It's not that I can't, it's that I dare not.

She was smart and knew that Jingmin wasn't the kind of person who could be fooled.

She's been able to stay by his side for so long

He probably knew in his heart that she hadn't crossed any lines.

Although the two had been together for many years, there was little warmth between them.

But he did consistently respect her, maintaining proper boundaries and acting with restraint and politeness.

They even try their best to meet many of the requests.

Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder—maybe he was just naturally aloof and didn't know how to express himself.

Perhaps it's not that I have no feelings for her, I just don't know how to express them.

After all, a man like him, who excels in every aspect, is always the one others fawn over.

So, he doesn't know how to humble himself?

If that's the case, she's willing to take things slowly with him.

Even if it's like this for the rest of her life, with mutual respect and no crossing the line, she'll accept it.

It wasn't that she hadn't hoped for more, but she was more afraid of losing him.

"Yes, thank you for your hard work."

The words were very polite.

Mo Sangyu detected a hint of... disappointment, even... a subtle, defiant distance in his voice.

She subconsciously looked up, staring at the man in front of her with disbelief—

Her expression was calm, with thick, long eyelashes drooping down, obscuring most of her eyes and making it impossible to discern her true emotions.

But the melancholy in his tone just now wasn't her imagination.

Unlike the cold indifference of the past, nor the usual indifference.

Like—anger, concern,

Are you angry that she wasn't home all night?

Is he bothered that she didn't spend time with him?

Mo Sangyu dared not think too highly of herself.

He cautiously attributed this emotion to his vulnerability following the nightmare, which caused him to momentarily lower his emotional defenses.

Even so, her heart couldn't help but flutter.

An irrepressible joy welled up in his eyes.

She wanted to make amends immediately, even if it was just a few words of comfort.

Just as he was about to speak, his eyes caught sight of the bowl of porridge on the bedside table.

"Ah Min, are you hungry?"

"I didn't rush to the hospital immediately because I was cooking porridge,"

As she spoke, she got up, brought over the porridge from the bedside table, and carefully lifted the lid.

The rich aroma of matsutake mushrooms and shredded chicken instantly filled the entire ward.

She thought that perhaps the porridge could make up for Jingmin's disappointment.

I've noticed that you really like chicken congee.

"Yan Zhou called and said that you were still talking about porridge when you were unconscious, so I knew I couldn't let you down,"

"I want you to have something hot and delicious as your first bite when you wake up."

She chuckled softly, her tone carrying a hint of self-satisfaction.

"I supervised the entire process myself, from making the broth to controlling the heat; I didn't let the servants interfere,"

"Why don't you try it and see if my cooking suits your taste?"

Mo Sangyu placed a bowl of delicate porridge in front of Jing Min, her bright face looking at him expectantly.

She was very confident in her culinary skills. As a proper aristocratic socialite, she received training in all aspects, and her cooking skills were naturally excellent.

But this was Jingmin's first time tasting her cooking, and he still harbored a secret sense of anticipation.

If he likes it

She was willing to wash her hands and cook for him every day.

Jingmin looked at the porridge in the bowl, took a casual bite, and

Mo Sangyu smiled faintly, her tone tinged with nervousness as she asked,

"How about it?"

"Is it delicious?"

The man uttered a single word in a low, deliberate voice.

"Um,"

Outside the ward, Chu Wuyang, who was about to knock on the door, paused.

She glanced down at the insulated food container she was carrying.

The cut on the fingertip from accidentally burning it while cooking porridge still had a small bandage on it.

She tightened her grip on the handle of the insulated box slightly, her fingertips burning slightly—like the pain of an unhealed burn.

It felt like my heart suddenly tightened uncontrollably.