“Are you hungry? Should we go eat first?” Meng Junjian asked.
“I’m not really hungry. Let’s not go to a restaurant—let’s go home and cook,” Lin Qianyi replied.
Now that their relationship was out in the open, there was no need to worry about what others might say if her boyfriend came to her place for a meal.
“Do you have ingredients at home? We should buy some first,” he said.
In truth, Meng Junjian didn’t really want her to cook—he didn’t know how to cook himself either.
But he had noticed last time that she didn’t like the food at the state-run restaurant; it probably didn’t suit her taste.
Also, when she said “go home,” not “come to my home,” for some reason it made him feel inexplicably pleased, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
Of course, if Lin Qianyi had known, she would have said it was just a casual phrase—she hadn’t thought that deeply at all.
“Let’s buy some meat. There’s only a bit of vegetables at home,” she said.
She really only had the small amount of vegetables Sister Lan had brought over that day. Everything else was in her space.
Meng Junjian drove them to the supply store. They got out and bought some meat and vegetables, but by that time of day, most of the meat had already been sold out—there wasn’t much left.
He insisted on paying for everything himself.
Lin Qianyi didn’t argue. If they were dating, there was no need to be overly formal about such things.
After shopping, they returned to the machinery factory. The jeep slowly pulled up in front of her residential building.
As soon as the car entered the compound, it attracted a lot of attention. Many people curiously wondered who had arrived.
Most of them didn’t work at the office building and hadn’t seen the earlier commotion.
When the door opened, a handsome, refined young military officer stepped out, earning a wave of admiration.
Some young women secretly blushed, and even older women began to think—what a perfect son-in-law candidate.
Then the passenger door opened, and Lin Qianyi got out.
Everyone in the compound widened their eyes.
No mistake—wasn’t that the girl from the Lin family getting out of the officer’s car?
The two opened the trunk and took out a pile of things. He refused to let her carry anything and took it all himself.
After closing the trunk, they walked toward the building.
Someone couldn’t help but ask, “Qianyi, who is this? A relative of yours?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” she said with a smile.
Then the man nodded politely to everyone and said, “Hello, I’m Qianyi’s boyfriend. Thank you for taking care of her.”
Everyone froze, stunned.
Boyfriend? What about Ma Zhenqiang then?
The young girls’ hearts shattered, and the older women’s matchmaking dreams collapsed.
After dropping the bombshell, the two carried their things upstairs.
“Just put it on the table,” she said, opening the door. He followed her in.
She didn’t fully close the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
He placed everything on the table while she sorted through it.
“You bought so much more than what we just picked up?” she asked.
“When I first arrived, I went to the supply store too. But there wasn’t much there,” he replied, helping her unpack.
Lin Qianyi looked at the items in silence—cakes, biscuits, milk candies, malted milk powder, powdered milk, and all sorts of random things.
“Not much”? This looked like he had nearly emptied the store.
“I don’t really know how to buy things. I just picked whatever looked good. If you don’t like it, you can give it away,” he said honestly.
Confirmed—a young master indeed.
Clearly, he had grown up in comfort and didn’t treat material things seriously.
Coincidentally, so had she.
She nodded in satisfaction. Not stingy—approved.
She neatly arranged everything into the cabinet.
Meng Junjian liked this about her—she was generous and straightforward, not like the coy, restrained women of the time. Being with her felt natural and comfortable.
“We’ll take the vegetables to the kitchen,” she said.
He carried the remaining items into the kitchen. The small apartment was easy to navigate, and he quickly found it.
“I’m not very good at cooking, but I can wash and cut vegetables,” he said honestly.
“Alright,” she replied, thinking it was rare for a man of this era to help in the kitchen.
He probably really had never done any of this before.
She cooked rice first, relying on the original owner’s memory she had already mastered it over the past few days.
“Do you have any dietary restrictions? Do you eat spicy food?” she asked.
“No, I eat anything,” he said while washing the vegetables.
In truth, he was quite picky—but what he meant was: whatever you cook, I’ll love it.
She looked at the piece of pork belly they had bought. Too late to make braised pork—so she decided on twice-cooked pork.
“How should I cut this?” he asked after washing the vegetables.
“Don’t cut it yet. We’ll boil it first,” she said, putting it into the pot.
Then she directed him to cut the other vegetables.
“Cut this into sections, diagonally.”
“Slice this thin.”
“Chop this smaller.”
Watching his long fingers holding the knife as he worked, she found the sight unexpectedly pleasing.
After the vegetables were done, the meat was ready. He helped take it out.
“Let it cool, then slice it thin,” she said, handing him the plate.
She made a simple soup with lean pork, vegetables, and tofu, then stir-fried wood ear fungus with cucumber and eggs. Fortunately, it wasn’t winter, so ingredients were still fairly abundant.
Once the pork was sliced, he brought the dishes out.
She started cooking the twice-cooked pork.
Cough cough—
The chili smoke made her cough hard.
“Drink some water,” he said quickly, handing her a glass. Seeing her flushed face made him feel a little distressed.
He didn’t want her cooking anymore—such a beautiful face and hands shouldn’t be exposed to oil smoke.
“I’ll do it. You just tell me how,” he said.
“You can cook?” she laughed.
“You teach me,” he replied earnestly.
“Maybe next time. I’ll finish this today,” she said, smiling as she plated the dish.
He washed the pot while she quickly stir-fried a final vegetable dish.
Done.
“Sit down and don’t move,” he said, taking over everything else.
She obediently sat at the table waiting to eat.
Three dishes and one soup—not bad at all.
The ingredients were fresh and unpolluted, making the meal especially delicious.
“This twice-cooked pork is amazing,” he praised.
No wonder she didn’t like the state-run restaurant food—her cooking was genuinely good. Even his picky palate was satisfied.
“Right? It goes perfectly with rice,” she said proudly.
She didn’t eat much, finishing just one bowl of rice. He, meanwhile, cleaned up everything that was left.