When she arrived at Jingshan, it was already dark.
Gu Qili carried the two bags she bought as she got off the car; such a refined man naturally did not have the awareness to help her with her burden.
After walking a few steps, she suddenly rembered the dicine pack on the back seat that soone had overlooked. She went back to retrieve it. It was quite heavy, filled with various dicines for acute gastritis, both Chinese and Western, a whole big packet of them. The doctor sure had a good eye, fleecing a rich person without holding back, almost wishing to prescribe every possible stomach dicine.
Mu Shuoqian went to take a shower as soon as he entered the door, while Gu Qili put the groceries in the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves to start cooking.
As she expected, there was nothing in the refrigerator but air. She placed the bread and milk inside one by one and put the frozen dumplings in the freezer, anticipating that she might have to spend the upcoming weekend here.
Mu Shuoqian, after his shower and wearing a loose, pale blue robe with cotton slippers on his feet, was toweling off his hair while casually turning on the TV to the sports channel with a remote control.
He walked over to the bar and effortlessly took out a bottle of red wine, and poured himself half a glass into a clean cup.
Just as he was about to bring it to his lips, a jade-like pale hand suddenly reached out and snatched his wine glass with lightning speed.
"People with stomach diseases should not drink alcohol."
In replacent of the wine glass was a bowl of steaming hot millet porridge served with raw blanched Chinese cabbage hearts.
"Ti to eat."
After setting the tableware, she returned to the kitchen to carry on with her al, stirring and blowing on the sowhat hot porridge with a spoon.
Mu Shuoqian was a bit distracted by the simple al of one dish and one porridge in front of him.
"Goal! Goal! Number eleven, Neymar. A flick, a turn, a shot, all in one smooth motion, a perfect blend of imagination and skill," the TV broadcast the cheers of the fans and the noise, while the kitchen was as quiet as a separate space, where she stood silently eating, her existence contrasting with the opulence.
Mu Shuoqian picked up the white porcelain spoon and scooped so porridge into his mouth, the sweet taste of millet lingering between his teeth, then took a bite of the tender cabbage heart, perfectly seasoned, neither too salty nor bland, and he morized the taste in an instant.
A gentle, ho-cooked flavor.
On the TV, the football match was thrilling when suddenly a strong northeastern accent filled the room: "Xiong Da, Bald Qiang is here to chop down the trees again..."
The porridge in Mu Shuoqian’s mouth nearly sprayed out.
Gu Qili sat on the sofa, hugging her rice bowl, utterly delighted as the magnificent Champions League turned into "Boonie Bears," with the silly bear dominating the screen, and the even sillier person watching the bear laughed without reserve, completely lacking any image of decorum.
Gu Qili burst into loud laughter, but as she laughed, she suddenly felt the atmosphere turn eerily silent around her, a strong oppressive sensation looming behind her like a chilling wind.
She quickly covered her mouth, belatedly realizing that this was Jingshan, the ho of the cold-faced Yanjun.
Turning her head sowhat stiffly, she faced directly towards the sash tied around his robe, and a little further down was a view not suitable for children. Her face turned red, and as her brain heated up, she began to short-circuit: "Do you want to watch together?"
The response she got was a cold turn of his back, his slender and muscular legs that protruded from the hem of his robe took strides that were notably large, disappearing from her sight in just a few steps, accompanied by a loud slam of the door that made her heart tremble.
Gu Qili regretfully grabbed her hair, she swore it wasn’t intentional; she thought he was eating and hadn’t paid attention to the TV program.
Was it just because she had changed his channel? This man was really too petty.
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