Although Zhao Muyan was on his own today, he made a full spread for dinner—braised pork, stir-fried vegetables, tomato and egg soup, and a large bowl of cold cucumber salad. Zhou Yichen ate until his mouth was slick with oil, praising nonstop, “Brother Muyan, you’re amazing. Your cooking is incredible. This is so good.”
Zhao Muyan smiled. “I had nothing else to do anyway.”
Everyone took their seats.
Su Qinghe sat beside Liu Yinuo today, with Shen Ci across from her.
Lu Zhiheng sat diagonally opposite, Jiang Nian beside him.
After dinner, Su Qinghe took the initiative to head into the kitchen to help wash the dishes.
Zhao Muyan was there too.
The two of them washed in silence for a while, neither speaking.
After some time, Zhao Muyan suddenly said, “That pair today, Lu Zhiheng and Jiang Nian… they worked well together.”
Su Qinghe’s hand paused briefly. “Mm.”
Zhao Muyan continued, “Jiang Nian seemed… pretty happy.”
Su Qinghe glanced at him.
He kept his head lowered, his expression unreadable.
After thinking for a moment, she asked, “Are you… okay?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
But his movements slowed noticeably.
After another stretch of silence, she suddenly spoke again.
“Brother Muyan, have you ever watched a dating show?”
He looked up, puzzled. “A dating show? What’s that?”
She set aside a washed dish, wiped her hands, and leaned against the counter as she looked at him.
“It’s the kind where a group of men and women live together and fall in love on camera.”
Zhao Muyan looked completely confused. “I’ve never watched one. I usually just study recipes or watch cooking programs.”
Su Qinghe nodded thoughtfully. “That explains it.”
“Explain what?”
She looked at him, her expression a little complicated, as if weighing how to phrase it.
In the end, she could not hold back.
“Brother Muyan, have you ever heard the saying… cooks have no chance at love?”
The bowl in his hands nearly slipped.
“What? Cooks have no chance at love? What does that mean?”
Seeing his expression, she knew he genuinely did not understand.
She sighed and explained, “It’s like an unspoken rule in those shows. Whoever is responsible for cooking is destined to stay single.”
He looked even more confused. “Why?”
She began counting on her fingers.
“Think about it. When everyone is chatting in the courtyard, taking walks, or stargazing, you’re in the kitchen chopping vegetables. When everyone sits together playing games or having heart-to-hearts, you’re in the kitchen cooking. When people go out on dates or complete tasks, you’re prepping ingredients. By the time everyone finishes eating and cleaning up and finally sits down to talk, you’re still washing dishes.”
Zhao Muyan froze.
She continued, “By the time you’re done and come out, everything that needed to be said has already been said, and everyone has already drifted off. You do not even get a chance to speak.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but realized… there was nothing to refute.
Watching his slowly changing expression, Su Qinghe knew he had understood.
She patted his shoulder sincerely.
“So if you actually want… that kind of thing, then stop staying in the kitchen all the time. Go out more, talk with people, don’t keep doing one task after another. Cooking, then washing, then cleaning…”
She paused, then added softly, “You’re too kind. So kind that people don’t even notice you.”
Zhao Muyan fell silent, staring down at the dish in his hands.
After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice low.
“But… if I don’t cook, what will everyone eat?”
Su Qinghe paused. He continued, “If I don’t do these things, who will?”
He gave a faint, helpless smile.
“Someone has to do it.”
Su Qinghe looked at him, suddenly at a loss for words.
She remembered how the original novel described him—a background character who liked Jiang Nian but never had any real storyline.
Now she understood.
It was not that he had no story.
He had simply spent all his time doing things for others.
By the time he finished, the story had already ended.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end only managed, “…You could do a little less.”
Zhao Muyan smiled, a hint of fatigue in it, but mostly gentleness.
“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”
Su Qinghe looked at him for a few seconds in silence.
Then she reached out, took the dish from his hands, and placed it in the sink.
“Don’t wash tonight.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
She pushed him toward the kitchen door. “Go out! Take a walk, don’t stay in here.”
He stumbled slightly as she guided him out, flustered. “Then these dishes—”
“I’ll do them,” she said, pushing him out the door. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway. Go.”
Zhao Muyan stood at the kitchen entrance, watching her turn back and resume washing dishes.
He lowered his head, glanced at his now empty hands, then looked at her busy figure inside.
Some things could only be dealt with alone.
As Su Qinghe continued washing, she thought about everything that had happened that day. Zhao Muyan’s lonely expression had left a faint ache in her chest.
In the original story, he had only been a background character who liked Jiang Nian, with barely any presence.
But now it seemed that his feelings ran deeper than what had been written.
She sighed softly and kept washing.
Feelings were not something anyone else could fix.
After finishing the last dish, Su Qinghe turned off the tap.
She shook the water from her hands and dried them with a towel. The kitchen fell quiet, with only the occasional sound of insects outside the window.
She was just about to leave, when her gaze caught sight of the doorway.
A figure leaned against the doorframe, standing there who knew how long.
Lu Zhiheng. The towel in Su Qinghe’s hand nearly slipped.
When had he come? How long had he been watching?
Lu Zhiheng said nothing, only looked at her. In his hand was a tube of ointment, the same one from last night.
He walked over, his tone calm.
“I’ll apply the medicine for you later.”
She paused, instinctively stepping back half a step. “No need, thank you.”
Lu Zhiheng’s brows furrowed slightly as he noticed her retreat.
“Are you avoiding me?”
Her heart skipped.
She immediately denied it. “No!”
He looked at her. The meaning in his gaze was clear: Do you think I would believe that?
Under his stare, she felt guilty, but still kept her composure. “Really, I’m not. It’s just… this small injury isn’t worth troubling you over. I can apply it myself.”
She stepped toward him and reached for the ointment.
“Just give it to me, I’ll handle it—”
Before she could finish—her wrist tightened.
In the next second, she was pulled forward. Her back hit the cool wall.
One of Lu Zhiheng’s hands braced beside her ear, trapping her between himself and the wall.
They were so close she could smell the faint, clean scent of soap on him.
Su Qinghe froze. A… wall slam?
Lu Zhiheng lowered his gaze to her, his brows knitting tighter.
“You are avoiding me.”
It was not a question, but a statement.
She opened her mouth to deny it, but under his intense stare, not a single word came out.
He asked again, “Why?”
Her mind went blank.
Why?
Because she did not want to repeat the same mistakes, because she did not want to be torn apart by public opinion, because she wanted to live properly—
But could she say any of that?
No! Looking at his face so close to hers, a sudden thought flashed through her mind.
The original Su Qinghe had chased him obsessively, and he had been thoroughly disgusted. Now that she had stopped, he had begun approaching her instead.
So maybe…
If she went back to acting clingy and relentless like before, would he start to dislike her again?
Would he stay far away from her?
A plan began to form in Su Qinghe’s mind.