After the blue tomato scrambled eggs incident, Lu Menge stayed out of the kitchen for three whole days. On the fourth day, Wu Changkong stopped her at the cafeteria entrance and asked whether she still planned to keep learning vegetarian cooking. Lu Menge shoved her thermos into his hands and, in the most sincere tone of her life, said three words: "I'm not worthy."
Wu Changkong fell silent for a moment, then took the thermos and drank from it. "You're just not good at frying tomatoes. You can still try other vegetarian dishes."
"I did. Stir-fried greens—black. Shredded potatoes—burnt. Stir-fried eggplant—black and burnt. Tofu soup—the tofu crumbled into mush, and the soup turned gray." Lu Menge counted off the results of her vegetarian cooking experiments over the past few days on her fingers, her tone as calm as if she were reporting someone else's failures. Then she raised her amber fox-like eyes to Wu Changkong. "I have no fate with vegetarian dishes in this life. But meat is different—do you remember the first time I made braised pork for you? The caramelized sugar was just right, rich but not greasy. The first time I made salt-and-pepper ribs? Xie Xie nearly chewed up the bones. And the grilled skewers—after those little brats from Class Zero ate my barbecue, the cafeteria's grill station never made another cent off them."
Wu Changkong looked at her. Her expression was serious—not her usual lazy, effortlessly composed smile, but the open ease of someone who had thought things through and finally come to an understanding. She took the thermos back from his hand, unscrewed it, and drank a sip before declaring, "From today on, I'm not making vegetarian dishes anymore. Leave professional work to professionals—the cafeteria chefs can stir-fry greens, and I'll handle the barbecue. Clear