Chapter Three: The Fresh Meat Bun Roster of Rare Intelligence

Decisions at home had always been led by Chen Zhou, with discussions between the two of them.

After tidying up in the evening, Chen Zhou briefly shared his future plans with his wife.

“Yifan, I’m planning to open a small restaurant. The construction industry isn’t doing well, and staying at the company feels pointless.”

This spiel was no stranger to Lin Yifan’s ears.

Whether it was “opening a small restaurant,” “delivering takeout,” “live streaming sales,” or “writing online novels,” she had heard all these ideas from her husband.

After all, he was a man who couldn’t sit still.

During the more than half a year without performance bonuses, he had tried putting these ideas into practice.

But with the economy sluggish and the difficulty of changing careers, nothing was easy.

This time, when Lin Yifan learned that Chen Zhou actually wanted to open a physical store, although she didn’t explicitly oppose it, her brows furrowed more deeply than before—

Opening a store meant renting a storefront.

That alone was a significant cost and would require tapping into the family savings.

Once the money was invested, he would have to quit his job and focus entirely on running the business.

The restaurant industry was tough, and he lacked experience; diving in headfirst would certainly mean losing everything.

Right now, the household couldn’t afford such a big upheaval.

In these tight times, they needed stability above all.

After much thought, Lin Yifan suggested to her husband, “How about starting with a food stall first, and see how it goes?”

Chen Zhou, who was leafing through a steamed bun recipe book, felt confident about his entrepreneurial venture thanks to this culinary insight.

Though opening a restaurant was his plan, given his current financial situation and cooking skills, jumping straight into it was indeed a bold step.

He agreed with his wife’s suggestion.

“That’s a good idea. Let’s start with a stall.”

Hearing Chen Zhou’s reply, Lin Yifan breathed a sigh of relief:

Starting with a stall wouldn’t lead to huge losses.

Though, if you want to get into food service, what does that have to do with tractor repair?

...

The book titled Practical Tractor Repair Guide detailed common issues encountered during daily use—steering wheel shaking, engine emitting blue smoke, failure to start...

Of course, Chen Zhou didn’t bother with these sections.

He was engrossed in the steamed bun recipe.

The yellowed pages were densely filled with tiny characters.

From kneading the dough, preparing the filling, to the technique of wrapping the buns, everything was described in great detail.

Even specifying how much water to add per pound of flour, and how much scallion to include in each portion of meat filling.

Chen Zhou couldn’t help but marvel:

“Professional work really is different.”

Usually, when cooking at home, there was no precise measurement—just a feel for it.

So dishes often ended up too salty or bland, overcooked or undercooked—so many variables.

Professional chefs might say “salt to taste” or “a pinch of sugar,” but their “taste” comes from practiced hands and experience—what the old saying calls “skill comes with practice.”

...

To prepare for starting the stall, Chen Zhou noted down the ingredients he would need while reading.

Flour, pork front leg meat, scallions, soy sauce...

The national banquet chef’s fresh meat buns didn’t use any rare ingredients.

When he saw “5g Yichang yeast,” he paused.

Yichang yeast?

Chen Zhou took out his phone.

After searching, he found the brand was now called Angel.

The small local factory had grown into an industry giant.

The yeast name revealed that this recipe dated back at least thirty years.

Chen Zhou took a photo of the recipe and carefully slipped the book back onto the shelf.

An old recipe from thirty years ago.

It might even have some collectible value.

But setting aside any hidden worth, the phrase “Cook with care” written in larger characters at the end of the recipe was enough to make Chen Zhou cherish it.

He seemed to imagine:

A young apprentice writing that phrase on the recipe book, encouraging himself step by step to become a national banquet chef.

“Cook with care”… that was the master’s original intention.

And now, it was his.

Looking at the recipe, Chen Zhou felt eager to try.

In a few days, he would receive another batch of intelligence updates.

He could make good use of this time to prepare thoroughly.

He went to the kitchen, found the electronic scale, and began precise measurements.

One pound of flour, one packet of yeast powder, five grams of sugar to promote fermentation.

Mixed simply and evenly, then water was added.

The recipe’s original ratio of “one pound of flour to half a pound of water” was crossed out and replaced with “eight ounces of water, two ounces of milk.”

This national banquet chef was constantly refining his formula.

Nothing to say about that step.

The key was to knead continuously until the hands, dough, and bowl were all smooth and glossy.

The dough was set aside to ferment.

Chen Zhou then studied the technique of wrapping buns.

The old saying went, “Thin skin with generous filling and eighteen folds.”

But in the recipe’s instructions, eighteen folds were just the minimum standard; twenty-four folds counted as professional.

Since he was going to do this, Chen Zhou wanted to do it well.

Glancing at the unfermented dough before him, he suddenly recalled some toys the kindergarten had recently purchased in bulk.

He called his daughter over:

“Taotao, give me your playdough to play with.”

The little girl was delighted and even made a small request:

“Let’s play together.”

The little one was already bargaining... Chen Zhou looked at the leftover milk and said, “Then you can...”

Before he finished, Taotao had already taken it.

Glug, glug, glug~

“You’re going to be a tough girl too,” Chen Zhou said, pinching her little cheeks as they started using the playdough to shape buns together.

The bun skin was thin on top and thick at the bottom.

So the dough had to be rolled thicker in the middle and thinner around the edges.

Filled with stuffing, one hand held the bun while the other pinched and folded the dough from the edges to the top between thumb and forefinger.

Chen Zhou had some experience with dough and, after a few attempts, grew increasingly skilled.

They shaped several colorful buns, gradually approaching the standard form.

Taotao was slower.

Her tiny hands just couldn’t keep up with Chen Zhou’s pace.

Seeing that they had used up over half the box of playdough, she focused intently while saying, “Dad, wait for me.”

Half an hour later.

The dough had fermented well; when stretched, it showed a stringy, honeycomb texture.

As the dough was pulled apart, a sour fermented aroma wafted.

“Adding sugar really helped—it rose perfectly on the first try.”

Though the dough was ready, there was no time to buy fresh meat filling.

Luckily, this was still practice.

Chen Zhou simply divided the dough into two parts—one rolled out for skins, the other used as filling—to continue practicing the wrapping technique.

Using playdough was one thing, but once they switched to real dough, Taotao’s involvement made the kitchen a mess.

Flour was everywhere—on her hands, face, and the countertop.

Mrs. Lin laughed as she walked in from the living room to clean up after the little girl.

But when she saw the buns filled with white dough on Chen Zhou’s side, she fell into deep thought again:

Steamed rolls? Buns? Could running a food stall really work?

...

Late at night.

Chen Zhou was awakened by someone pushing him.

Half awake, he just opened his eyes to hear his wife’s voice, “You have to work during the day.”

“Yeah, it’s Friday, right?” Chen Zhou pulled the summer quilt around her and turned over, muttering to himself:

“I’m dreaming about wrapping buns.”