Chapter 81: She Made a Midnight Snack

On an early winter night, the cold air silently seeped through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows of Room 1601.

Yu Ling didn't curl up on the sofa to watch TV or daydream as usual. Instead, she wore a brand new apron with a cartoon bear pattern and stood in front of the huge, cold island in the open kitchen, as if facing a great enemy.

The island counter was a mess. A tablet screen, spread out, was still on a food app's "Warm Late-Night Snacks Collection." Next to it lay a few dog-eared cookbooks.

Various ingredients were scattered around: an old hen that had been killed and cleaned but had nowhere to go lay alone in the drain basket, a box of fresh shrimps were thawing and oozing crystal water droplets, a few small green vegetables were drooping, and a handful of flour was sprinkled on the smooth countertop.

Her brows were furrowed, her fingertips swiping rapidly across the phone screen, muttering to herself, "...blanch to remove the fishy smell...pour in cold water...bring to a boil over high heat, then simmer on low for two hours...two hours?!"

She wailed, glanced at the clock on the wall which pointed to half past nine, and closed the page of "Nourishing Stomach-Nourishing Old Hen Soup" in despair.

No! Too slow! By the time he gets back from "overtime," the daylily will be cold! And preparing a whole chicken is too difficult for her.

My eyes flicked over to the "Fresh Shrimp Wonton" tutorial. This one looked quicker! The shrimp were already prepared, and the wonton wrappers were sold at the supermarket downstairs!

A spark of hope reignited. Yu Ling fastened her apron strings with high morale and pulled out the wonton wrappers she'd just bought. Following the instructions, she minced the shrimp (almost cutting her hand), added the seasoning and stirred (too much or too little salt? One bite, too salty! Quickly added water to fix it). Then, she began wrapping them.

Ideals are full of promise, but reality is very bleak. The wontons shaped like ingots, which the chef whipped up with his fingers in the app, became all sorts of bizarre "dough dumplings" in Yu Ling's hands.

Either I put too much stuffing and the wrapper burst, or I didn't pinch it tightly enough and the stuffing leaked out. After finally making a few acceptable ones, I put them in the pot and cooked them... disaster struck!

The water boiled, and she added the wontons. She remembered the secret of "adding cold water three times after the water boils." The first time, it was fine. The second time, a suspicious white foam began to form in the pot. The third time, cold water was added—Plop! The pot instantly boiled like a volcano erupting!

The dough and shrimp filling are completely separated! The snow-white dough tumbles up and down in the boiling water like a jellyfish, while the pink shrimp sinks to the bottom of the pot, each of them distinct and distinct.

Yu Ling frantically turned off the heat, then, clutching a slotted spoon, stared at the pot of "shrimp noodle soup" with tears in her eyes. The air was filled with the smell of mushy flour and a hint of shrimp.

"Ah! My soup!" She suddenly remembered that the quick vegetable porridge she'd been trying to make was still simmering on the stove next to her. She rushed over to lift the lid—too late! A strong, burnt smell hit her face! A thick, black layer of "rice crust" clung to the bottom of the pot, with a few mushy vegetable leaves and a few stubborn grains of rice barely floating on top.

In the kitchen, steam mingled with the odor of burning, flour, and shrimp, creating a chaotic mess. Yu Ling stared at her "masterpiece," a wave of frustration washing over her like an icy tide. She leaned dejectedly against the cold refrigerator door, her fingertips still stained with flour and sticky shrimp paste, her nose aching.

Why was it so hard? She just wanted to have a bowl of hot food waiting for him when he came home from "overtime." She wanted to be like he had done for her countless times before, using the warmth of home to dispel the fatigue and coldness of returning home late at night. Instead of just munching on instant noodles and waiting for him anxiously like now.

The calendar, with the countdown to the agreement, stood silently in the corner of the study. Day 6. The bright red number, like a cold eye, mocked her futility. She even began to doubt whether her "considerateness" was merely wishful thinking. Was what he really needed her bowl of mushy porridge and falling apart wontons?

Just then, the familiar sound of an electronic lock opening was heard from the entrance.

Click.

Yu Ling's heart leaped! Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, she instantly jumped up from the mire of frustration! She was in a panic!

Turn off the heat! Hide the burnt porridge pot in the innermost burner! Quickly pour the awful "shrimp noodle soup" into a clean blue-and-white porcelain bowl, then try to scoop up the shrimp that have sunk to the bottom with a spoon and spread them on top of the noodles, pretending it's a "carefully arranged dish"! Then, frantically, pick up a rag and sloppily wipe the flour and splattered soup off the countertop...

The footsteps came from far away.

Zhao Chen's tall figure appeared at the kitchen entrance. He was still wearing a crisp dark gray suit, but his tie had been ripped off and his white shirt collar was open, revealing a distinct Adam's apple and a small section of his collarbone.

There was obvious fatigue between his brows, and a faint shadow under his eyes, as if he had just experienced an intense mental battle. He carried the cold air from the outdoors and a faint, mellow aroma of high-end cigars.

"Lingling?" He saw the light on in the kitchen and Yu Ling wearing an apron. A hint of warmth instantly spread across his tired eyes, and his voice was hoarse with the sound of someone who had just finished work. "Still awake? What are you doing?"

Yu Ling's back was to him, and her body stiffened imperceptibly. She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic and frustration in her heart. Holding the bowl of disguised "shrimp wonton noodle soup", she turned around, forcing a gentle smile on her face, but her eyes drifted away guiltily.

"Nothing... nothing," she put the bowl on the counter, her voice as light as possible. "Seeing you've been working overtime lately, I thought... of making you some midnight snack."

She paused, her eyes sweeping over the poorly presented bowl. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and her voice lowered, with a noticeable lack of confidence, "...Lao Wang downstairs just sent it over. He said it's the new shrimp wontons, and they're still hot. Why don't you try some?"

She deliberately emphasized "Old Wang downstairs" and tried to shift the blame of this "consideration" to the omnipotent scapegoat.

Zhao Chen's eyes fell on the bowl of so-called "fresh shrimp wontons" on the island counter.

In the clear (and bland) broth floated white noodles of varying sizes, thicknesses, and even a few broken edges. A few pink shrimp stubbornly sank to the bottom of the bowl, struggling to prove their presence. A few yellowed, overcooked vegetable leaves draped listlessly around the edge. The overall presentation made it difficult to associate this with either "late-night snack" or "Lao Wang's craftsmanship."

Zhao Chen's eyebrows raised slightly. A fleeting, knowing smile flickered across the depths of his amber eyes, then was eclipsed by a deeper tenderness. He didn't expose her.

He took off his suit jacket and casually draped it over the back of a nearby chair. He unbuttoned his cuffs and casually rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows, revealing his sleek forearms and that deep blue gaze into space. His movements were natural and smooth, with a sense of homely laziness.

He pulled out a high chair next to the island counter and sat down under Yu Ling's nervous and expectant gaze. He picked up the spoon Yu Ling had prepared and scooped up a spoonful of the food naturally—mostly noodles and clear soup, with a lone shrimp.

Yu Ling's heart was in her throat, and her fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of her apron. She stared at Zhao Chen's lips, afraid to see even the slightest hint of disdain or difficulty swallowing on his face.

Zhao Chen put the spoonful of "midnight snack" into his mouth.

He lowered his eyelids slightly and chewed slowly. His face was devoid of any unnecessary expression, neither surprise nor pain. It was as if he was simply savoring a bowl of ordinary food.

The kitchen was so quiet that the only sounds left were the subtle sound of him chewing slowly and Yu Ling's own heartbeat like a drum.

After a few seconds, he swallowed it. Then, under Yu Ling's breathless gaze, he raised his head and gave her an extremely gentle, even somewhat satisfied smile.

"Yeah," he nodded, his tone calm and sincere, without any reluctance, "Lao Wang's cooking skills have improved recently." He scooped up another spoonful, still mostly noodles, "The soup base is light, the noodles are smooth, and the shrimps are fresh." He commented seriously, as if he was reviewing a Michelin restaurant.

Yu Ling watched him put spoonful after spoonful of the "disastrous" "shrimp noodle soup" into his mouth without changing his expression, saw the sincere expression of "tastes good" on his face, listened to his nonsense about "Lao Wang's cooking skills"... A huge sense of absurdity mixed with an indescribable sadness and warmth suddenly rushed into her eyes!

My nose felt sore and my vision blurred instantly.

This bastard! He's acting again! He's lying to her again! It's obviously awful! She's the one who messed it up! But he eats it so seriously and even covers up for her!

She hurriedly lowered her head to hide her red eyes, her voice nasal: "...As long as you like it." She turned around and pretended to clean the table, but her fingers trembled slightly.

Zhao Chen quickly finished his bowl of midnight snack, even drinking up the soup. He put down his spoon, took out a tissue, and wiped the corners of his mouth elegantly.

"It's late, go and get some rest." He stood up, walked behind Yu Ling, put his arms around her waist very naturally, and rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. His voice was filled with deep tiredness and satisfaction, "Thank you for the midnight snack, Lingling. It's very warm." The warm breath brushed against her earlobe, carrying a soothing magic.

Yu Ling leaned on his warm chest, feeling his steady heartbeat and the strength of his embrace. The bitterness and frustration in her heart were strangely soothed little by little by this clumsy tenderness.

early morning.

Yu Ling's biological clock had her waking up early. Beside her, Zhao Chen was still asleep, his breathing steady and long, a lingering trace of fatigue between his brows. She quietly rose, intending to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water and... sort out the "battleground" of last night.

Walking into the kitchen, the dim morning light illuminated the island and stove. She had roughly cleaned up last night's mess before going to bed, but there seemed to be a faint smell of burning in the air?

Yu Ling's eyes subconsciously flicked to the oversized, built-in trash can in the corner. She remembered hiding the burnt porridge pot in the innermost burner of the stove last night, but when Zhao Chen returned, she was so distracted that she forgot to deal with it.

She walked over and lifted the lid of the trash can.

My eyes froze instantly!

Under those fresh fruit peels and coffee grounds, there was a small ball of... black, hard stuff!

It was that pot of mushy vegetable porridge! Some of it had been dug out!

Yu Ling's heart sank! She reached out her trembling hand and carefully used her fingertips to move the charred mass a little.

Beneath the charred porridge, half a chicken leg, similarly burnt black, barely recognizable, lay clearly pressed against it! It even bore clear bite marks! Next to it, a few grains of rice, also blackened by the smoke.

Zhao Chen had clearly dug this out of the burnt porridge pot he'd hidden away last night, while she wasn't paying attention, or perhaps while she was washing up! He even tried to take a bite?! The half-piece of charred chicken leg with the tooth marks on it was irrefutable proof!

A huge wave of bitterness and heartache instantly overwhelmed Yu Ling like the most turbulent wave! She covered her mouth tightly to prevent herself from crying out loud!

This fool! He knew it was charcoal! It was clearly inedible! But to avoid disappointing her, to protect her pitiful self-esteem, he… secretly dug it out and even tried to eat it?! Just to make her lie about "Old Wang's cooking skills" work?!

Unable to hold back her tears any longer, they rolled down, hitting the cold marble countertop. She looked at the half-eaten charred chicken leg in the trash can, still bearing his teeth marks. It was as if she could see him last night, his back to her, frowning, trying to suppress his discomfort as he struggled to chew this horrible "midnight snack"...

Just then—

“Ding Dong—Ding Dong—”

The crisp doorbell rang in the villa in the early morning.

Yu Ling suddenly came to her senses, hurriedly wiped the tears from her face, sorted herself out, and quickly walked towards the entrance.

Through the visual access control screen, she saw a middle-aged man standing outside the door, wearing a red apron with the words "Lao Wang's Home Cooking" printed on it and with a simple smile - it was Lao Wang, the owner of the small restaurant downstairs.

Yu Ling opened the door puzzled.

"Mrs. Zhao, good morning!" Old Wang rubbed his hands together, a respectful smile plastered across his face as he presented a heavy, insulated lunch box emblazoned with the exquisite "Yu Pin Xuan" logo. "This is the Cantonese-style dim sum Mr. Zhao ordered last night! Shrimp dumplings, crab roe steamed buns, black bean sauce chicken feet, and preserved egg and lean pork congee, all hot from the oven!"

Old Wang said, his eyes filled with awe and a subtle nervousness: "Mr. Zhao specifically told you to sleep in a little longer and not get up early. He also said..."

He paused, lowering his voice. "...Let's put it in the 'usual place', which is the printing shop at the entrance of the community. We'll keep it warm in their insulated box and send it to you when you wake up. We guarantee the taste!"

Print shop? Incubator?

Yu Ling took the heavy, delicate lunch box, still brimming with warmth, and her fingertips felt a slight warmth. On the handle of the lunch box was a folded, fine-textured off-white note.

Lao Wang completed the task and respectfully took his leave.

Yu Ling closed the door and leaned against the cold panel, her heart beating wildly in her chest. With trembling fingers, she picked up the note and slowly unfolded it.

On the paper was Zhao Chen's familiar and powerful handwriting, just a short line:

My wife’s cooking skills are the best in the world.