Chapter One Hundred and One: Adasizakar

Flour, eggs, milk, salt, and oil.

If memory serves, most flatbreads require these basic ingredients. The rest—sesame seeds or raisins and the like—all come down to personal taste.

Being from the Northwest, I’ve eaten my share of flatbreads, but the one I tasted today was truly a first. In the whole county of Shache, I’d thought I’d sampled bread from every baker, yet this flavor was utterly new.

This crispness, this irresistible taste—what was its secret? Was there some addictive ingredient in it?

Zhong Di ate quickly, finishing his flatbread in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t even touched the roast rabbit yet, but his stomach was already half full.

As a young man in his twenties, Zhong Di had a healthy appetite, but everyone knows flatbread is filling. If you’re hungry, even a single one can feel like eating eight bowls of rice.

Of course, that’s for ordinary people. The competitive eaters—well, that’s another matter entirely.

“Any more?” Zhong Di asked.

“Nope, just two—one for each of us.” Shao Hong watched Zhong Di’s actions without surprise.

He’d eaten the same way himself.

“Then you stop eating. Give me yours.” Zhong Di decisively snatched the bread from Shao Hong’s hand.

“Hey, at least leave me half!” Shao Hong protested, struggling.

Flatbread was delicious, and he wanted it as much as anyone. Even though he’d eaten several at lunch, it hadn’t dulled his appetite for more.

“Why didn’t you buy more? Where did you get it? I’ll go buy some tomorrow.” Zhong Di was already scheming—if he could eat this delicious bread every day, it would be a real treat.

“If I hadn’t been quick, I wouldn’t have gotten any at all. There’s a small bakery next to the free market. That young baker, Adax, makes flatbread slowly, and there’s a limited amount each day. When I arrived, the bread had just come out of the oven, so I managed to grab some.”

“You’ll find it easily—just ask around. The baker’s name is Zakir. I was passing by, caught a whiff of that aroma, and was immediately drawn to it. Fresh out of the oven—it’s the best.”

Shao Hong rambled on; the bakery was a new one.

Zhong Di took note of everything Shao Hong said. Such exquisite bread could only come from an experienced hand. From Shao Hong’s description, the baker was a young man, likely inheriting the craft.

Don’t assume all flatbreads taste alike. Unlike steamed buns, flatbreads come in dozens of varieties, and the difference between them can be vast.

After sharing half the bread with Shao Hong, Zhong Di turned to the roast rabbit. But after tasting flatbread, even roast rabbit seemed a little lacking.

Perhaps it was the lingering memory of that flatbread’s flavor.

Fortunately, there was dipping sauce, and with the fragrance of cilantro, the taste of the bread gradually faded, and as he ate further, his palate opened up and he feasted heartily.

Woof!

Under the night sky, Yusheng munched happily on roasted rabbit eggs—no, roasted rabbit hearts—and barked a few times.

A campfire burned brightly, casting a glow that lent the surroundings a peculiar beauty.

After the meal, the two donned heavier jackets, grabbed a watermelon, and began to eat.

...

The next morning.

After rising, Zhong Di and Shao Hong finished most of their chores in short order, then headed straight to the street.

Last night, Zhong Di had dreamed of eating flatbread all night—it was surreal.

As soon as he arrived at the free market, he began asking around. He thought he’d have to ask several people, but to his surprise, he found the place immediately.

Upon arrival, Zhong Di saw a long queue at the flatbread stall—people chatting, playing on their phones, from all ethnic backgrounds.

After waiting in line for a while, Zhong Di finally bought the coveted bread—only two left.

“Adax, are you interested in changing jobs?” Zhong Di asked casually. He was considering that the farm could use someone with local skills like this.

You see, anyone called Adax could bake bread, could roast lamb, and apparently could make meat buns too.

The urgency today wasn’t just to buy flatbread, but to see if Adax would be open to a new job.

“Oh, you’re the eleventh person to ask me that. You want me to bake bread for you, right? No, Adax, I bake bread slowly. I ask for high wages, and you won’t make much money off me.”

“Adax, if you want to use my bread for high-end dining, I can do it. You can come buy from me. We can cooperate.”

By the time Zhong Di arrived, the bread had just sold out, and Zakir had time to chat.

Zhong Di was surprised, but quickly realized that with bread of this quality, plenty of people had already spotted the opportunity.

“No worries. How much do you want?”

“Five thousand a month. That’s what I earn selling flatbread here. Even if you hire me, with my slow baking, breaking even on my wages would be good. If you want my recipe, that’s not possible—my father won’t allow it.”

After listening, Zhong Di understood. Adax really did bake slowly. Normally, a flatbread sells for three yuan, even with great taste and good business, maybe five yuan. To earn five thousand a month, after costs, he’d need to bake a hundred breads a day to cover his wages—and that’s if everything goes smoothly.

Adax was honest, without any cunning. No wonder no one had managed to poach him.

There was always the route of getting the recipe, but the baker had made it clear—it wasn’t going to happen. He still clung to tradition, which was understandable.

“All right, six thousand a month,”

Zhong Di didn’t bother haggling, just offered six thousand outright—take it or leave it.

Six thousand was no small sum in Shache County, and from the baker’s slow pace, it was justified.

But Zhong Di didn’t care about that. He simply wanted an Adax to help roast meat, bake buns—so he could relieve Shao Hong and add some local flavor, killing two birds with one stone.

In the end, after some negotiation, Zakir agreed to visit and try it out, and only if satisfied would he join Zhong Di.

With the deal settled, Zhong Di headed back to the orchard.

On the way, his father called.

“Dad, what’s up?” Zhong Di answered.

“Zhong Di, do you know how to treat fragrant pear trees?” his father, Zhong Tian, asked in return.

“Yes, Dad, just tell me what’s going on.”

“We have a distant relative, haven’t been in touch for ages, but somehow got in contact again. Heard you’ve got good skills, wants you to come take a look,” Zhong Tian said, somewhat hesitantly.

These relatives, really. When your family is struggling, or when they don’t need you, they stay far away. On ordinary days, they never reach out, but when they need something, suddenly it’s all family ties.

When Zhong Tian was young, he thought relatives ought to help each other, but after what happened with Third Uncle, his heart cooled.