Lu Yan lowered his gaze, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of the coffee table, as images from the past few days suddenly flashed through his mind.
Every morning, she would get up early to make millet porridge, deliberately lightly salted steamed eggs, and kelp-and-pork-rib soup simmered for an hour. That day, when she held out yam porridge and asked, “Is the jujube flavor too mild?” her eyes sparkled with expectation.
These carefully prepared meals weren’t accidental—they showed that she had noticed everything and was quietly accommodating him.
A complicated feeling slowly spread through his chest.
He raised a hand, knuckles lightly pressing against his brow.
“Brother, you can’t blame me for this!” Lu Zhengming, seeing him unresponsive for a long moment, quickly waved his hands, trying to defend himself.
Lu Yan raised his eyes toward him. The surprise in his gaze gradually faded, returning to his usual calm demeanor.
He didn’t speak, only nodded slightly, as if acknowledging what he had realized.
In the bathroom, Su Wanqing splashed her face with cold water. The icy stream ran down her cheeks, washing away the emotions she had been holding inside.
She looked at herself in the mirror, observing her delicate features—
Almond-shaped eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, curving into crescent moons when she smiled; a small, delicate nose; naturally pink lips, full of life even without a smile.
She nodded lightly at her reflection. Her mind had already settled on a plan.
The anorexia issue didn’t need to be rushed.
Following this momentum, she would wait until their relationship grew a little closer, and then address it slowly…
Su Wanqing let out a soft sigh.
After all, she and Lu Yan hadn’t spent that much time together yet. Being able to stay together naturally like this, relaxed, without deliberately keeping distance, was already a rare and good situation.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw Lu Yan crouched by the door, tying the feet of the two live roosters with a rope.
His military cap was off, and stray hairs fell over his forehead, partially shadowing his eyebrows. His usually sharp jawline seemed softened under the warm light.
His movements were precise; in a flurry of deft motions, the roosters’ feet were securely bound.
Lu Zhengming leaned nearby, chewing a roasted sweet potato while muttering: “Brother, your rooster-tying skills are like tying up prisoners—so practiced!”
As soon as he finished, the sound of the door opening drew his attention. Eyes lighting up, he stuffed the sweet potato in his mouth and called politely to Su Wanqing at the door:
“Sister-in-law, look at my brother! Usually, he trains soldiers in the military, but I didn’t expect him to be this good at tying chickens too!”
Su Wanqing walked over, picking up a roasted sweet potato from the coffee table. Her fingers recoiled slightly at the hot oiled paper—it was hotter than she expected.
She looked up at Lu Yan.
He had stood, drying his hands. A strip of gauze wrapped around his pale wrist stood out under the warm light.
“Lu Yan, want some sweet potato too? It’s still hot.” Su Wanqing handed him the largest one, her tone natural, as if nothing had happened.
Lu Yan looked down at the sweet potato, the paper softened by steam. He reached for it, and their fingertips brushed lightly.
Su Wanqing withdrew first and peeled her own sweet potato, revealing golden flesh, the sweet aroma immediately filling the air.
Lu Yan also carefully unwrapped his, movements elegant even while eating a roasted sweet potato, maintaining his composed air.
He took a small bite and frowned slightly.
The sweet, soft flesh melted on his tongue, carrying the smoky aroma of the fire—something anyone else would savor.
But he frowned, his Adam’s apple rolling unconsciously, struggling to swallow.
No lingering sweetness remained in his mouth; it felt like a wad of soft cotton blocking him, stifling and uncomfortable.
He lowered his gaze to the remaining half, fingers idly stroking the edge of the paper.
The anorexia had started after a mission at seventeen left him injured.
At first, he just couldn’t eat oily food, but gradually he became picky. Most foods, once ingested, either tasted bitter or flavorless.
When his grandfather found out, he specially had medicinal ingredients sent from the southern city to strengthen his spleen and stomach, watching him take them daily.
His mother occasionally sent him food, from delicate pastries to nourishing soups, trying various ways to get him to eat a few more bites.
Yet even the most exquisite delicacies turned bland in his mouth, sometimes making him gag.
Lu Yan had never cared much.
In the military, eating hard rations on marches or chewing tree bark when food ran out was common. Filling his stomach was enough; there was no need for such fuss.
Old injuries or anorexia—these were his own matters, not something to discuss or make others worry about…
Earlier, when Lu Zhengming said Su Wanqing had guessed, he had been surprised.
Then confused—this trivial, personal matter…
She had observed so carefully and remembered it, asking about his preferences, avoiding salt in porridge, avoiding spice in dishes, accommodating his tastes bit by bit.
Lu Yan raised his eyes, his gaze drifting over the coffee table to Su Wanqing not far away.
She was peeling her sweet potato, stray hairs falling across her forehead, revealing a delicate nose and slightly flushed ears—probably from the steam.
Her light apricot short-sleeve shirt made her skin glow. Her fingertips, tinged with golden sweet potato, didn’t look messy, but radiated a lively, homely charm.
Sensing his gaze, Su Wanqing looked up, her almond eyes bright, a hint of cautious inquiry: “Is it too sweet?”
Lu Yan watched the light in her eyes, his Adam’s apple rolling again.
He didn’t speak, simply set the sweet potato down, and turned toward the study to fetch paper and pen.
His crisp uniform shone softly under the lamp, broad shoulders and narrow waist moving steadily.
He returned quickly with paper and pen, sitting upright on the sofa, spine straight as if handling military affairs with solemnity.
His fingers held the pen, the tip hovering briefly before slowly forming neat, precise characters:
“During an early mission, I injured my spleen and stomach, resulting in mild anorexia. Normal foods are fine, no issue.”
In a few words, he clearly explained the origin and current state of his anorexia, as if discussing a matter of military business.
Su Wanqing leaned closer, initially curious, then gradually absorbed.
She lightly touched the words; the ink was slightly cool, not yet dry.
She was surprised—
She never expected Lu Yan to explain his anorexia so suddenly.
So matter-of-fact.
After surprise came clarity.
She looked up at him.
He was staring down at the page, thick lashes casting faint shadows, hiding his emotions, leaving only a rigid jawline and tight lips.
The loosened collar revealed the scar extending to his collarbone, blending with his composed, distant aura, radiating an unapproachable coldness.
Su Wanqing glanced at Lu Zhengming, shrinking in the corner with a guilty look.
In an instant, she understood.
Lu Yan revealed this because Lu Zhengming told him: she already knew.
Combined with what she had said earlier in the day…
It wasn’t trust or care that made him tell her.
It was because she had tugged at his sleeve that afternoon and said: “I’m your wife.”
In his eyes, “wife” was like grandfather or parents—family.
Family deserved to be told private matters. It was a responsibility.
It had nothing to do with love.
Understanding this, the initial satisfaction she felt vanished, replaced by a flicker of defiance.
She lightly bit her lips; the natural pink reddened slightly, accentuating her delicate features.
Su Wanqing’s goal wasn’t to maintain a courteous distance with Lu Yan forever or be a nominal “wife of Chief Lu.”
She wanted true marital intimacy.
She wanted Lu Yan to see her, to have her in his heart; to voluntarily share his thoughts even if he was not good with words.
Not the current state, where she had to ask and guess for him to say a single word.