Sweet pea cakes, ox-tongue pastries, and jujube-flower desserts.

Xia Jiao was unhappy.

For the first time, she felt a hint of anger toward Wen Chongyue.

In truth, she had never thought about aging before. When reading novels or watching TV dramas, she always skipped the parts where the protagonists grew old and died. Many people consider holding hands until death to be the ultimate love story, but Xia Jiao found such endings more heartbreaking than fulfilling.

When watching The Legend of the Condor Heroes, there was a scene where Huang Rong, gravely injured, told Guo Jing that he could marry Hua Zheng after her death, but she did not allow Hua Zheng to visit her grave.

At that moment, Xia Jiao almost threw her TV in frustration.

She could not and would not permit it.

Even if she were to pass away unexpectedly, Wen Chongyue was not allowed to find another “true love,” pursue a new partner, or cook for someone else every day, three meals a day.

Everyone has possessiveness. Xia Jiao admitted she couldn’t control what happened after her death, but her stance was clear—absolutely not.

How could Wen Chongyue say something like that?

Why did he think he might pass away first? How could he analyze such a matter so calmly?

Upset, Xia Jiao confronted Wen Chongyue during dinner, her tone firm: “You must take better care of yourself and aim for us to leave this world together.”

Wen Chongyue was momentarily stunned.

As she spoke, they were enjoying authentic Wuxi cuisine—Taihu’s signature stew made with river prawns, crabs, eels, and crucian carp in a pot steaming with fragrant vapors. Wen Chongyue placed a bowl of osmanthus sweet taro in front of Xia Jiao, smiling as he said, “In that case, I suppose I should quit smoking completely.”

The server brought over a steaming bowl of Taihu soup with spiraled snails, a fragrant pork knuckle, lotus root slices, and a small selection of vegetables. Knowing Xia Jiao couldn’t eat much meat, Wen Chongyue had ordered boiled greens lightly seasoned with salt. He encouraged her to alternate bites of leafy greens with meat and had also ordered an extra serving of lettuce.

As Xia Jiao chewed on the greens, Wen Chongyue remarked, “At the same time, Xia Jiao, you should start exercising too.”

Xia Jiao muttered, “I’m perfectly healthy.”

Her health had indeed improved significantly. She had moved away from takeout and instant meals, no longer spent three hours a day commuting, and now worked at a flower shop with an 8:30 AM start time, just two bus stops away. Lunchtimes were filled with carefully prepared bento meals from Wen Chongyue, each meal thoughtfully planned and varied. She clocked out at 5:30 PM, enjoyed walking home, and often stopped by local fruit shops or bookstores to pick up something she liked, be it fresh produce or comics and novels.

Although online shopping was incredibly convenient, Xia Jiao still enjoyed the serendipity of discovering books in physical stores. Perhaps it was the cover design or how they were displayed that drew her in.

Looking back, Xia Jiao realized how overwhelming her previous life had been. She used to wear polished, glamorous outfits, yet inside, she was merely an exhausted shell.

In September, “water caltrops rival pearls in roundness.”

Reeds swayed along the banks of Taihu Lake, osmanthus blossoms gathered strength to bloom, and the “Eight Freshwater Delicacies” gradually came into season. At this time of year, fresh gorgon fruits, or “water caltrops,” were highly sought after. A pound yielded only two or three ounces of edible kernels. Xia Jiao bought some from an elderly vendor and took them home. She and Wen Chongyue spent a long time peeling them. Xia Mi played with Wen Quan, while an old movie, Song at Midnight, played on TV. Outside, light rain fell steadily. The air conditioner hummed at 25 degrees, and the oven wafted the slow, fragrant aroma of green-lipped mussels baked with parsley and lemon—a dish Xia Jiao had made under Wen Chongyue’s guidance.

In Suzhou dialect, “water caltrop” refers to gorgon fruit. It resembles a chicken’s head, with a hard, spiky shell. Difficult to harvest and peel, Xia Jiao’s hands quickly grew sore after a few kernels. Wen Chongyue instructed her to make tea while he continued peeling the fruit by himself.

At its freshest, water caltrop was tender and delicious, even when eaten raw. Wen Chongyue, a firm believer in simple, unadulterated flavors, prepared gorgon fruit porridge with lily bulbs and stir-fried shrimp with gorgon fruits.

Xia Jiao also showcased her cooking skills with a dish of stir-fried rice cakes and crab.

This dish was a typical Jiangsu home-style recipe, but given Jiangsu’s “scattered” culinary traditions, the same dish could vary widely across regions. Many people pre-cook the rice cakes before stir-frying them with crab. Xia Jiao did it differently, simmering the crab first to extract its essence and then using the broth to cook the rice cakes, ensuring they absorbed all the flavors. The result was soft, silky, and incredibly savory.

As summer heat gradually dissipated, Suzhou saw fewer tourists, though the scenery remained captivating.

After dinner, Xia Jiao hummed a tune as she lay on the sofa, fresh from a bath. She studied a map Wen Chongyue had brought over, seriously deliberating where to visit. With limited time over the weekend, their options were restricted to nearby cities like Hangzhou or Shanghai. Xia Jiao couldn’t yet decide between the two.

Shanghai seemed like the practical choice, but Hangzhou also had its charm.

They say that after the start of autumn, every rain brings a touch of chill. As the night rain pattered on, the two cats in the living room snuggled closely together, sound asleep. In the bedroom, separated by a single door, Xia Jiao and Wen Chongyue lay under separate blankets, illuminated only by the soft glow of a mushroom-shaped nightlight.

Gripping her blanket tightly, Xia Jiao stared into the darkness and whispered, “Teacher Wen.”

“Hmm?” he responded.

“I suddenly feel a little cold,” Xia Jiao said softly.

Wen Chongyue understood. He draped his blanket over her and reached out to embrace her through her thin quilt. “How about now?” he asked.

Xia Jiao was silent for two seconds before replying, “It’s a little heavy.”

Wen Chongyue moved as if to turn on the light. “I’ll raise the air conditioner’s temperature.”

Quickly, Xia Jiao stretched out her hand from under the blanket and grabbed his wrist. Her hand was warm, not cold.

“What if it gets too hot again?” she murmured.

Wen Chongyue paused for a moment. In the quiet night, he sensed something subtle, something unspoken.

Xia Jiao held onto his hand, her palm slightly damp with sweat. Slowly, she pulled him closer.

Wen Chongyue lay back down, turning to face her. He lifted the blanket covering Xia Jiao. She wore a pale green silk nightgown, faint in the dim light. Her skin, untouched by sunlight, was snow-white and soft, like tender willow buds in spring. Wen Chongyue didn’t have the habit of drinking water before going to bed. His throat was a little dry at the moment. He could still sense the faint coconut milk fragrance of her body lotion, mixed with the fresh scent of crushed fig leaves…

He asked, “Would it help if you hugged me?”

Xia Jiao’s voice was dry, “I haven’t tried, but maybe?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “Then shall we try?”

Xia Jiao agreed, “Okay.”

Wen Chongyue lay down, surrounded by the soft warmth and the scent of coconut milk and fig leaves. Xia Jiao snuggled up close and opened her arms to hold him. It was their first time doing this, and neither had much experience. They adjusted their positions for a while. Xia Jiao kept trembling, trying to control herself, but her heartbeat wouldn’t cooperate, thumping wildly as though it might leap out of her chest. Wen Chongyue was also struggling; he kept accidentally pressing his body against hers or bumping her arm, and there was a risk of crushing her hair.

For a girl, hair was very precious.

After some time, they finally found a comfortable position that both could accept. Wen Chongyue wrapped one arm around her neck, making sure her neck rested comfortably on his arm, while the other hand allowed her to hold him.

Xia Jiao finally relaxed enough to close her eyes. She whispered, “I’m not cold anymore.”

Wen Chongyue murmured in acknowledgment.

“I think,” he said, “from a practical standpoint, maybe we should only need one blanket in the future.”

Xia Jiao smiled and said, “That would be great! Then we only need one drying rack for the blankets.”

With her forehead resting against Wen Chongyue’s chest, Xia Jiao slowly closed her eyes. She could smell his scent, fresh and clean, like a pine forest after the rain.

The bedroom was quiet, and outside, the light rain dripped steadily, tapping softly. Moss grew quietly in the corners. Xia Jiao nestled into Wen Chongyue’s chest and drifted off to sleep.

Xia Jiao’s first encounter with Shanghai came through a middle school tutoring class where Teacher Wen gave out progress rewards to the students.

The tutoring class was short, only lasting one summer vacation.

There was a quiz every week, and after the first test, Wen Chongyue told the class that the student with the most improvement would receive a reward.

Xia Jiao received her reward after the fourth test, a beautiful notebook with a postcard from a place in Shanghai, stamped with a shop’s logo. Before that, Shanghai had only existed in the TV dramas Xia Jiao had watched, but when she traced the stamp on the back of the postcard, she suddenly wanted to go and see it for herself.

Unfortunately, Xia Jiao, as a middle school student, couldn’t convince her parents to let her go alone.

And now, Xia Jiao and Wen Chongyue still hadn’t gone to Shanghai.

Just two days before booking tickets, Wen Chongyue received a call from Beijing. His father had accidentally fallen in the bathroom and suffered a minor bone fracture in his left hand.

Xia Jiao immediately took leave and accompanied Wen Chongyue to Beijing.

By the time they arrived, the surgery was already done, and Father Wen was resting. The caregiver, a woman in her thirties, felt very guilty, “I didn’t know Professor Wen had fallen. I didn’t even hear anything…”

“It’s okay, Sister Qing,” Wen Chongyue reassured her. “The doctor said you didn’t sleep all night. Go get some rest. We’ve got this covered.”

Sister Qing nodded, and after she left, Wen Chongyue asked Xia Jiao to rest for a while. Xia Jiao refused. “You stay with your dad. I’ll go buy some breakfast.”

She could tell Wen Chongyue was a little uneasy.

As people grow older, falling is one of the most feared things. It can cause serious injuries, and Father Wen already had some heart problems that couldn’t handle too much stress.

Wen Chongyue didn’t insist and reminded Xia Jiao to go and come back quickly.

Since Xia Jiao couldn’t drink soy milk, but she bought soy milk, stir-fried liver, stewed pork buns, some fried dough sticks, sesame cakes, and a vegetable fruit salad—enough to make a good breakfast.

Father Wen didn’t wake up until around 10 AM. He was surprised that Wen Chongyue had come and sighed repeatedly, “There’s no need to trouble yourself so much. It’s just a temporary inability to move my arm…”

Wen Chongyue didn’t respond but poured hot water. His father was not in good health and needed to watch his diet. Xia Jiao had specifically ordered a patient’s meal set, which included a bowl of vegetable noodles—soft and warm.

Father Wen was very fond of Xia Jiao and smiled as they talked about work and life. He learned that Xia Jiao liked flowers, so they talked more about plants. By noon, Father Wen became tired, ate his meal, and went back to rest.

After the observation period, they took him back home.

In the afternoon, Wen Chongyue received a phone call and politely turned down several students who came to visit. Father Wen’s health wasn’t good enough to meet guests. However, two older professors who couldn’t be refused lived in the nearby buildings and came with gifts.

It wasn’t until evening, after Father Wen had rested, that Wen Chongyue and Xia Jiao had time to go for a walk.

Wen Chongyue was very concerned about his father’s heart condition. Xia Jiao understood his worries but couldn’t find the right words of encouragement. Instead, she held his hand and walked with him to a nearby park.

The moon was bright in the late summer night, and many professors were out walking. Most of the people living here were colleagues of Father Wen. They all knew Wen Chongyue and greeted him warmly, praising Xia Jiao for being beautiful and gentle.

As the number of people dwindled, Xia Jiao asked, “Did you grow up here?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “No, we moved here when I was in middle school.”

After a pause, he added, “Did I never tell you about my parents?”

Xia Jiao shook her head.

She was curious, but since Wen Chongyue didn’t bring it up, she didn’t ask. She simply waited for him to talk about it when he was ready.

Just like now.

The night was like water, and Wen Chongyue walked slowly, sharing with Xia Jiao about his life with his father, and his biological mother, Bai Ruolang.

Before Wen Chongyue was born, his father was not yet a father, he was Wen Qiming.

Wen Qiming was born into a working-class family. Although they didn’t have much money, his family strongly supported his education. In the 1980s and 90s, it was already an achievement to be accepted into a vocational or technical college. After graduation, there was government assignment, and Wen Qiming chose a field in mathematics and science. By all accounts, after graduating from university, he had an unlimited future ahead of him.

Wen Qiming met Bai Ruolang, a wealthy young lady who had been spoiled and pampered since childhood.

Bai Ruolang was dragged by her friend to watch a basketball friendship match between university students, and at first glance, she was smitten by Wen Qiming. From that moment on, she fell head over heels for him.

In her eyes, Wen Qiming wasn’t just shooting basketballs; he was capturing her fluttering heart.

Of course, Bai Ruolang decided to pull him into her world. Since childhood, there was nothing she couldn’t have if she wanted it.

When Wen Qiming went to the cafeteria to buy a small portion of rice and a dish of stir-fried vegetables, Bai Ruolang enthusiastically opened her lunchbox, revealing a generous serving of fragrant braised beef.

Wen Qiming, aware of the vast difference in their social standing, politely declined and urged her to treasure herself, but he couldn’t resist the passionate energy of a young girl.

Bai Ruolang brought a large bouquet of roses and waited for him outside his dorm, willing to eat cafeteria food with him. She cheered loudly during his basketball games, completely ignoring the glances of others.

No one could resist such pure and all-consuming passion, not even Wen Qiming.

When Bai Ruolang cried because of his indifference, Wen Qiming finally couldn’t hold back and handed her a handkerchief, saying, “Let’s give it a try.”

It wasn’t just as simple as saying “let’s try.” For this, Wen Qiming had to endure advice, beatings, and warnings from Bai Ruolang’s “childhood sweetheart” and her family.

The worst and final confrontation occurred one rainy day, before dawn. Wen Qiming had stood in line early to buy a set of stamps that Bai Ruolang liked. At that time, collecting stamps was a popular hobby, and she loved visiting the stamp market at Yuetan Park. She would regularly go to both the East and West Districts, waiting in line to buy sets and miniature sheets.

Wen Qiming, with little money to spare, didn’t have many options for what he could do for her. This was all he could manage. He finally got the stamps and carefully tucked them into his pocket. As he was nearing the school, a group of four or five people ambushed him, throwing a sack over him and beating him with sticks.

He was outnumbered, and since he hadn’t eaten breakfast and had woken up early, he couldn’t put up much of a fight.

This beating couldn’t be hidden. Wen Qiming was injured all over. At first, he tried to avoid Bai Ruolang, but her stubborn nature didn’t believe his excuses. She barged into his dorm, and the truth came out.

Wen Qiming was relieved that the stamps were unharmed. When he gave them to Bai Ruolang, still intact despite the beating, her eyes reddened, and she exploded in anger.

After returning home, Bai Ruolang had a big argument with her family. She packed a few clothes, grabbed her suitcase, and went to Wen Qiming’s place.

She had cut ties with her family.

Having never experienced hardship, Bai Ruolang, delicate and pampered, packed her suitcase clumsily with only clothes for the present. She didn’t consider the upcoming autumn and winter and even brought mismatched shoes.

Wen Qiming didn’t let Bai Ruolang down. He took on a few part-time jobs in his spare time and rented a small apartment for them to live in. They shared the same bed, with a bowl placed in between them, filled with rice to keep things proper.

Their feelings started with affection but were bound by respect.

After graduation, Wen Qiming spoke with his professors and gave up the opportunity to study abroad on a government scholarship.

Instead, he chose to start working right away. The new house provided by his employer was a bit bigger—one bedroom and a living room, with a small kitchen. On sunny days, warm sunlight flooded the apartment. The downside was that the bathroom and toilet were shared with others, and laundry had to be done outside.

Bai Ruolang had no source of income and didn’t want to continue studying. Wen Qiming paid her tuition and accommodation fees with his own salary, encouraging her to go back to class. After work every day, Wen Qiming would pick her up and bring her home, buying her favorite snacks—pea cake, ox tongue biscuits, and date flower pastries.

Bai Ruolang loved Qiong Yao’s novels, so Wen Qiming would visit bookstores to find her favorite books and buy them. At night, Bai Ruolang would sit absorbed in reading, while Wen Qiming carefully dried her wet hair with a thick towel.

Relying solely on academic pursuits wouldn’t make much money, and Wen Qiming couldn’t bear for Bai Ruolang to suffer. He didn’t want her to endure hardships, like waiting in line for a shower.

A peony should blossom at the top, not fall to the dust.

At that time, there were plenty of ways to make money on the side, such as trading stamps or even cultivating and selling Clivia flowers. During the late 1980s, the price of Clivia rose sharply, and Wen Qiming had realized the potential early. He had researched and selected high-quality plants like “flower-faced monks,” “short leaves,” and “round-headed” varieties. Over time, he watched as the prices increased, and when one of the plants sold for thousands or even more, he sold them all at their peak, never holding onto a single one.

Most people were driven by greed. Some of Wen Qiming’s acquaintances bought Clivia later, expecting the prices to continue rising, but Wen Qiming sold off his at the peak. Everyone thought he was foolish for doing so.

Wen Qiming wasn’t foolish. He used the money he earned to buy a house, build a new home for him and Bai Ruolang. The bathroom and toilet were private, and he even bought her the vanity table with a large mirror that she’d always wanted.

Sure enough, after Clivia prices fell, Wen Qiming had sold them at just the right time, exiting the market with a profit.

On the first day they moved into their new home, Wen Qiming and Bai Ruolang truly became husband and wife.

Three years after marriage, Wen Chongyue was born.

When Wen Chongyue turned five, Bai Ruolang asked Wen Qiming for a divorce.

About a month later, after Wen Qiming’s unsuccessful attempts to salvage their relationship, he agreed.

He asked for custody of Wen Chongyue, and Bai Ruolang had no objections. She didn’t want any trace of this past relationship left on her. She was a typical self-centered person and didn’t want the burden.

After the divorce, Bai Ruolang left without taking anything. She left the small house Wen Qiming had bought with little more than the clothes on her back. The Bai family came to pick her up, and once inside the car, she took off her muddy shoes and tossed them out of the window.

The only thing Bai Ruolang took with her was the silk dress Wen Qiming had bought for her, worth two months of his salary. It was a beautifully patterned dress that she had always loved, and it was the only item she left with.

From then on, Wen Chongyue lived with Wen Qiming.

At the age of five, a child is usually ready for kindergarten. Wen Chongyue had always been a well-behaved child, quietly living with his father. He once asked why his mother left, but after that, he never brought it up again. He would, however, secretly look through photos of Bai Ruolang and Wen Qiming.

In elementary school, he went through a tough time. Kids didn’t understand such things, so they would mock him by calling him names like “motherless brat” and “your mom ran off with some wild man.” Wen Chongyue didn’t say a word, but he picked up a brick and threw it at the older kid’s head. The result was that Wen Qiming had to take him to apologize and pay for medical expenses.

Wen Qiming didn’t scold Wen Chongyue. After understanding the situation, he just patted his head.

That year, Wen Chongyue was ten years old.

From the age of five to twenty-two, Wen Chongyue lived with his father and had never seen his mother. Wen Qiming was quick-witted, and though he had never been a businessman, he made a considerable amount from stock trading when the market first started, enough to support Wen Chongyue’s education and other hobbies.

Later, when Wen Qiming’s house, purchased with Bai Ruolang, was demolished, he moved with Wen Chongyue to their current home—a place where the university provided housing for professors at a price below market value.

This all happened before Wen Chongyue graduated. He had never seen his mother. He joined an underground band, played rock music, formed teams while studying, and participated in competitions worldwide. Wen Chongyue enjoyed his life.

Wen Qiming didn’t hide his failed marriage. He only said it was due to personality differences and never mentioned Bai Ruolang again.

Wen Qiming never spoke of where Bai Ruolang went or what her name was. Wen Chongyue stopped asking. He knew his mother wanted to forget everything, and they all respected her decision.

Then, Bai Ruolang appeared.

She planned to reconnect with Wen Chongyue, presenting herself in an elegant and noble way, waiting for her son to be deeply moved by her late motherly love. Especially after learning that Wen Chongyue had no partner, Bai Ruolang began to calculate everything carefully. As compensation, as a way to strengthen their mother-son relationship, and also as a way to help her, she decided to find a suitable partner for Wen Chongyue—someone he would like.

Wen Qiming was always unable to be harsh with Bai Ruolang. Wen Chongyue, who had grown up without a mother’s love, was exceptional. At the time, he was attending university, leading a team that had won multiple awards. He was highly regarded by his professors, admired by friends, and looked up to by younger students.

At that time, still young and impulsive, Wen Chongyue had his first direct confrontation with Bai Ruolang, which led to a lesson he would never forget.

That was Wen Chongyue’s biggest mistake and failure.

…..

“Maybe I’ve already passed the age when I needed a mother’s love,” Wen Chongyue said to Xia Jiao. “She is my mother, and I can’t stop her from seeing my father. But I won’t let her control my life.”

Xia Jiao listened quietly.

Wen Chongyue held her hand tightly. “I’m sorry, for making you marry me so hastily.”

“Huh? No,” Xia Jiao shook her head vigorously. “I think things are great right now.”

She wasn’t trying to comfort Wen Chongyue.

Xia Jiao didn’t think marriage was such a sacred and beautiful thing. Although she hadn’t seen many people’s experiences, from the daily news and reports, it was clear that after marriage, many lives were full of chaos and difficulties.

If marriage were a business partnership, many women, full of confidence, would invest their money. They might not expect that the company’s reports would look great at first, but once they were trapped, the truth would reveal itself—losing all their investment, leaving them exhausted both mentally and physically.

Xia Jiao had chosen the right partner.

Teacher Wen, whom she hadn’t expected much from, turned out to be a competent husband, and his family situation was simple and clean.

Xia Jiao had joined this marriage with the right expectations, and it had paid off.

On their way home, Xia Jiao was drawn to a fried snack shop. Wen Chongyue stopped, paid, and let Xia Jiao pick something. Fried rice cakes, fried corn, squid, potato towers, gluten, yogurt buns… she picked a mildly spicy option. With sauce and seasoning sprinkled on top, it smelled delicious.

Xia Jiao ate with great pleasure. After all, life wasn’t just about fine dining. Sometimes, indulging in high-calorie, spicy food was a nice change.

They stayed here for two days, leaving only after confirming that Father Wen was fine.

Father Wen was already feeling much better, and his arm was properly cast. Wen Chongyue promised him that they would return the following weekend to accompany him for a check-up.

They left around noon, after lunch. Father Wen asked Wen Chongyue to bring more snacks—pea cake, ox tongue biscuits, date-flower crisps… Xia Jiao graciously accepted them all, and Father Wen sighed in relief, smiling as he urged them to leave so they wouldn’t miss their flight.

The caregiver took them downstairs, buying some fruits on the way. Wen Qiming was sitting alone on the sofa, enjoying the bright sunlight. He was wearing glasses and reading the newspaper.

He still had the same habits—reading newspapers, subscribing to magazines, tending to plants, and taking walks.

When the doorbell rang, he thought it was the caregiver returning and didn’t lift his head. “Xiao Qing, you can take a break. Let me know if you’re needed.”

No response.

Wen Qiming took off his glasses and looked up.

A white figure stood at the door, with exquisite curled hair.

Wen Qiming paused, then put his glasses back on. He saw clearly.

Bai Ruolang said, “They said you injured your arm. I happened to be in Beijing these past few days, so I came to check on you.”

Wen Qiming closed the newspaper and asked calmly, “Would you like something to drink? How about some Jin Jun Mei tea?”

He could only move his left hand freely, so he didn’t bother her. He took the teapot, removed the lid, and poured hot water into it. “There’s some ox tongue biscuits and date-flower crisps in the left cupboard. Try them and see if they taste the same as before.”

After work, Xia Jiao was brushing Xia Mi’s fur and asked Wen Chongyue in shock, “You’ve never watched One Piece?”

Wen Chongyue shook his head. “I’ve only watched Slam Dunk.”

“What about Gintama? Bleach? Naruto?” Xia Jiao asked persistently. “You haven’t watched any of the four legendary manga?”

Wen Chongyue sighed. “Jiao Jiao, maybe there is a generation gap between us… um… caused by our age difference?”

Xia Jiao didn’t want to agree, but the other person made a very reasonable point.

When Wen Chongyue started solving equations to prove curves, Xia Jiao was probably still running around the streets in her split-crotch pants.

Although she had never watched One Piece, Wen Chongyue didn’t mind accompanying Xia Jiao to watch the scenes of what she called her “childhood memory food,” and even decided to recreate the big bone meat that Luffy loved to eat.

Of course, this wasn’t a food-focused anime, and in reality, it was hard to find an exact match. But they tried their best to find similar ingredients and foods to “break the food anime barrier”—Xia Jiao’s exact words.

Wen Chongyue wasn’t particularly interested in breaking the food anime barrier, but compared to that, he was more eager to break some of the “late-night anime barriers” with Xia Jiao.

Xia Jiao held up a recipe book she found and said, “First, we cook four soft-boiled eggs, then… uh, do we have chicken wings at home?”

Wen Chongyue, who was preheating the oven, replied, “If you want chicken wings, we have eight in the fridge. But if you’re asking for angel or demon wings, I’m afraid we don’t have any.”

Xia Jiao closed the book and said, “Then I’ll start with the soft-boiled eggs!”

Wen Chongyue was skilled in the kitchen. A person who was proficient in cooking would never make anything that tasted bad. He first removed the skin from the chicken wings, carefully slicing the meat off the bone—leaving a little bit of the meat attached to the bone to make it look like a flower. Then, he sprinkled some pepper and salt and set the pieces aside.

Xia Jiao hummed a tune, the melody of “Auld Lang Syne,” and Wen Chongyue chuckled as he resisted the urge to laugh while pouring fresh milk into bread crumbs, mixing them evenly.

Xia Jiao cheerfully asked, “Teacher Wen, when can we try the food from Dream of the Red Chamber again?”

Wen Chongyue asked, “Xia Jiao, what do you want to eat from it?”

The fresh milk had just been delivered that evening. He had planned to cook it for her the next day. Xia Jiao had a calcium deficiency, and when she moved in certain ways, her joints would make sounds that made Wen Chongyue feel uncomfortable. She was also prone to cramps.

She needed to replenish her calcium.

Xia Jiao thought for a moment and then said, “Do you remember a part where Lu Xue’an was in heavy snow—”

“Deer meat?” Wen Chongyue quickly understood. “You want to eat roasted deer meat?”

Xia Jiao nodded.

She said, “I’ve never had deer meat.”

Wen Chongyue thought for a moment and said, “That’s not difficult, but to get fresh deer meat…”

Xia Jiao added, “Frozen is fine too.”

It could only be frozen.

The milk soaked into the bread crumbs, releasing a distinctive aroma. Wen Chongyue said, “I have a German friend who loves hunting red deer and eating deer meat. If it weren’t for the pandemic, I could have taken you to his place to try fresh deer meat.”

Xia Jiao responded with a simple “Oh,” as she tended to the soft-boiled eggs and asked, “How do we eat deer meat? Do we roast it like this?”

“Deer meat is low in fat, and if it’s stewed, it won’t taste as good as roasting it,” Wen Chongyue said. “But if you want to try stewing it, that’s also an option.”

Xia Jiao immediately shook her head. “No, no, no. We should cook it the best way.”

With that, Xia Jiao asked another question that puzzled her: “Why don’t we eat deer meat often?”

On the streets, there were many places serving beef, lamb, and even donkey meat, but there were very few deer meat restaurants.

Wen Chongyue replied, “I’m not sure why others don’t eat deer meat, but I can tell you why I don’t eat it often.”

Xia Jiao was curious. “Why?”

Wen Chongyue looked down at her.

The warm light from the kitchen illuminated his features. His jawline, marked with a distinctive mole, stood out. He was dressed in a gray shirt, black pants, and an extra-long dark green apron.

Wen Chongyue said, “Deer meat is pure yang, very hot-blooded, and too fiery.”

Xia Jiao’s mind suddenly clicked.

This was how they portrayed it in palace dramas—deer blood wine for vitality, with the emperor having three women in one night…

Wen Chongyue said, “Wait until the weekend, when you have more free time. We’ll eat deer meat together.”

Xia Jiao calmly pulled out her phone and started scrolling.

Wen Chongyue asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Xia Jiao muttered, lowering her head. “Teacher Wen’s topic is too inappropriate, so I need to check if my green health code has turned yellow.”