Shen Shiyan preferred lighter, more delicate flavors and wasn’t a fan of spicy food.

But a few days ago, Jiang Mian had sent him a photo of a steaming hotpot, saying it was her winter wish to enjoy a hearty hotpot meal with him.

Now, as he stared at the bubbling pot filled with fiery red chilies, his lips twitched. How was he supposed to eat this?

Never mind. Just this once—it was her wish, after all.

Jiang Mian stole a quick glance at him, noticing the subtle grimace on his face. She stifled a laugh, of course, she already knew he couldn’t handle spice.

Shen Shiyan picked up his chopsticks and watched as a thin slice of beef swirled in the simmering broth, emerging coated in chili oil, peppercorns, and a fiery-red sheen. Instantly, his appetite disappeared.

Feigning ignorance, Jiang Mian fished out the beef, placed it in his bowl, and chirped enthusiastically. “Their hotpot broth is amazing! Mr. Shen, you must try it!”

The petite woman leaned closer, tilting her head slightly. Her bright, eager eyes sparkled with anticipation, making it impossible for him to say no.

Shen Shiyan sighed inwardly, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and, unwilling to disappoint her, lifted the beef to his mouth with an indifferent expression.

Even before the first bite, the pungent, spicy aroma hit him like a tidal wave. He could already tell this piece of meat was devilishly spicy.

Jiang Mian, practically bouncing with excitement, couldn’t wait for his reaction. She knew full well he couldn’t handle spicy food—he was bound to give up any second!

“It’s really delicious, I promise! You have to try it!”

Just as Jiang Mian was counting down to the exact second Shen Shiyan would give up, the man suddenly popped the beef into his mouth.

What?!

He actually ate it?!

What kind of bizarre scene was this?

Jiang Mian was so shocked that her brain short-circuited for a moment, unable to process what had just happened.

Meanwhile, Shen Shiyan slowly and methodically chewed the beef, his tongue going numb and fiery heat surging down his throat.

It was unbearably spicy—so much so that the original flavor of the beef was completely obliterated.

And yet, his expression remained cold and indifferent as he calmly offered his verdict, as if nothing was out of the ordinary:

“Not bad.”

N-not bad?!

This was insanely spicy! Even she and Shen Yin—certified spice fanatics—could barely manage more than a few bites of this stuff!

But Shen Shiyan looked like he wasn’t fazed in the slightest.

Was he even human?

Jiang Mian’s eyes carefully scanned every inch of Shen Shiyan’s face, searching for any signs of discomfort. There was nothing. She muttered under her breath. “He clearly can’t handle spicy food… Did I get my information wrong?”

Shen Shiyan didn’t catch her murmurs but noticed her staring. He raised an eyebrow and asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Startled, Jiang Mian shook her head quickly. Hesitantly, she asked. “Don’t you think it’s spicy?”

Worried he might think she had set him up, she hastily explained. “The owner of this hotpot restaurant said their chili base is crazy spicy. He claimed fewer than ten people could handle it. Even I cried the first time I ate this! But wow, Mr. Shen, you seem to handle spice incredibly well. You’re amazing at everything—even eating spicy food. Truly number one!”

She sang her praises with exaggerated enthusiasm, her wide, admiring eyes completing the over-the-top act.

Shen Shiyan glanced at her, surprised. “Was this from the time you sent me that photo?”

Jiang Mian froze, briefly caught off guard. Then it clicked—he was talking about that day.

That was the day she’d casually sent him a random photo of hotpot, saying she wanted to share a meal with him.

She swore it was a throwaway text, something she hadn’t even thought much about afterward. Yet, Shen Shiyan actually remembered it?

What else did she say that day?

She’d sent him so many messages lately, it was hard to recall everything at once.

Shen Shiyan gave her a glance. “Just this once.”

Jiang Mian blinked, her wide, watery eyes full of confusion.

“Huh?”

His throat was undeniably burning as he coughed lightly before clarifying. “Your wish.”

Jiang Mian: “…”

With his reminder, Jiang Mian finally recalled what she had sent him.

Oh no. It was that ridiculously sentimental message: Mr. Shen, my wish this year is to have hotpot with you during the winter!

Who could have guessed that such a casual message would actually come true?

But the truth was, she didn’t really want to have hotpot with Shen Shiyan!

Don’t you have a million important things to do, Mr. Big Shot? How do you even have time to come see me?

Still, the show had to go on.

Jiang Mian put on an expression of pure gratitude, barely stopping herself from throwing her arms around him and sobbing. “Wahh, Mr. Shen, you’re just too good to me!”

After finishing the hotpot, Shen Shiyan, disliking the lingering smell on his clothes, went to take a shower. Once done, he planned to get some much-needed sleep after the past few days of grueling work had left him utterly exhausted.

However, the moment he saw the mess of blankets on the bed, his brow twitched. He called out, “Jiang Mian.”

Hearing her name, Jiang Mian dropped her phone and hurried over.

“What’s wrong?”

Shen Shiyan pointed at the disheveled heap of blankets on the bed. “Is this supposed to be your bed?”

Jiang Mian was momentarily speechless and rolled her eyes inwardly.

What’s wrong with it? It’s not dirty, just a bit messy. So what?

Before she could respond, he cut her off. “Fix it. Now.”

Why don’t you fix it yourself!

Jiang Mian desperately wanted to retort but didn’t dare.

Fine. Considering the fact that it’s his house and his bed, she’d clean it up this time.

Sighing inwardly, Jiang Mian straightened up the bed until it looked neat and tidy. When she was done, she said. “Mr. Shen, you can sleep now. I’ll head outside.”

Jiang Mian darted out of the room like a gust of wind, leaving the spacious room silent except for Shen Shiyan.

He glanced at the now neatly made bed, finally no longer a tangled mess, and his furrowed brow relaxed. Lifting the blanket, he lay down.

Recently, Jiang Mian had taken a liking to the fragrance Desert Rose, using it nearly every day. Even the bedding carried its faint scent—a subtle blend of floral and woody notes, delicate yet distinct.

Shen Shiyan never used such fragrances himself, and the unfamiliar aroma on the sheets made him feel unaccustomed.

It was as if someone else was sharing the bed with him, and that someone was Jiang Mian.

The scent was so reminiscent of her that holding the sheets she had slept on felt almost like holding her in his arms.

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