The table held one plate of tomato-and-egg scramble and two bowls of plain rice—hardly a feast, yet more than enough to fill two stomachs.
Jiang Li scrolled on his phone between bites. If he was going to film, he needed to sniff out whatever topic was trending.
Kakayan, meanwhile, attacked the food with single-minded focus. For someone still fumbling with chopsticks, these training ones were a godsend.
"No more vegetables left."
Having swallowed the last cube of egg, Kakayan looked up, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.
That tomato-and-egg dish—sweet, tangy, perfect over soft rice—was dangerously addictive.
"Never thought you could cook," Kakayan said, batting her lashes. "How about frying up another batch?"
Jiang Li glanced at her gleaming-clean bowl and sighed. The girl really was easy to feed. Even his clumsy attempt at tomato-and-egg had left her beaming.
If nothing else, she gave world-class emotional feedback.
Back when Jiang Li lived alone, he'd idly wondered what sort of creature he'd adopt to keep the loneliness at bay. Now the apartment had gained a starving house-guest.
"Still hungry?"
"Uh-huh..."
Kakayan's violet eyes followed him, wide with hope.
Jiang Li only grunted "Mm," then stood and whisked away her bowl. When he returned, the bowl had been refilled with a miniature mountain of rice.
"Eat." He placed it in front of her. "We've got rice for days."
Kakayan studied the white peak, then said, small and aggrieved, "But there aren't any vegetables left."
Jiang Li knew exactly what she meant. "Want me to whip up two more dishes?"
"Yes, please."
Instant answer—like it was his birthright.
"Am I your servant?" Jiang Li rapped the table. "Groceries are mine, cooking is mine. Don't you think you should contribute something?"
He'd realized that if Kakayan was going to survive modern life, she needed Rule Number One: work for your keep.
After two days together, he'd seen that the witch's temperament was pure cat. Spoil her and she'd decide everything was owed her. After that, affection would curdle and their partnership would implode.
Last night they'd shaken on it: pool their efforts, earn some cash, and splurge on good food. A shared life demanded clear division of labor; one side couldn't carry the other forever.
"Say 'I'm in charge of eating' and I'll throw you out right now."
Jiang Li wanted her to weigh her words.
Maybe she sensed the justice in it. Kakayan straightened and slapped the table. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"No need to sound so aggrieved..."
She muttered the last bit so softly Jiang Li pretended not to hear.
He nodded, satisfied. The witch might have thrown her weight around for two centuries, but her brain wasn't rusted shut. She could still learn.
"Deal. From now on you're on dish-washing, laundry, and trash duty. If you need pointers, I'll teach you."
"Got it!" Kakayan chirped. "Now I want vegetables!"
"..."
Jiang Li rose and rummaged through the bags Old Jiang had brought. Moments later he unearthed a red-labeled jar.
"Out of veggies—mix this in." He twisted off the lid and set the jar beside her.
"What is it?" Kakayan leaned in and sniffed; the aroma made her eyes half-close.
"Lao Gan Ma," Jiang Li said.
The name struck her dumb. She blinked twice, comparing the stern face on the label to Jiang Li's own.
"Don't ask." He forestalled her question. "Just eat."
At his word, Kakayan gingerly scooped a bit of the crimson confetti into her bowl. She'd finally gotten the hang of the training chopsticks and now used them to fold the Lao Gan Ma into every grain. In seconds the glossy rice blushed scarlet.
She lifted a bite, slid it into her mouth—and the room lit up. Eyes sparkling, she dove in without another word. This Lao Gan Ma stuff was sorcery: plain rice, once painted red, turned fragrant and fluffy, as though someone had cast a spell.
"Careful you don't choke." Jiang Li warned, then left her to it.
He carried his own dishes to the kitchen and retreated to his room, reappearing with a dust-coated laptop. He set it on the living-room coffee table, plugged in the charger, and pressed the power button with trepidation. Months of neglect would have left the insides caked in grime; he half expected it to refuse to boot.
The machine had served him since college—five long years, warranty long expired. If it died of neglect he'd feel the loss.
The fan spun up with a whining buzz that rattled the glass tabletop. Jiang Li settled into a comfortable crouch and wrapped his hand around the mouse.
Back when he'd sworn off office life, he'd tried his hand at content creation. Bilibili had just rolled out its Rising Creator program; Jiang Li had poured six months into the platform and snagged the Rising Star badge by racking up views.
The badge wasn't rare—it just meant his account had graduated from zero to promising. The real prize was the algorithmic boost. Plenty of veteran creators reincarnated into fresh accounts to chase it again.
Those ad revenues had covered his rent for half a year.
He glanced at Kakayan demolishing her rice, then logged in. Three months of silence had bled his followers dry. Three years in another world had severed him from every trending topic; his head was empty of ideas.
Yet every time Kakayan tasted something new, her face bloomed with wonder and delight, and Jiang Li felt something warm spark inside him. Could that feeling travel through a screen? Could it hook viewers on the other side?
Plus, Kakayan had presence—striking looks and cotton-candy pink hair guaranteed she'd stand out. That was half the battle for a creator. His account had always been faceless anyway. The old fans were gone; a pivot wouldn't cost him anything.
"Miss Kakayan," he said softly.
Time for a rebrand—time for a cyber rebirth.