015. One Arm Was Enough to Encircle Her Waist

After leaving the department store, Lu Qingyan placed the daily necessities and pastries into a basket.

The electric fan was a bit large, so he found a piece of hemp rope and tied it directly to the back seat of the bicycle.

That meant Wen Shiyang could only sit on the crossbar in front.

She was light, and with one arm, Lu Qingyan could easily encircle her waist, lift her slightly, and set her on the bar.

Her body was soft, like she had no bones.

When he held her, he didn’t dare use much strength, afraid of hurting her.

On the way back, the breeze brushed against them, carrying the fragrance from her body straight into his nose—delicate and fresh, as if he was carrying a flower with him.

He inhaled lightly, feeling his body and mind relax.

When they got home, Dabao and Xiaobao were curled up together, sleeping.

Wen Shiyang went over to smooth their slightly damp hair.

It was still hot; the kids had worked up a sweat playing.

She asked Lu Qingyan to bring in the electric fan for the children.

The fan was indeed powerful, the wind pleasantly cool.

“You enjoy it for a bit; I’ll go cook,” Lu Qingyan said, adjusting the setting before turning to her.

She was indeed afraid of heat—only a few minutes after arriving home, the strands of hair on her forehead were damp with sweat.

“I’ll change clothes and come help you,” she said, heading back to the bedroom.

Her dress looked nice but was made of cotton, a little thick and stuffy, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

Lu Qingyan was going to refuse her offer, but before he could, she hurried off without giving him a chance to speak.

There was meat and vegetables at home. Lu Qingyan had been cooking since he was young, and his culinary skills were decent.

Over the years, he’d traveled all over the country, so he was good at combining different ingredients and seasonings into something appetizing.

He was just slicing eggplant into strips when Wen Shiyang returned.

She had changed into loose pajamas, thin and drapey, not clinging to the skin at all.

“I’ll wash the loofah,” she said, taking vegetables from the basket and rinsing them in the basin.

“Pretty,” he commented.

She had tied her hair into a low ponytail, a few strands falling naturally over her shoulders, looking especially gentle.

“All clean,” she said, lining the vegetables neatly.

“Nice job,” he praised.

He was nearly done chopping, and as he prepared to light the stove, he said, “The oil smoke’s heavy here, go sit in the other room with the fan.”

She stepped back, crossing her arms, “I’ll just watch.”

“Trying to steal my cooking secrets?” he teased.

“Pfft, no. I’m just afraid you’ll blow up the kitchen,” she retorted, though she really was here to learn.

She liked his cooking, so picking up a few tricks couldn’t hurt.

He didn’t call her out, just waved her back. “Stand farther away. If oil splatters, you might scar your face.”

At that thought, she shivered and obediently took two steps back.

Lu Qingyan was quick and efficient—within ten minutes, three stir-fried dishes were done.

The fragrant aroma filled the room, making Wen Shiyang’s stomach rumble.

“Dinner’s ready,” Lu Qingyan said, setting the food on the table.

She grabbed bowls and chopsticks, noticing Dabao and Xiaobao running out barefoot.

She frowned, “Why aren’t you wearing shoes again? What if you step on something sharp?”

Lu Qingyan chimed in, “Exactly. If there’s broken glass or a tack, you’ll be in trouble and stuck at home.”

The kids glanced at each other and admitted fault, “We were wrong, Dad.”

Then they turned to her, pleading, “Mom, we know we were wrong. We won’t forget again.”

She couldn’t stay mad at their sweet little faces. “Alright, eat up. After dinner, you can play for a bit, then it’s bedtime.”

They nodded obediently.

She served them rice and was about to eat when Lu Qingyan spoke.

“Tomorrow’s the end of the holiday. If I have enough time, I’ll come back at night. If not, I’ll stay in the dorm.”

The military base was still in the capital but beyond the Third Ring Road.

Not exactly far, but not close either.

She looked up calmly, “If you don’t have time, just stay at the dorm. No need to rush back.”

Her tone was flat, but across from her, his heart had already turned cold, his face darkening.

He took a bite of food—it was like chewing wax, completely tasteless.

How unpleasant!

A sour, bitter feeling welled up in him. He almost cursed her for being heartless.

Meanwhile, Wen Shiyang was happily eating—every dish suited her taste.

“Dabao, Xiaobao, eat more,” she said, adding vegetables to their plates.

Halfway through, she noticed Lu Qingyan’s bowl was still mostly untouched. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

He’d been fine while cooking—what changed?

“Just no appetite,” he said flatly, setting his chopsticks down.

“No appetite? Are you sick? Want me to check your pulse?”

“No need,” he replied, still cold.

He was sulking.

Little Bao’s eyes darted between them, then she suddenly giggled, “Mom, Dad doesn’t just have no appetite. This is… what was it called… oh, right, ‘eating frustration rice!’”

Back in the countryside, Dapang told her his mom used to say that to his dad.

It meant having something you want to say but holding it in, swallowing it down with your food.

“You sure know a lot for your age,” Lu Qingyan said, giving her a mock glare.

This girl was just making trouble.

Wen Shiyang laughed, stroking Little Bao’s head. “Hurry and eat, then take a bath and go to bed.”

Little Bao obediently bent over her bowl.

After the meal, Lu Qingyan washed the dishes as usual.

Wen Shiyang got water ready for the kids and urged them to bathe.

Once everything was tidy, she noticed Lu Qingyan seemed to be deliberately avoiding her.

She couldn’t help but wonder—had she done something to offend him?