flawed crab-shell pastries, the hollow flatbreads had a more obvious problem.

Anyone who eats flatbread regularly knows that it should be crispy outside and soft inside—something that requires precise heat control.

An oven can compensate for poor heat control, but if you stubbornly try to do it the hard way…

The hollow flatbread will remind you: I’m not something just any cook can casually make.

Qin Huai wanted to try another batch—but there wasn’t enough time.

Zhang Shumei had arrived.

Since the flatbread failure was obvious and easy to fix without much feedback, Qin Huai decided there was no need to force Luo Jun to taste it.

A good taste tester should be used wisely.

He stuffed all the flatbreads into Ou Yang’s hands and packed up the crab-shell pastries.

Ou Yang happily accepted them, thinking Qin Huai was being thoughtful—worried that soup alone wouldn’t be enough, so he added some staple food.

Flatbread with soup—delicious!

Though… why was the bread hollow? It felt like something should be inside.

Zhang Shumei took the packaged food and said, “Mr. Luo said he still wants tangerine peel tea tomorrow. He asked me to keep bringing you the ingredients.”

“Did he say he wanted anything else?” Qin Huai asked.

She hesitated, then said with determination: “He told you not to get distracted doing random things—one day soup, the next crab-shell pastries. He said you should focus on making rice cakes.”

Qin Huai: …

Great. Luo Jun clearly felt voice messages weren’t enough and sent someone to deliver his complaints in person.

“Then I’ll make glutinous rice cakes tomorrow,” Qin Huai said with a smile.

At Table 9, Ou Yang, chewing vigorously on flatbread, leaned forward curiously. He still couldn’t figure out why Qin Huai suddenly had such a good relationship with Luo Jun—so good that he even made special dishes just for him.

They had been friends for years, yet all he got was a daily bowl of soup.

“Sigh…” Ou Yang sighed deeply and took another big bite.

This flatbread sure was chewy.

If only his parents had been more proactive back then—why didn’t they just adopt Qin Huai when they had the chance?

Ou Yang continued chewing.

Just as Qin Huai’s third batch of flatbread and crab-shell pastries was about to come out, a voice message from Luo Jun arrived.

Using a mix of commands, exclamations, rhetorical questions, and statements, Luo Jun expressed his dissatisfaction with today’s crab-shell pastries—

But his critique was very fair.

After all, he had lived 92 years as a Bifang. His taste was extremely sharp. Even without knowing Qin Huai’s method, he immediately noticed that the heat during baking had been uneven, causing excessive moisture loss in the shrimp, making it dry and less flavorful.

He even suspected Qin Huai did it on purpose—because mistakes like this felt more like something Chen Huihong would do, like setting the oven wrong.

Qin Huai could only explain that today’s batch was made using a stove.

That made Luo Jun even angrier—you actually made me eat an experimental batch?!

Qin Huai then asked whether he wanted to try the test version of glutinous rice cakes tomorrow. He planned to adjust them to suit Qu Jing’s taste—softer, stickier, and sweeter.

Luo Jun said yes.

Qin Huai continued baking.

The next few batches of crab-shell pastries were all given away to the elderly regulars waiting in the canteen—free of charge, purely as a thank-you to loyal customers.

After all, the quantity was small, and the quality wasn’t guaranteed.

The elderly crowd was thrilled again.

Before dinner time even arrived, the news had already spread to nearby residential areas:

“Master Qin is playing with a stove now—slowly baking crab-shell pastries and hollow flatbreads. Anyone free, come quickly!”

After finishing the last batch, Qin Huai had An Youyou clean the stove and store it in a corner, then went home to rest.

No need for dinner—he had already eaten his fill during testing.

On the way home, he messaged Huang Shengli, telling him how effective the stove method was for practicing heat control and thanking him for his thoughtful guidance.

Such a tricky method—it had to be specially designed for him.

After all, none of Huang Shengli’s apprentices specialized in pastry.

Dong Shi, holding Huang Shengli’s phone, read the message aloud.

Huang Shengli smiled and nodded, rubbing his waist. Distracted, he accidentally scooped too much oil into a dish.

No problem—he mentally noted it and decided not to eat that dish himself later. He’d let Zheng Da eat more of it instead.

Nearby, Zheng Siyuan, who was making qiaoguo, paused and asked: “Master, do you have more of those small stoves at home?”

“Huh?”

“I want to practice heat control too.”

Huang Shengli: “…Siyuan, your heat control is already much better than Qin Huai’s. You don’t need this.”

“Learning never ends,” Zheng Siyuan said seriously. “Qin Huai’s pastry skills are similar to mine, but his heat control is much weaker. That means I still have room to improve.”

Huang Shengli couldn’t quite follow the logic—but decided not to question modern young people.

“I think I have one at home. I’ll have my son check the old house. Want the tutorial I sent Qin Huai?”

“Yes, thank you, Master.”

Listening nearby, Dong Shi asked in confusion, “Brother, if Senior Zheng also becomes Master’s disciple, would he be our senior or junior?”

Dong Li felt Dong Shi should go cut 200 jin of radishes to cure his curiosity.

“Is practicing heat control with a stove really that effective? I watched for a while today—Qin Huai really improved. Master always says my heat control isn’t good… should I secretly buy a stove too?”

Dong Li pointed at a pile of radishes. “Stop thinking. Go cut those.”

Qin Huai had no idea he had started a new trend in practicing heat control.

He simply felt that baking crab-shell pastries and flatbreads on a stove was great.

Even though it was easy to mess up, it was rewarding.

And fun.

It felt like secretly playing with fire as a kid behind his parents’ backs.

That feeling continued into the next morning.

While waiting for steamed buns to finish, Qin Huai didn’t slack off or start another batch—instead, he pulled out the stove and happily baked flatbreads.

The new breakfast chef, Chen An, was completely stunned by both the variety of breakfast items and the unexpected cooking methods.

Chen An was skilled—fast, versatile, and capable of handling buns, dumplings, siu mai, wontons, and fried dough sticks all by himself.

A true all-round breakfast master.

He also loved the canteen’s schedule—4 AM to noon, with two meals included. Not too early, not too late. He worked enthusiastically, to the point that Qin Congwen and Zhao Rong barely had anything left to do.

At 6 AM, the usual group of elderly morning exercisers entered the canteen.

Seeing Qin Huai using the stove, Xu Tuqiang greeted him:

“Master Qin, making traditional crab-shell pastries?”

Yes—everyone now called his stove-made pastries “traditional-style.”

“What filling today?”

“Pure meat filling,” Qin Huai replied. “Shrimp didn’t work well yesterday.”

“Meat is great! Give me five when they’re ready!” Xu Tuqiang said boldly.

That immediately triggered complaints.

“Hey, Xu! Why are you so greedy? There aren’t many in a batch—how can you take five for yourself?”

“Yeah! You still owe me those fermented buns from last time!”

“I gave you tea in return!”

“I wanted buns, not tea!”

Arguments escalated quickly. More elderly joined in, even the watching aunties got involved.

Soon, the entire canteen was in chaos.

Huang Xi and the staff hadn’t arrived yet—no one to stop them.

“The crab-shell pastries are ready. Line up—two per person. Free tasting. If you give useful feedback, you can earn a custom dish request.”

Qin Huai spoke calmly.

Instant silence.

Then—everyone lined up at lightning speed.

Watching all this, Chen An stood frozen, holding a wonton wrapper he hadn’t moved in five minutes.

“Qin… Brother Qin… is it always like this in the mornings?” he asked blankly.

“You’ll get used to it. Sometimes they argue, but it never turns into a fight,” Qin Congwen reassured him. “Breakfast is fixed, so mornings are usually calm.”

“The real chaos happens in the afternoon. My son likes experimenting, and when supply is limited but demand is high—that’s when the real battle begins.”

Chen An: …Damn, I kind of want to work afternoon shifts now.

Getting off at noon suddenly felt too early.