After eating every last bite of that terrible-looking, strangely flavored congee, Lin Yang felt his empty stomach settle significantly. Along with it, some strength seemed to return to his weakened body.
However, the chaotic fog in his mind only grew thicker because of Auntie Zhang’s words: “Mr. Li made it himself.”
He forced himself not to overthink it as he carried the empty bowl to the kitchen sink. Looking at the remaining, even more disastrous sludge at the bottom of the pot, he hesitated before eventually putting the lid back on. Pouring it out didn’t seem right, even if it truly looked like the byproduct of a failed chemical experiment.
The afternoon sun was pleasant, and Lin Yang curled up on the living room sofa under a thin blanket, feeling drowsy. The medication and post-illness weakness left him listless, but his mind uncontrollably flashed to images of Li Chenzhou scrambling in the kitchen to boil congee. That image alternated with the man’s cold and ruthless demeanor from the night before, a contrast so sharp it left him at a loss.
The doorbell rang then—crisp and somewhat urgent.
Lin Yang struggled to stand up. Looking through the peephole, he saw Sister So standing outside with a fruit basket, looking anxious.
He opened the door, and Sister So immediately squeezed inside, grabbing his arms and looking him up and down while talking like a rapid-fire cannon. “Oh, my little ancestor! You scared me to death! Auntie Zhang secretly messaged me saying you were hospitalized for acute gastritis? What happened? Is it serious? How are you feeling now?”
Lin Yang felt a bit dizzy from her shaking and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine now, Sister So. It was just a minor issue. The doctor saw me, and I’m much better after taking medicine. I wasn’t in the hospital; it was the family doctor.”
“The family doctor isn’t enough! Stomach problems can be big or small!” Sister So sighed in relief but continued to nag and complain. “Look at you, have you been skipping meals again? Or is the stress too much? I told you that gala was a bad idea. Look, something happened!”
As she spoke, she familiarly placed the fruit basket on the coffee table, her eyes scanning the apartment while her nose instinctively twitched.
“Eh? What’s that smell?” Sister So frowned. Following the faint scent of something burnt mixed with a medicinal aroma, her gaze locked onto the kitchen. “Are you cooking something? The smell is a bit odd…”
Lin Yang’s heart skipped a beat. Before he could stop her, Sister So had already walked curiously toward the kitchen, saying, “When you’re sick, you need to eat something light. I’ll peel an apple for you… Oh!”
Her voice cut off into a short gasp of shock.
Lin Yang knew this was bad and hurried after her. He found Sister So standing at the stove, staring dumbfoundedly at the clay pot with the lid still on. She obviously couldn’t resist her curiosity and had peeked inside. That one look was enough to turn her expression from worry to horror.
“Yang… Yang-yang…” Sister So turned around, pointing at the black and yellow, thick, clumpy residue in the pot. Her voice went up an octave in unbelievable terror. “What… what is this thing? You… you actually ate this?!”
Lin Yang opened his mouth, but for a moment, he didn’t know how to explain. Was he supposed to say this was “love congee” personally boiled by Li Chenzhou?
Seeing his silence, Sister So took it as confirmation of her own guesses. She slapped her thigh in distress. “My God! Is this congee? I’d believe it if you told me it was asphalt! Did you run into some black-hearted merchant on a delivery app? Or did you make it yourself? Since when did you learn to cook? Won’t eating this land you in the hospital a second time? This is practically murdering your hus— I mean, murdering yourself!”
She was speaking without thinking, her voice rising with excitement and echoing clearly through the quiet apartment.
“Sister So, it’s not…” Lin Yang tried to interrupt, his cheeks feeling hot.
“What do you mean, ‘it’s not’! Look at this color! Smell this scent!” Sister So wouldn’t listen; her hand pointing at the pot was shaking. “It’s burnt to charcoal! And what are these lumps? Medicinal dregs? My little ancestor, I know you’re in a bad mood, but you can’t give up on yourself like this! If you’re struggling, talk to me. I’ll take you out for great food. Why take it out on your own stomach…”
She was getting more and more carried away. Lin Yang wanted nothing more than to find a hole in the ground to crawl into. He reached out to pull Sister So away, wanting her to stop talking.
Just then, a cold, deep voice that betrayed no emotion rang out abruptly from the doorway behind them, like a block of ice dropped into a pot of boiling oil.
“What did you say?”
Those four simple words caused the noisy kitchen to fall into a deathly silence instantly.
Sister So was like a duck being strangled; all sound was trapped in her throat. Her expression froze, shifting from indignant excitement to extreme terror and rigidity. She turned around sharply and saw the tall figure who had appeared at the kitchen door at some unknown time. Her legs went weak, and she almost knelt on the spot.
Li Chenzhou stood there. He seemed to have just returned from the office, still wearing his sharp black suit with the jacket buttons meticulously fastened. There was no expression on his handsome face; only his deep eyes were calmly looking at Sister So. But beneath that calm lay an icy pressure that made the surrounding air feel frozen.
Lin Yang’s heart also sank. He hadn’t expected Li Chenzhou to return at this time. Didn’t he have an important meeting?
Sister So was scared out of her wits. Her face was ashen, her lips trembled, and she became incoherent. “P-President Li, I-I didn’t mean that. I-I was just worried about Yang-yang. I was talking nonsense… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
She wanted to slap herself twice. How could she forget that this demon could appear at any time? She had even said something as treasonous as “murdering your husband”!
Li Chenzhou’s gaze moved from Sister So’s near-fainting state to the open clay pot on the stove, where the remains of the “congee” were clearly visible. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and his eyes darkened, but he quickly regained his composure.
He didn’t acknowledge Sister So’s apology. Instead, he turned his gaze to Lin Yang, who was standing to the side with an equally awkward expression.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Lin Yang instinctively nodded, his throat feeling dry. “…I ate.”
Li Chenzhou’s gaze lingered on his face for two seconds, seemingly confirming his complexion, before he gave a faint “Mm.” He glanced at the pot of congee again and then spoke to Sister So, who was curled up in fear. His tone was indifferent. “The visiting hour is over. You can leave.”
There was no reprimand, no anger, and not even a change in expression. But that high-handed, unquestionable order to leave was more intimidating than any harsh words.
Sister So felt as if she had been granted a divine pardon. She scrambled to grab her bag, barely able to speak. “Yes, yes! President Li, I’m leaving right now! Yang-yang, get some rest! I’ll visit you another day!”
She practically fled the kitchen and stumbled out the apartment door without even properly putting on her shoes, as if an evil spirit were chasing her.
In the kitchen, only Lin Yang and Li Chenzhou remained, along with the pot of congee emitting its strange odor. The atmosphere became subtle and awkward.
Lin Yang stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands or feet. He looked at Li Chenzhou, who was also looking at him with a deep, unreadable gaze. So, he had heard what Sister So said? He heard her say the congee was “murdering your husband”? Would he be angry? Would he feel embarrassed? Or… did he just not care at all?
Lin Yang’s heart was in his throat. He was about to force himself to say something to break the tension—perhaps “Thank you for the congee” or “Sister So is just blunt, she meant no harm.”
However, Li Chenzhou moved first. He didn’t look at the pot again, nor did he mention Sister So’s words. Instead, he stepped toward Lin Yang and reached out. He didn’t touch him but instead felt his forehead. His cool, dry palm rested gently against Lin Yang’s skin for about two or three seconds.
“The fever is gone.”
He withdrew his hand and made the statement flatly, as if he had just completed a necessary inspection. Then, his gaze swept over Lin Yang’s thin loungewear, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly again. “You’re dressed too thin. Go back and lie down.”
Having said that, he didn’t even wait for Lin Yang’s response before turning and leaving the kitchen for the living room, as if he had only returned to check on his condition.
Lin Yang stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk away. The cool, fleeting sensation of that touch still seemed to linger on his forehead.
There was no expected awkwardness, questioning, or anger. He had simply brushed aside Sister So’s “offensive” comments as if they were nothing, without even a single word regarding the pot of congee. This reaction actually made Lin Yang feel even more unsettled.
He walked to the stove and looked at the burnt mess in the pot. Sister So’s dramatic phrase “murdering your husband” still echoed in his ears. But…
Lin Yang reached out, his fingertips lightly touching the still-warm exterior of the clay pot. But for some reason, after the initial embarrassment and absurdity, looking at this failed pot of congee didn’t fill him with disgust or mockery. Instead, a trace of warmth—one that he himself was afraid of—welled up in his heart.
Where did this warmth come from? Was it the thought of Li Chenzhou—a man so high and mighty, who never lifted a finger in the kitchen—clumsily staying by the stove before dawn for his sake? Or was it because, in his moment of illness and helplessness, besides doctors and housekeepers, there was one person trying to express care in a way that was disastrous but undeniably real?
No, he couldn’t think like that.
Lin Yang shuddered, as if burned by his own thoughts, and quickly pulled his hand back. He shook his head vigorously, trying to throw that dangerous wavering out of his mind.
This was a sugar-coated shell. It was another form of control. It was a tactic to make him stay peacefully in the cage and stop thinking about flying away. He couldn’t fall for it. Weren’t the painful lessons of his past life deep enough?
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the untimely ripples in his heart, and his face returned to a mask of ice. He picked up the lid and slammed it back onto the clay pot, sealing away the burnt congee along with the chaotic emotions it brought.
Then, he turned and walked back into the living room. Without looking at Li Chenzhou, who was sitting on the sofa processing emails on a tablet, he went straight into the bedroom and closed the door.