Chapter 24 His Pickiness, Her Progress

The smoke and scorching smell of that "kitchen disaster" seemed to linger in the air, lingering for a long time. For two days after Huo Tingxiao slammed the door and left, the atmosphere in the house was suffocatingly low. He barely made eye contact with Su Wanqing anymore, coming home later and later. Even when they ate at the same table, he was as silent as an iceberg, radiating a chill that kept strangers away.

Su Wanqing was initially deeply hurt by the biting coldness and merciless rebuke. Her eyes welled up several times as she cleaned up the mess alone in the kitchen. The grievance and embarrassment washed over her like a tide. She even briefly wondered if her attempts to get closer to him, to understand him, had been wrong from the start, a mere wishful thinking.

But when it was late at night and everyone was asleep, she lay on the bed, looking at the cold moonlight outside the window, and that unwillingness and stubbornness slowly emerged from the bottom of her heart.

Had she done anything wrong? She was just trying to make a dish he might like. Her methods might have been clumsy and messy, but her intentions weren't malicious. Why did he look at her like she was trash? How could he conclude she "couldn't do it" or "was just messing things up"?

Just because she wasn't the perfect, know-it-all "Mrs. Huo" template in his mind?

Su Wanqing sat up suddenly.

No. She couldn't let herself be crushed like this, and she couldn't just give in and retreat into her shell.

The more critical and indifferent he was, the more she wanted to prove herself.

It's not to prove it to him, but to prove it to myself.

Su Wanqing has never been someone who is easily defeated by difficulties and setbacks. Not in the past, not now, and certainly not in the future!

The next day, she woke up early. Huo Tingxiao had already left. She walked into the kitchen where she had suffered her Waterloo, her eyes calm and determined.

She pulled out her phone and, instead of searching for fancy, elaborate pastry recipes, she went straight for the most basic and practical home cooking tutorials, especially northern cuisine and pasta recipes. She remembered that Huo Tingxiao was from the north, so his tastes might lean towards that direction.

She meticulously wrote down every step and key point in the video in her notebook, even drawing a simple flowchart. A pinch of salt? She used a kitchen scale to the gram. Just the right heat? She recorded the exact time and stove setting.

Then, she started with the simplest ones: white porridge, steamed buns, and stir-fried vegetables.

The first time, the porridge was a little watery, and the steamed buns hadn't risen long enough, so they were a little hard. She ate them silently, noting the shortcomings.

The second time, the porridge was just the right thickness, but the buns were a little overcooked and slightly burnt on the bottom, so she adjusted the steaming time.

The third time, the porridge was fragrant and glutinous, the steamed buns were soft, and the vegetables were tender and refreshing.

She didn't immediately bring these "fruits" to Huo Tingxiao's table. She still had the orderly bring the food, while she ate quietly on the side, observing his chopstick movements and preferences. She discovered that his tastes were indeed more northern, favoring noodles and tender, stewed meats, and not much interest in overly bland or sweet foods.

She took note.

After a few days, she began to try more complex dishes: braised pork, stewed lamb, and hand-rolled noodles.

Failures were inevitable. The meat was overcooked, the noodles were too hard, the seasoning was wrong... Occasionally, the smell of burning or the sound of something drying up would still waft from the kitchen. But she no longer panicked. Instead, she calmly turned off the heat, cleaned up, analyzed the cause, and started over.

She even took the time to go to the service center and ask a chef who was said to be a very good cook for some tips on stewing meat.

Huo Tingxiao wasn't unaware of the noises in the kitchen. Occasionally, when he returned home early, he'd hear the clacking of vegetables or the gurgling of stews. He'd smelled the scorching smell, the gradually enticing aroma of food. But he never inquired, even studiously avoiding the kitchen area, his expression aloof and unwavering.

However, the standard meal from the orderly that he placed on the dining table was touched less and less.

That evening, the orderly brought over dinner, two meat dishes, two vegetable dishes, and a soup, as usual. Huo Tingxiao picked up his chopsticks and scooped up a portion of stir-fried choy sum, pausing for a barely perceptible moment as he chewed. The choy sum was tender and vibrant green, cooked to perfection. It was much better than the usual choy sum the orderly brought, which often wilted from the journey.

He remained calm and took another bite of the braised pork ribs next to him. The ribs were stewed until tender and boneless, and the sauce was rich and mellow, with just the right amount of salty and sweet, very authentic.

He raised his eyelids and quickly glanced at Su Wanqing, who was eating quietly across from him. She was lowering her head, sipping her soup in small sips, her profile calm, as if all this had nothing to do with her.

Huo Tingxiao said nothing and continued eating. But this time, he added half a bowl of rice, and the plate of ribs and vegetables was almost empty.

Su Wanqing noticed all this out of the corner of her eye, her heart beating slightly faster, and an indescribable sense of accomplishment quietly grew, diluting the fatigue of the past few days.

However, Huo Tingxiao's "pickiness" did not stop, but he just changed to a more subtle way.

The next day, a dish of scallion-fried sea cucumber appeared on the table. This was a skillful dish, and she had spent an entire afternoon preparing the sea cucumber and making the scallion oil.

Huo Tingxiao took a bite, put down his chopsticks, and commented calmly, "The scallion oil is overcooked, it's a bit bitter."

Su Wanqing paused while picking up the food and raised her head.

Huo Tingxiao didn't look at her, as if it was just a casual remark, and continued eating other dishes.

Su Wanqing pursed her lips, didn't refute, and picked up a piece to taste. Indeed, there was a faint trace of bitterness near the scallion segments, which was almost unnoticeable without careful tasting.

He actually... tasted it? And pointed it out directly?

Her cheeks felt slightly hot, not because of anger, but because of the embarrassment of being "targeted", and... a hint of inexplicable excitement?

He noticed it. Not only did he notice it, he also gave a specific "bad review".

Compared with the previous complete indifference and rude denial, this seems like an alternative form of "attention".

"I know." She whispered back, her voice calm.

Huo Tingxiao seemed to pause for an imperceptible moment and said nothing more.

Since then, this extremely brief, precise and emotionless "nitpicking" has begun to appear from time to time.

"The fish was steamed for three minutes."

"There's too much salt in the soup."

"These noodles are not kneaded enough."

Each time, he seemed to be making the most objective technical assessment, and he would stop there without ever expanding on the topic or even looking at her reaction.

Su Wanqing, from her initial embarrassment, gradually became calm and even expectant. She would carefully note down every "bad review" he made, and then go back to repeatedly test and adjust.

Her notebook grew thicker and thicker, recording the processing methods of various ingredients, the control of heat, the ratio of seasonings, and... every one of his suggestions and the results of the improvement.

Her progress was visible. Her dishes became more diverse, their flavors more consistent, and she even began to develop her own creativity and ingenuity. The kitchen no longer smelled of burnt food, only the increasingly enticing aroma of cooking.

Occasionally, she could even sense that after she successfully prepared a dish that was extremely to his liking, the cold low pressure around him would seem to dissipate a little, although his face remained expressionless.

That day, she tried to make a very time-consuming old-fashioned noodle dish, doing everything by herself, from kneading the dough, rolling it out, cutting the noodles to boiling the gravy.

When she placed a bowl of steaming noodles with chewy noodles and rich sauce in front of Huo Tingxiao, he looked down for a few seconds, then picked up his chopsticks and began to eat quietly.

He ate very slowly and carefully. After finishing a bowl of noodles, he also drank a lot of soup.

During the whole process, he didn't say a word, no criticism, no praise.

But when he put down the bowl, Su Wanqing clearly saw that the corners of his tightly pursed lips seemed to bend down very slightly and relaxedly. It was not a smile, and it might even be just a subconscious reaction to eating comfortably.

But it was this insignificant little expression that made Su Wanqing's heart skip a beat. A huge, indescribable sense of satisfaction and accomplishment instantly swept over her, making her palpitate more than any direct praise.

She lowered her head, hiding the emotions surging in her eyes, and silently cleared the dishes.

Walking into the kitchen, she looked at the setting sun outside the window, and the corners of her lips involuntarily rose into a shallow but real smile.

His pickiness is like the harshest whetstone.

Her progress is the result of her own hard work, bit by bit.

In this silent contest, there are no winners or losers.

What we have is just a life that gradually learns to survive independently on the ice field and begins to bloom quietly.