It feels really good to be loved and chosen by someone.
A smile flickered in Rong Zhaonan's cool eyes as he said seriously, "Who, who is so blind?"
Ning Yuan rolled her eyes: "Dog."
...
As the two were talking, they arrived at the entrance of Rong Zhaonan's dormitory.
As she watched him unlock the door for her, she coughed lightly as she entered, saying, "I didn't just come to see the fireworks; Grandma was saying she wanted to check if you had forgotten anything in your dorm..."
I didn't come here to go on a date with him.
Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly felt Rong Zhaonan gently push him, and then Rong Zhaonan followed him in and locked the door.
Ning Yuan was startled. Before she could even stand up straight, he pulled her into his arms and pressed her against the wall with his tall, hot body.
The man lowered his head and kissed her chattering lips: "Hmm... there's still something I haven't taken. Grandma asked you to get it."
Ning Yuan's mouth was covered by his kiss. She opened her mouth to speak, but he had already pried open her lips without any politeness and was making fun of her soft little mouth, doing all sorts of bad things.
Ning Yuan was kissed so hard at the doorway that she was in a daze, her body went limp, and he pinned her against the wall, muttering in a low voice, "Ugh...you...haven't eaten yet."
Rong Zhaonan chuckled, loosening his grip slightly on her small mouth, and gently sucking on her delicate lips: "Aren't we eating dim sum? Cantonese style!"
This time he wasn't "fierce" at all. He even put her down, brushed her long hair aside with his fingertips, and gently stroked her soft, slender neck inch by inch.
Ning Yuan was aroused by his teasing, her heart trembling with heat. Even through her sweater, she could feel his strong arms, and she... wanted to bite him.
She didn't know what was wrong with her; maybe it was a lingering habit from their first time being intimate. Whenever she was intimate with him, she wanted to bite him.
Young Master Rong was naturally muscular and strong, and when his skin was taut, his lines were beautiful and full of explosive power. He was also fair-skinned and looked very good... very easy to bite.
She was probably also a little crazy because of his influence. Ning Yuan leaned against him, her face flushed, and she breathed softly, trying to unbuckle his belt.
Who knows...
Rong Zhaonan chuckled softly, pressed down on her hand, released her, and carried the lunchbox bag into the room.
"So eager? Boss Ning really doesn't intend to let me eat? What if my fighting power decreases on an empty stomach, and Boss Ning is dissatisfied?"
Ning Yuan looked at his sighing and helpless expression—woman, why are you so eager for sex?
"You bastard!" she said, her face flushed with anger, as she chased after him and kicked his butt with her foot.
What the heck? He's actually acting! This villain is like a vixen, seducing people and then acting like this.
Rong Zhaonan blocked her kick by pressing down with his calf, then turned around and sat down at the table, smiling: "Save your strength, Boss Ning."
Seeing Rong Zhaonan open the lunchbox, she ultimately couldn't bring herself to make a scene.
He hasn't eaten yet; he really rushed back all the way.
The three lunchboxes, still steaming, each contained different dishes, and smelled delicious.
Rong Zhaonan stared at the dish of fermented rice, and paused for a moment: "Was it made by Grandpa Tang?"
Ning Yuan nodded: "Yes, Grandpa said you like to eat it."
Rong Zhaonan picked up a piece of pig's stomach and put it in his mouth: "My mother makes this dish every year during Chinese New Year when she's abroad."
Ning Yuan was taken aback, remembering what Rong Zhaonan had said: the woman in the capital now was a stepmother, not her biological mother.
His biological mother passed away abroad, which is why he was arranged to be sent back to China and placed in his father's care.
Ning Yuan sat down, looked at the dish of braised offal, and smiled: "I didn't expect Auntie to like these offal dishes."
Zao Bo Tou is a local Shanghainese dish. The method involves cutting pig tongue, pig lung, pig stomach, pig intestines, edamame, etc. into small pieces, blanching them in water, and then putting them into a bowl.
Add broth, cooking wine, and each person's homemade fermented rice wine gravy. Finally, seal the pot with mud, bring it to a boil over high heat, and then simmer over low heat for half an hour.
Before eating, sprinkle with green garlic leaves and drizzle with a spoonful of fermented rice wine sauce. The aroma of fermented rice wine sauce is irresistible, and if done well, it tastes excellent.
However, because it used wastewater, it was called "poor man's vegetable" in the early days.
“She’s someone who never lifts a finger in the kitchen, so there’s never been a dish like this on her table growing up. After I met my father in Shanghai, he was very good at making this dish and often cooked it for her,” Rong Zhaonan said casually.
Ning Yuan was at a loss for words.
It's just that women are sentimental, and it's hard to tell whether they genuinely like the dish or simply can't forget the person who made it.
Sometimes, we think we've forgotten that person or that event.
But when you turn around, you might suddenly burst into tears when you smell that scent and taste that flavor, remembering your family, lovers, friends, and the old days.
Ning Yuan sighed softly: "Sometimes, taste is more enduring than people."
Rong Zhaonan didn't say anything more and ate quietly. He ate very quickly, but his table manners were very good, a habit he had developed since childhood.
Ning Yuan didn't disturb him, but just sat beside him and ate with him, looking at the sky outside the window, where she could vaguely see fireworks set off by children.
The air was filled with the warm aroma of food, interspersed with the faint, damp scent of soap on his body, and the clean smell of his sweater.
He rushed back after taking a shower; I don't know what he was doing before.
Ning Yuan knew that although he had been through fire and blood on the battlefield, he was a bit of a germaphobe. Even when he was herding cattle in the countryside, he would brush the cattle while fetching water to wash himself.
A slight smile curved her lips; thinking about it, it had almost been two years.
Ning Yuan rested her chin on her hand, turned on the radio, and melodious string music began to play.
The melodious female voice of the old Soviet song "Kalinka" drifted out.
"By the river in the fields, red berries bloom, and there is a young man I truly love, but I cannot confess my feelings to him; the words I hold in my heart remain unspoken."
Ning Yuan hummed along, sitting on the stool, gently tapping the table with her fingertips: "He knows nothing about this matter, the young girl misses him and thinks of him day and night..."
Rong Zhaonan ate his meal while looking at the girl beside him.
With her head down, she braided her hair back into two long, black braids to make it easier to work, making her look even more charming and youthful, not at all like someone who was married.
The girl, humming a Soviet red song fluently, though her voice was a little off-key, looked like she belonged to this era.
Yes, he sometimes felt that many of her ideas and ways of doing things had a strange sense of alienation from the times.
Aside from the way she is singing now, she is exactly the same person as him.
Not long after, Ning Yuan felt the person next to her move.
She subconsciously looked up and saw him drinking tea and rinsing his mouth; the lunchbox on the table was already empty.
Ning Yuan simply took his lunchbox and a dried loofah to the other end of the corridor to wash his dishes.
When she returned to her dormitory after washing the dishes, she found that the loudspeaker had been turned off. Rong Zhaonan had brought an accordion from somewhere and was sitting on a stool, tuning it.
Ning Yuan was taken aback, then raised an eyebrow: "You can play the accordion?"
My beloved concubine, what other surprises do you have that I don't know about?!
Rong Zhaonan smiled faintly: "Don't you like to sing Soviet songs? Soviet old songs are only right when played on an accordion."
As he spoke, he casually played a few notes, then released his grip and began to play the accordion smoothly.
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