He angrily picked up the plate of red bean paste and poked it with his finger. In that instant, Song Ting guessed that Chu Huaixu was probably mistaking the red bean paste for him and venting his anger.
But when he looked up again, a smile was on his face. He used his fingertips to scoop up a small piece of red bean paste and fed it to Song Ting: "Try it and see if it's sweet..."
The small piece of red bean paste was stuffed into Song Ting's mouth just as she opened it.
Her soft fingertips pressed precisely against the tip of his tongue, and Song Ting's entire body seemed to freeze instantly, unable to move.
However, the sweetness of the red bean paste soon filled his mouth, and he gradually relaxed under this sweet sensation.
His heartbeat suddenly quickened for no reason, one beat after another, so heavy it felt as if it were about to break his ribs, punch a hole in his chest, and then burst out of it.
Song Ting could feel himself getting nervous, even more so than when he killed someone for the first time.
This feeling is so strange.
"Okay, okay! Stop looking so expressionless, I just wanted to make you happy."
Chu Huaixu, however, seemed oblivious, focusing entirely on the Lantern Festival.
He took Song Ting's nervousness as a lack of trust in his cooking skills and said confidently, "It's just making a few glutinous rice balls, it's not like I'm going to the front lines of a war, what are you so nervous about? Are you afraid I'll blow up the kitchen?"
Song Ting: "..."
Song Ting said, "Uncle Wang will definitely complain to the Prince."
"Don't worry, Father has only been gone for a short time. Who knows when he will return next time? By then, Uncle will have long forgotten about it," Chu Huaixu said confidently.
No one can stop him from doing what he wants, and Song Ting didn't want to disappoint him out of selfishness.
"Besides, you're right here with me."
Seeing his eager expression, Song Ting didn't want to spoil his fun: "Alright then, as you wish, young master..."
Anyway, regardless of whether Chu Huaixu can make Yuanxiao (sweet rice balls), just as Huaixu said, with him around, it's unlikely that the kitchen will actually be blown up.
Besides, he also had his own selfish motives. He didn't know what they would be like this time next year, and before the worst day came, he wanted to do more things with this person.
"Bring the glutinous rice flour over there first; we need to knead the dough..."
"Alright!" Chu Huaixu rolled up his sleeves and got right to work.
Starting with kneading the dough, the simple glutinous rice flour quickly transformed into round, smooth dumplings in Song Ting's hands, all of similar size.
In contrast, the lump in Chu Huaixu's hand didn't seem to have anything to do with glutinous rice balls at all. Rather than dough filled with red bean paste, it was more like red bean paste and dough mixed together.
The whole glutinous rice ball is patchy, with white here and black there, wrinkled and crisscrossed, neither square nor round, ugly in its own unique way.
"After seeing Qingxiang's, and then looking at mine... it's really not presentable..." Chu Huaixu sighed.
It was freezing cold outside, but the kitchen was warm because of the stove. Song Ting wiped the sweat from her forehead and couldn't help but laugh when she saw the ugly "Yuanxiao" that Chu Huaixu handed her.
But not wanting to undermine the other person's confidence, he tried to praise him, saying, "Young master, it's already very good for your first attempt."
Chu Huaixu could easily tell that he was trying to comfort himself: "Never mind, I guess I don't have the talent to make Yuanxiao. You make a few more, and I'll go start a fire and boil water."
Song Ting suddenly looked up, her mouth slightly agape as she stared at Chu Huaixu, a look of conflicted surprise on her face: "..."
It doesn't matter what the glutinous rice balls look like; whether they're big or small, round or flat, they're all going to be cooked and eaten eventually. After a few bites, they're all the same. However, starting a fire is no joke...
"Little Qingxiang, do you not trust me? Starting a fire is no problem for me. Just focus on making the glutinous rice balls, and leave the rest to me!"
Seeing his confident demeanor, Song Ting lowered her head and continued making Yuanxiao (sweet rice balls), which was considered an admission of his actions.
The reason was simple: Young Master Chu was just too handsome, and Song Ting really didn't want to see any disappointment on that face.
For no apparent reason, he recalled what the old woman had said when he bought the hairpin earlier that day: "Young master is a kind person, he will definitely be a good husband in the future."
Song Ting didn't think he would ever get married and have children; he had never even considered the question. But looking at Chu Huaixu, he thought that if it were this person, he would give him all the good things in the world.
Whatever Chu Huaixu wants, he will spare no effort to fulfill that desire.
Even if it means telling him to die.
So it's just starting a fire, what's there to be afraid of?
But what happened next made Song Ting realize that beauty can really mislead people, and he shouldn't have trusted the pampered young prince's practical skills.
In just a short while, Chu Huaixu started coughing. At first, Song Ting didn't pay attention, thinking that it was normal for the young nobleman to choke a few times since it was his first time lighting a fire, and he didn't want to undermine the other's confidence.
He simply sped up his movements, wanting to take over the work from the other party as soon as possible.
But gradually, even he himself felt stuffy, and couldn't help but look over at Chu Huaixu, only to find that there wasn't a single spark in the stove, but a large cloud of thick smoke was billowing out.
"Cough cough cough..."
"Cough cough cough cough..."
The smoke inside the house grew thicker, and the two of them coughed from the smoke. Without hesitation, Song Ting grabbed Chu Huaixu's arm and dragged him outside.
"Cough cough cough... It seems I don't have the talent for starting a fire either... cough cough..."
Prince Duan, Chu Mingyao's youngest son, was a pampered young nobleman who grew up in the emperor's lap. He had no need for any talent in starting a fire or cooking.
While feeling helpless, Song Ting also found it amusing.
“Little Qingxiang.” Chu Huaixu turned his head, and Song Ting’s gaze fell on his face. She paused for a moment, then burst out laughing, and took out a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to him.
"What's wrong?" Chu Huaixu still looked confused.
“Young master, your face…” Song Ting pointed to his face, his smile widening.
Recalling the scene of him starting the fire, his face must have been covered in smoke, Chu Huaixu already understood.
Just as she was about to take the handkerchief, she realized that her hands were also covered in black ink, so she could only say, "I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you, Qingxiang, for help!"
Chu Huaixu was used to being waited on hand and foot; even when he took a bath, someone would be there to serve him. Asking Song Ting to help him wipe his face was perfectly normal for him.
In fact, Song Ting had already replaced the servant boy next to Chu Huaixu before this, and was used to doing these things, so he didn't find it strange.
However, tonight, whether it was because Chu Huaixu, covered in cigarette ash, was too close to him, or because he was influenced by the old woman selling hairpins calling him "my sweetheart," Song Ting felt he didn't dare to look into the other's eyes.
"What's wrong?" Seeing that he didn't move, Chu Huaixu moved closer. "Why are you spacing out all day? Are you feeling unwell?"
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