Zhou Mo was stunned for a moment, not realizing what Han Chen meant.
The pot smells bad?
Han Chen explained, "I really didn't mean to do that. I thought I could just wash it clean, but... the smell won't go away."
Zhou Mo seemed to understand the significance of this pot of chicken soup appearing on the stove and Han Chen frantically adding seasonings to the pot.
"You want to fight fire with fire?"
Han Chen touched the tip of his nose awkwardly, "About the same."
Zhou Mo was speechless.
She was worried about everything in the capital, feeling depressed, as if she would no longer be able to have Han Chen in the next second, but Han Chen was at home cooking snail noodles in her pot...
For a moment, Zhou Mo really didn't know whether to cry or laugh.
Han Chen saw that Zhou Mo didn't get angry, but instead had a look of being at a loss for words. He asked cautiously, "You're not angry?"
"Are you talking about the pot?" Zhou Mo asked back.
"Well," Han Chen said, "I thought I was dead."
"In my heart, you are not even worse than a pot."
Han Chen finally smiled with relief, pulled Zhou Mo into a hug, and complained, "Who knows? You always care about something so weird, I dare not go beyond the line."
Being held quietly in Han Chen's arms like this, all the doubts and worries in Zhou Mo's heart disappeared.
She also enjoyed this moment of comfort.
Rubbing her face against Han Chen's chest, she raised her eyes and asked him, "You weren't enthusiastic at all when you saw me just now, and you were so nervous. Were you afraid that I would find out that the pot was rotten?"
Han Chen nibbled her earlobe. "What else could I do? You came back so suddenly that I was scared to death. I haven't even been this nervous during my graduation thesis defense."
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