I tasted the chicken soup, and it was indeed smooth and fragrant without being greasy.
I was reminded of a new cook who recently came to work with a child. The two of them had traveled a long way to find their relatives, but they couldn't find them. I felt sorry for her and took her in to do some work in the kitchen. I never expected her cooking skills to be so good.
I said, if you like it, I'll have someone stew it for you often. If you miss your mother, you can have someone bring your parents here so we can be happy together.
His eyes showed surprise, and he praised, "You are truly virtuous. I thought you were a spoiled military general's daughter, but I never expected you to be so virtuous. Please accept my bow."
He bowed to me respectfully, and I quickly turned to the side and returned the bow.
After that, I sent someone to pick up his parents, but he stopped me, saying that his parents were not used to life here and that it would be better to give them more money so that they could live out their old age in the countryside.
It's true that older people always think about returning to their roots and don't want to make a fuss.
I listened to him, sent people to deliver money, build a house, and provide for his parents' care.
Later, my life with him became peaceful.
Whenever I hear him reciting poems and exchanging verses with others, praising the wind and the moon, I will also join in with a few lines.
He replied, "You don't understand these things, so it's fine not to talk about them. Just stay at home and mind your own business."
I remained silent for a moment, but I did respond to him.
He was a top scholar, so it's understandable that he thought my poems were bad. I should have known to hide my shortcomings long ago.
From then on, I gave up my former romantic pursuits, poetry, and songs, and focused on managing the backyard. He was busy in the capital every day, but he always came home on time for dinner.
I thought he had feelings for me.
Until that day, which was a great day marking the one-year anniversary of our marriage, I cooked a meal myself.
He took a bite, then spat it out. Why did the food taste different today? Where was the cook?
His voice was somewhat stern, especially when he spoke of the cook.
I had intended to offer a few words of explanation with a smile, but now I became suspicious.
He seemed to realize he had misspoke, so he suppressed his impatience and softened his tone, saying, "I'm just used to her cooking, and I can't stand other people's food anymore. The affairs of the court are already extremely troublesome every day, so when I get home I just want to be comfortable and at ease. I hope my wife will understand."
I said, "Will you eat the food I cook?"
He paused for a moment, then pressed his lips tightly together.
I already know the answer; he doesn't want to eat the food I cook.
He said, "Eat!"
I don't believe it!
That night, I was in a bad mood and wandered aimlessly in the garden. There, I stumbled upon two maids reading under a lamp near a rockery.
To match his talent as the top scholar, the maids and servants bought in the mansion were required to be literate and pretty. Even if they were illiterate, they had to be taught to read before they could serve in the inner courtyard.
Therefore, I wasn't surprised that these two girls were reading, but I asked them about it because their laughter sounded different from usual.
The two maids were startled and dropped the books they were holding. They hurriedly knelt down, trying to hide them.
I became even more suspicious and demanded, "What is that? Give it to me!"
The two maids kept saying they deserved to die, but they still handed over the book tremblingly.
I glanced at it and saw something covered in red waves, with hairpins disheveled and hair loose, and I couldn't help but blush.
He slammed the book down and angrily asked, "Where did this book come from?"
If such a book appeared in the home of a top scholar, and it got out, wouldn't he be laughed at to death? How could he live up to his clean and honest reputation?
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