Lu Yan seemed to notice her gaze and finally looked up.
His dark eyes were calm, like a deep pool, without a ripple, quietly waiting for her reaction.
—Perhaps worried like his grandfather, or concerned like his mother, or maybe simply like others, who would find ways to accommodate him in the future.
But Su Wanqing suddenly smiled. Her almond-shaped eyes curved into crescent moons, the outer corners slightly upturned, radiating a mischievous spark. “So that’s it! I thought it was my cooking that wasn’t good enough.”
Her tone was light, without a trace of worry or heaviness, as if she were talking about some amusing little thing.
Lu Yan froze for a moment, his fingers holding the pen pausing, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes.
He hadn’t expected this reaction from her, and for a moment, didn’t know what to write on the paper.
Su Wanqing reached out, gently took the paper from his hands, folded it, and placed it in her cloth bag, her movements as natural as handling her own belongings. “I’ve noted this. From now on, I’ll pay even more attention to your meals.”
As she spoke, she leaned slightly closer, her nose almost brushing his sleeve.
Lu Yan could clearly smell the faint scent of soap on her.
“Lu Yan,” Su Wanqing looked up, her eyes shining with determination, “I know you think these things don’t need to be said, but I’m different. I’m not just going to take care of your meals—I’ll take care of your injuries, and everything after that.”
Her voice was clear, full of unwavering certainty, like a small stone dropped into the still waters of Lu Yan’s heart, sending out ripples.
Lu Yan looked at her so close face. The light in her almond eyes was lively and intense, as if trying to pull him in completely.
His Adam’s apple moved; he wanted to write something on the paper but Su Wanqing gently pressed his hand down.
“You don’t need to rush to respond,” she said, smiling as she withdrew her hand. Then she picked up the unfinished sweet potato and held it to his mouth. “Finish the sweet potato first; we’ll take the rest slowly.”
Lu Yan looked at the sweet potato near his lips, then at the expectant light in her eyes. Hesitating for a moment, he finally leaned forward and took a bite.
Looking into her eyes, his tongue seemed less resistant.
Seeing him eat, Su Wanqing’s eyes curved into a smile. “That’s better. Eat more, so your stomach can get stronger.”
Beside them, Lu Zhengming was munching on a sweet potato, quietly widening his eyes at the scene.
His brother actually took food from his sister-in-law voluntarily?
He quickly lowered his head, pretending not to see.
Lu Yan swallowed the bite of sweet potato, then looked up at Su Wanqing.
She was busy tidying the oiled paper on the coffee table, skillfully folding the scraps into small squares with careful, deliberate movements.
Once done, she looked up and met Lu Yan’s gaze.
She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer with a teasing question: “Chief Lu, looking at me like that—do you think what I said just now was wrong?”
Lu Yan withdrew his gaze, lowered his eyes, and wrote on the paper: “No.”
Seeing those two words, Su Wanqing felt more confident.
She knew Lu Yan wouldn’t easily open his heart, but as long as there was a crack, she was confident she could chip away piece by piece.
Su Wanqing was greedy.
What she wanted had never been just a responsibility to bear.
Meanwhile, Su Weiwei sat under the lamp, a cookbook in hand, brow furrowed.
She had specially asked someone to buy a new cookbook from town, planning to make “Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs” tomorrow. But after two attempts, either there was too much sugar or too much vinegar; she couldn’t get it right.
Wang Fang stood nearby, quietly comforting her: “Weiwei, don’t worry. Tomorrow Director Li will help you. No matter how good Su Wanqing is, she can’t beat Director Li.”
Su Weiwei looked up, a sinister glint flashing in her eyes.
She didn’t just want to win—she wanted Su Wanqing completely out of the military district! If anything went wrong tomorrow…
“Fangfang, you—”
Wang Fang quickly nodded: “Don’t worry, Comrade Weiwei, I’ve got it all noted!”
As night deepened, the residential compound gradually quieted, only the occasional cluck of a rooster breaking the silence.
Su Wanqing finished washing up and lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Her thoughts drifted from tomorrow’s cooking competition to the image of Lu Yan’s distant face…
At dawn, before the roosters had a chance to crow, Su Wanqing quietly got out of bed.
Through the small kitchen window, soft morning light filtered in. She retrieved the millet and yam she had soaked in advance and added a few lotus seeds with their cores removed.
She rinsed the millet clean, cut the yam into chunky pieces, and put it all in the clay pot with the lotus seeds. Adding plenty of water, she set it on a low flame to simmer slowly.
By the time Lu Yan opened the door, the porridge had become rich and creamy, the yam giving a gentle sweetness, and a light fragrance wafted through the room.
Su Wanqing was arranging the bowls, her light apricot short-sleeve shirt making her skin glow. The tips of her hair were slightly damp from the morning, draping softly around her neck.
“Awake?” she asked, looking up, her almond eyes curved like crescent moons. “Today I made yam, lotus seed, and millet porridge—very nourishing for your stomach. Have a couple more bowls.”
Lu Yan walked to the table, holding his military cap in hand. Morning light turned the strands of hair on his forehead to a pale gold, softening his normally rigid features.
He looked down at the porridge. The yam was soft, the lotus seeds had sunk to the bottom, and the porridge was rich enough to coat the sides of the bowl.
His fingers instinctively reached for the small notebook in his pocket, but he ended up just picking up a spoon and taking a slow sip.
No nausea—only the warm porridge sliding down his throat, comforting and soothing.
He looked up at Su Wanqing and gave a slight nod.
Seeing this, Su Wanqing smiled even more brightly and served him a piece of steamed pumpkin: “Eat this with it—it’s even better for your stomach.”
Beside them, Lu Zhengming rubbed his eyes and came over, shouting that he wanted porridge. Su Wanqing lightly tapped the back of his hand: “Wash up first, or no porridge for you.”
The boy pouted but obediently ran to the bathroom, daring not to argue.
Su Wanqing had completely mastered his stubbornness—his former arrogance was gone.
After the three finished breakfast, it was getting late.
Su Wanqing packed up her things, picked up her cloth bag, and was about to leave when Lu Yan suddenly grabbed her wrist.
His fingertips were cool, the force light.