Chapter 75: Cooking

“What do you want to eat?” Duan Qingyu rolled up his sleeves and casually walked toward the kitchen.

Ji Xueli was about to say she could just head back and eat, but when she saw that Duan Qingyu was the one cooking—an extremely rare occurrence—she raised an eyebrow: “You’re going to cook? Or are you planning to poison me?”

Duan Qingyu opened the fridge and glanced at the ingredients inside. Hearing her remark, he chuckled lightly. “Poisoning you isn’t likely. Corpses aren’t very pleasant to look at.”

“Well, thank you for being considerate of how I’d look dead,” Ji Xueli said, following behind him, watching as he picked vegetables from the fridge.

Looking at the ingredients he pulled out, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you making zhajiang noodles?”

“Seems like your childhood wasn’t wasted,” Duan Qingyu didn’t deny it.

So he used to cook for the original her when they were younger? Was he the tragic second male lead or something?

Ji Xueli looked at Duan Qingyu with a hint of sympathy in her eyes.

“Do you often cook for yourself?” she asked.

“Not often. When I was abroad, I’d occasionally cook. And also…”
When they were younger, she used to pester him to cook.

His eyes dimmed slightly, and he didn’t finish the sentence.

“Foreign food can be kind of hard to get used to,” Ji Xueli said, watching his smooth movements. He seemed very skilled at making this dish.

“That’s because it’s the only dish I know how to make,” Duan Qingyu replied calmly.

Ji Xueli couldn’t help asking, “Why only this one?”

“Because it’s the one my mother was best at,” he answered without hesitation.

Ji Xueli pursed her lips, realizing she’d accidentally touched on something painful.

“But I’m good at making one dish too. I’ll cook it for you next time,” she quickly changed the subject.

“If it’s egg fried rice, then forget it,” Duan Qingyu refused instantly.

Ji Xueli’s eyes widened: “How did you know it’s egg fried rice?”

How did he know that was her specialty? Had she mentioned it before?

“Middle school. After Chengdu ate it, he ended up in the hospital. Don’t you remember?” Duan Qingyu turned to look at her.

“Oh… right, I remember now.” Ji Xueli let out an awkward laugh. So the original her had cooked it, huh? Poor Chengdu…

Duan Qingyu didn’t miss the flicker of guilt and relief in her eyes.

“But speaking of Chengdu, how come he hasn’t checked on me? You must’ve told him I twisted my ankle, right?” Ji Xueli suddenly realized the guy hadn’t even sent a single message to ask about her.

“He’s drunk. Do you really want to see a drunk guy?” Duan Qingyu raised an eyebrow.

Ji Xueli immediately shook her head. “Forget it. Just seeing you was enough.”

The last time she dealt with a drunk Duan Qingyu, she’d barely managed. If it were Chengdu instead, she might’ve had to call the cops.

Duan Qingyu lifted the noodles out of the pot, poured the stir-fried sauce on top, and the fragrant aroma instantly filled the room, hitting Ji Xueli’s taste buds hard.

“That smells amazing. You’ve actually got some skill,” Ji Xueli followed the bowl of noodles straight to the dining table.

Duan Qingyu handed it to her after mixing it up.

Ji Xueli couldn’t wait to take the first bite—it was delicious, perfectly seasoned, and oddly familiar, like she’d had it before…

“It’s really good,” she said with her mouth full, giving a thumbs up.

Duan Qingyu’s lips curved slightly, and he poured her a glass of water. “How does it compare to before?”

“There’s not much difference, just feels like it’s a bit lighter in flavor. Why didn’t you put mushrooms in it?” Ji Xueli replied instinctively, even though she had never tasted the original version before.

“There weren’t any in the fridge,” Duan Qingyu replied.

Though in truth, there were mushrooms in the fridge… but now, that hardly mattered anymore.

He glanced at her soft, red lips and looked at her with a faint, teasing smile.