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For several consecutive days, Ming Zhao noticed Zhou Siyu’s slightly swollen eyes and the hesitant glances she wore when looking at her.
When would she choose to invite her? Ming Zhao wondered absently.
“What are you daydreaming about?”
A deep voice pulled her back to reality.
Snapping out of her thoughts after a few seconds of delay, she opened her mouth and pretended to complain, “It’s just that you’re too handsome.”
Zhou Tingyun reacted indifferently, immune to her insincere flattery.
What a solid wall he was.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that Zhou Siyu is just your cousin?” Ming Zhao questioned, thinking about Zhou Siyu’s face that had been swirling in her mind.
Making her look like a fool.
“Just?” Zhou Tingyun glanced at her. “What did you think it was?”
Ming Zhao suddenly paused for a moment, realizing she had let something embarrassing slip. How could she let him know about such a humiliating matter?
She quickly replied, “Nothing.”
The man turned on the faucet, and the sound of rushing water filled the air.
“Zhao Zhao, your speech quickens when you lie.”
The old house had a hawthorn grove, and in recent days, many ginkgo and other fruit trees had been planted. According to Grandpa Zhou, their family would definitely not lose to the Ming family.
By next autumn, they would see a golden expanse, with plump orange-red persimmons hanging from the branches, swaying precariously.
Meanwhile, she had gathered a bunch of hawthorns and was following a tutorial to explore 360 different ways to prepare them, asking Zhou Tingyun to assist her.
What was this about lying? Ming Zhao pretended not to hear and focused on the tutorial.
“Hawthorn jam, hawthorn cake, stir-fried red fruits, hawthorn wine… hawthorn Basque? This one looks good.”
The tablet was placed on the counter, playing the video.
Zhou Tingyun washed the hawthorns and placed them beside her. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his strong, muscular forearms; the veins bulged with his movements.
Ming Zhao was captivated, her gaze following his every action. Her fingers itched, and she extended her index finger to poke.
The vein was pressed down and pushed to the side, then returned to its original position when she released it. She poked him incessantly, finding it immensely amusing.
Zhou Tingyun grasped her hand.
“We’re supposed to be making a cake. What are you doing now?”
His freshly washed palm was cool and moist, seeping into her skin.
“Playing with you,” she blurted out impulsively.
“…”
Oh no, she’d blurted out her true feelings.
Ming Zhao quickly pulled back her hand and pushed Zhou Tingyun, changing the subject.
“Hurry up and get the cream.”
Without dwelling on her words, Zhou Tingyun opened the cabinet, took out the whipping cream, and placed it next to the eggs, sugar, and cornstarch.
As she whipped the cream in the glass bowl until it was thick, she felt tired and relaxed her wrist for a moment, causing the whisk to tilt slightly.
In that instant, the cream shot out, splashing the man like a fountain.
?!
Ming Zhao was stunned, frantically turning off the mixer.
Zhou Tingyun had anticipated this outcome and wasn’t surprised.
She’d splattered paint all over his face while painting, let ice cream melt all over his shoulder… and as for the incident of her wetting the bed on him, he’d never mentioned it, considering her feelings.
It would be strange if nothing ever went wrong.
So, he just glanced at the mess on himself and asked, “Should I take over?”
Ming Zhao, feeling guilty, released her grip and obediently stepped aside.
Just as he picked up the whisk, she suddenly spoke.
“Ah, wait.”
Her voice was clear, urgent, and tinged with nervousness.
Ming Zhao reached out, placing her hand on his arm, then tiptoed up, gently turning his face.
She leaned in very close, her hair releasing a faint, sweet fragrance that enveloped him; her breath gently brushed against his skin, like the rising and falling tide.
“You have some here too.”
She touched his face softly, wiping away a bit of cream.
Then…
He saw her pale pink lips move slightly, her moist red tongue licking the white cream from her fingertip.
“All done.” She stepped back, her eyes sparkling with amusement, her face tilted up in innocent delight. “The sweetness is just right.”
Zhou Tingyun stared at her calmly.
“Ming Zhao.”
The culprit blinked innocently upon hearing her name. “What?”
What?
She seemed completely unaware of what she should and shouldn’t do.
She also had no reservations about her nominal brother.
But he didn’t say anything more, only looked away and finished whipping the cream, setting it aside.
Ming Zhao, in a cheerful mood, used a spatula to stir and simmer the sugared hawthorns into a jam.
All the ingredients were assembled and placed in the oven, set to 220 degrees Celsius for twenty minutes.
During the waiting period, Ming Zhao asked him curiously,
“Why haven’t you changed your clothes yet?”
The process was complete; there was no chance of getting anything dirty.
The man glanced at her calmly, “Afraid you can’t resist sneaking a bite and then wiping it on me.”
“You’re insulting me!” she exclaimed indignantly, “I’m not three years old!”
It was just that she had once gotten oil all over his shirt as a child—he didn’t need to hold a grudge for so long!
She wouldn’t sneak a bite!
She was about to argue further when the timer went off.
Ming Zhao’s eyes instantly lit up, and she turned to open the oven, but he stopped her.
“Let me get it. Be careful, it’s hot.”
Zhou Tingyun, wearing oven mitts, took out the baking tray. The cake’s surface was golden brown and glistening, emitting a rich aroma.
After the cake had cooled, it was placed in the refrigerator to chill overnight.
…
The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the curtains, the usually sleepy Ming Zhao was already up and excitedly padding downstairs in her slippers.
She opened the refrigerator and took out the chilled cake.
“I’m such a genius.”
Ming Zhao shook her head in self-admiration.
“This genius—you’ve spilled the frosting.”
Her hand, which had been decorating the cake with frosting, paused. Then, she casually took a paper towel to wipe up the mess.
Soon after, the entire Zhou family was forcibly gathered by the young lady for a taste test of her exquisite masterpiece, and they were asked to provide feedback.
Everyone was quite accommodating, nodding and giving her thumbs up.
“My goodness, Miss, you truly have an amazing talent!”
“It’s so delicious, Miss! Way better than anything I’ve bought outside!”
“You should definitely consider opening a shop, Miss!”
Their flattery made her feel elated.
Zhou Qian took a bite and was even more amazed, swallowing it quickly with sparkling eyes.
“You’re incredible! This hawthorn jam is sweet without being cloying, and the sourness is just right! It pairs perfectly with the cream!”
His tone was quite sincere.
Hearing such a long, detailed, and professional evaluation, Ming Zhao was very pleased and patted his shoulder proudly. “Brother, you really have good taste.”
…
“Look at that.” Not far away, Grandpa Zhou sighed. “What a perfect match.”
In the courtyard, the white walls and green tiles, along with the ancient carved window frames, cast dappled shadows. A young boy and girl sat together, their youthful faces slightly flushed and innocent, with clear, bright eyes.
Golden rays of sunlight bathed them, and as a gentle breeze passed by, they burst into laughter, sending ripples of joy through the air.
It didn’t feel like the withering depths of autumn; it resembled a vibrant spring day.
Zhou Tingyun stood in the shadows, fingers holding an unlit cigarette, silently observing this scene before him.
“This spring air stirs the heart, like the tender gums of a teething baby, experiencing a kind of lively, budding itch,” wrote Qian Zhongshu in Fortress Besieged.
“Equal social status and age,” Grandpa Zhou chuckled. “What do you think?”
“Mm.” His expression was gentle, even carrying a hint of a smile.
It was as if he agreed with Grandpa Zhou’s words.
His gaze fell upon the two in the distance.
Warm, fresh, and enveloped in the atmosphere of first love.
Hawthorn fruit—sweet and sour like youth.
But what filled his mind was the girl’s moist red tongue, so close, and the smear of pure white that disappeared between her lips.
Wet, obscure, filled with base desires.
—