"If I don’t go out and buy it, should I order takeout?" Song Boyuan originally planned to go out and buy sothing to eat, sothing she liked.
But Jing Qiao hugged him, not letting him leave.
He could only suggest another option.
But Jing Qiao pouted coyly in his arms and shook her head.
"Takeout, no?"
"Um."
"Then should I have soone bring over a chef?"
Jing Qiao shook her head again, "No."
From the sound of her voice, Song Boyuan could almost hear her pouting.
He slightly curled the corners of his mouth, pondered for a mont, and asked, "Then, shall I cook?"
Jing Qiao suddenly looked up, blinking as she looked at him, "Can you?"
"If you don’t mind it being a bit bland, I guess I can," said Song Boyuan.
Jing Qiao hesitated again, "... Is it really bad?"
Her appearance actually ignited Song Boyuan’s competitive spirit.
He gently pecked her on the nose, "Of course it won’t be as delicious as your cooking, but no complaints allowed."
"Okay." Jing Qiao nodded, "Then I’ll watch you cook."
"Don’t watch. A master chef watching an apprentice cook," Song Boyuan looked into her eyes, "might make the apprentice too nervous and cut his hand."
This comnt made Jing Qiao laugh.
Jing Qiao nodded, "Then you go, If I don’t watch, will that do?"
Song Boyuan said, "Wait a mont, I’ll draw you a bath, and it’ll be just ready for eating when you finish soaking."
Song Boyuan always maintained a rather stark composure, making him appear cool and calm at any ti. Thus, even his care could sotis go unnoticed.
However, Jing Qiao understood him well, so she was very aware of his concern.
That’s why Jing Qiao didn’t ntion that taking a bath on an empty stomach wasn’t good for the body.
Such gentleness from the young master, she didn’t mind it being bad for her body just this once or twice.
Song Boyuan turned on the Jacuzzi and carried her over.
Directly opposite the bath was a floor-to-ceiling window in the bathroom, a one-way coated glass, so they could see the beautiful lake view of Jingcheng Wuhu Park outside, which was very beautiful.
Beautiful as it was...
Jing Qiao soaked for a while and began to feel a bit dizzy.
Soaking on an empty stomach was truly unbearable, especially since she was already sowhat frail.
So although Jing Qiao quite wanted to wait until Song Boyuan had finished cooking before getting up,
she worried that if she continued to force herself, she might faint in the bath and scare the young master, so she obediently got up, wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and went downstairs.
There were faint sounds from the kitchen.
Actually, this was her first ti in Song Boyuan’s house, the lake-view duplex penthouse, probably bought new after her accident. Everything was newly decorated.
As Jing Qiao approached the kitchen, the sounds from inside grew clearer.
Those were... sounds of unskilled, hesitant chopping.
Jing Qiao tiptoed, cautiously peeking from the kitchen doorway.
The man, wearing an apron, was busy in front of the counter, his head bowed as he struggled with the vegetables on the cutting board, his neck and shoulders forming a curved line.
Perhaps because his temperant was naturally mismatched with the kitchen, even when wearing an apron, he still managed to convey a very obvious sense of being out of place.
However, it was not hard to see that he was serious.
Jing Qiao knew he was just like that, engaging fully in anything he did, whether it was sothing he was disinterested in and wouldn’t start, or, once he started—marriage included—he would take it very seriously.
Even though it had been an arranged marriage set by the elders, without any of his own subjective desires, once he agreed and began, he took it seriously from the start.
Jing Qiao stood at the doorway and saw him take out a handful of noodles, then a... kitchen scale.
Because she loved cooking and baking, Song Boyuan had considered her in designing all the kitchens in his houses, so he equipped them fully with everything from large appliances like dishwashers, microwaves, ovens, and air fryers to even the smaller tools like a set of baking asuring spoons.
A kitchen scale was naturally included.
Yet, this man was so ticulous that he used a kitchen scale to asure the noodles.
It almost made Jing Qiao burst into laughter at the doorway.
Song Boyuan carefully asured out one hundred grams of noodles and put them into the pot, then he set the kitchen tir.
He continued to chop vegetables rigorously and thodically.
Despite his thodical approach, the young master’s knife skills were lacking, and it wasn’t long before he accidentally cut his finger.
In fact, if it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have realized from his busy silhouette that he had cut himself since he didn’t react dramatically by pulling back his hand or dropping the knife, nor did he utter typical sounds of pain like "hiss" or "ah."
He rely paused his chopping briefly, then reached over to the sink, turned on the tap to rinse his hand, closed the tap, and pressed his thumb against the cut on his forefinger while continuing to hold the ingredient with his middle finger, ring finger, and pinky to keep chopping.
Because Jing Qiao understood him well, even though his movent paused only briefly,
her smile faded, and her brows furrowed slightly as she approached.
"Did you cut your hand? Let see."
Jing Qiao reached out for his hand.
"It’s nothing," Song Boyuan lowered his gaze to look at her, "Why did you co down? Is it ready?"
"Yes, yes, it’s ready, just let see." Jing Qiao pulled his hand over, releasing his thumb from pinching the fingertip of his forefinger, and saw a small cut quickly welling up with blood.
She fetched the first-aid kit from beneath the tea cabinet.
Although it was her first ti in this apartnt, even the placent of these minor items matched what she had imagined.
She quickly tended to Song Boyuan’s wound.
The kitchen tir rang with a ding, and Song Boyuan turned to look, "The noodles are ready."
"I’ll go," Jing Qiao said, putting away the first-aid kit.
"No," Song Boyuan declined, evidently insistent.
Jing Qiao paused in surprise.
Song Boyuan said, "I’ve started it, and I’m almost done."
He continued to bustle about, and after a while, Jing Qiao finally saw the young master’s cooking masterpiece.
She imdiately pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures.
Seeing her actions, Song Boyuan asked, "Are you planning to execute publicly?"
Considering the appearance of the food, taking pictures seed like it could only serve the purpose of public execution.
Jing Qiao laughed, "Don’t be silly, it’s rare for you to cook for , of course I want to take photos as a keepsake."
Actually, just from its appearance, Jing Qiao knew there were issues; the noodles were clumped, the eggs burnt, and the diced carrots in the stir-fry were clearly undercooked. From the fact that he had started chopping vegetables only when the noodles were nearly done, this result was not hard to predict.
But that didn’t matter; anyti she wanted sothing tasty, she could cook it herself.
The young master’s effort was what truly counted.
Jing Qiao took a bite and then froze.
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