The kitchen is in the side hall. Mu Wanwan picked up a handful of spiritual rice, thought for a while and cut a small ginseng root.

She had decided that from today on, she would eat separately from Mr. Long.

They had very little money and spiritual rice. If she and Mr. Long ate this small bag of spiritual rice together, they could finish it in less than a month. But if Mr. Long ate it alone, it could last for two months if he saved a little.

She also wanted to eat spiritual rice, but there was no way. Poverty made people powerless and hopelessqwq.

Mu Wanwan sighed and walked to the kitchen.

It was unknown what material the stove in the kitchen was made of. The surface was very smooth, and the fuel used was not modern natural gas or rice ears in the countryside, but a very special plant called burning grass.

After using flint to ignite this light green long strip of plant, it will not only burn for a long time, but also produce little smoke. One piece of burning grass can make a meal, and the taste will be much better than that made with smoky coal.

The price of this burning grass is not cheap, and it can only be cultivated with wood spirit power. One piece of burning grass costs one silver coin, and basically only some well-off families can afford it.

Mu Wanwan lit a burning grass, put Mr. Long's rice in it first, and then found another stove next to it and put his own dinner in it. She stared at the dozens of burning grasses piled in the corner of the kitchen for a while, and suddenly her eyes lit up -

she was really stupid. After all, she was a first-level wood cultivator. It might be difficult to cultivate other spiritual plants, but it was more than enough to cultivate burning grass, a semi-spiritual plant without a grade. She could buy some burning grass seeds and plant them, and then sell them to raise dragons!

The burden of life that weighed on Mu Wanwan like a mountain in the afternoon didn't seem so heavy in the face of this glimmer of hope.

Mu Wanwan picked up a piece of burning grass and put it in her hand. She tried to guide a strand of wood-type spiritual energy from her dantian, and slowly probed into the slightly dry burning grass. Relying on her previous memory, she pinched the burning grass, like stroking hair, and guided the spiritual energy all the way from the tip of the grass to the root.

She didn't know if it was her illusion, but she felt that the burning grass in her hand seemed to have a little more vitality than before, and it looked more...

greener than other burning grasses =_=!

The porridge in the pot was about to boil, so Mu Wanwan stopped fiddling with the burning grass and cut the thin ginseng root into pieces, threw it into the pot, and stirred it. After it was cooked, she put the two different portions of porridge into the food box and carried it back to the room.

It was getting late, so Mu Wanwan put the food box away and checked whether the door was locked. She then put away her clothes and went in, closed the windows, turned on the lights in the room, and began to prepare to feed the dragon.

The sound of her doing things was neither loud nor soft, but it was very clear to Mr. Long, who had just regained consciousness. It made him feel that someone cared about him, a dragon who had been alone since birth.

Mr. Long restrained himself from having wild thoughts, but he could not help but send all the spiritual power he could mobilize to the half of the dragon's tail that was already showing signs of decay again.

Even if the warmth of the past few days was only a flash in the pan, he still wanted to extend it a little longer.

The late autumn evening was gradually rising with a chill, not piercing the bones, but like a continuous stream of fine needles, making people uncomfortable. This little bit of cold was nothing to Mr. Long, the former top powerhouse on the mainland. But now he was seriously injured, and even though he was covered with a quilt, he still felt the chill climbing up along his skin, and it was a bit cold.

I don't know if that person was in tune with him, but he stood up and closed the door the next second, blocking the wind that kept blowing in.

Mr. Long endured the pain from the curse and wounds, his nose was filled with the fragrance of the magic rice, and his heart was a little trembling. But soon, he fell into another kind of distress -

the light was ambiguous, and the dragon was alone.

"It's time to eat." Mu Wanwan didn't know that Mr. Long had woken up. Thinking that she couldn't dirty the quilt when feeding Long later, she went to the bed first and slightly lifted the quilt.

She took her pillow again, said softly, "I'm sorry", and then supported Mr. Long's head with one hand and put another pillow under his head.

Mr. Long's eyelashes trembled, and when his neck was touched by her slightly cool fingertips, his blood was about to flow backwards.

Even for the powerful dragons, the neck is their fatal weakness. When he was weak, anyone who touched his neck died. After he became strong, no one dared to touch his weakness.

But when she touched him, he didn't feel disgusted, just an indescribable feeling, exciting and trembling.

Mu Wanwan didn't cook much porridge for Mr. Long, just one bowl, but it was very fragrant. A bowl of spiritual rice porridge has about one-third of the spiritual power of a low-grade spiritual stone. She moved neither fast nor slow, and each time she blew the porridge to cool it down before feeding it to Mr. Long.

Fortunately, Mr. Long still had the instinctive swallowing reaction, so it was not difficult for her to feed him.

After feeding him this time, Mu Wanwan thought of his mouth that looked like lip gloss, so she took a handkerchief and wiped Mr. Long's mouth. Her movements were very gentle, but through the handkerchief, the warmth of her fingertips was still clearly transmitted to Mr. Long's lips.

Her touch was very clear, and Mr. Long pursed his lips, and his fingertips hidden under the quilt trembled.

"Huh, it's finally healed." Mu Wanwan rubbed her waist, which was even more sore because of bending for a long time, and started to eat her own dinner. Because it had been left for a little too long, the porridge was already warm.

She didn't eat quickly. After all, she could only forget many troubles temporarily when she was eating and sleeping. After she ate for a while, Mr. Long gradually came back to his senses from her touch just now.

His sense of smell was very sensitive, but apart from the spiritual energy around his mouth, he could not smell the aroma of spiritual rice.

A thought that he was reluctant to believe but selfishly wanted to believe slowly arose in his heart. Mr. Long slowly released a trace of consciousness and floated to Mu Wanwan -

he saw her happily drinking a bowl of ordinary rice porridge, and there was not a trace of spiritual energy in the porridge. The sense of satisfaction that Mr. Long felt after being confirmed did not make him as happy as he thought.

On the contrary, the feeling of frustration and helplessness, mixed with self-blame, was like a tide, almost suffocating him.

The warm spiritual rice in his stomach was like a sharp bayonet.

It was just the spiritual rice, just the spiritual rice that counted for nothing.

Now he had to rely on her mercy and charity;

but he had no power to make her not be so frugal.

She married a useless dragon like him, and he could not give her anything.

If he knew that she saved the spiritual rice for him, then he would rather not eat it. Although it was uncomfortable to be hungry, he should have been used to it after being hungry for so many years when he was a child.

The trace of Mr. Long's consciousness floating in the house seemed to have touched something that made him painful, and slowly dissipated.

Only the warm stomach and the pure spiritual rice were left, which turned into pure spiritual energy. Although it was a drop in the bucket, it was like a warm candle, nourishing his broken meridians bit by bit.

The author has something to say: Regarding Wanwan eating ordinary rice, who should we feel more sorry for Wanwan or Mr. Long? After all, Mr. Long is so naive QAQ