That afternoon.
With Xiaoxiao at work and Peach at school, and Neighbor Next Door off gallivanting somewhere and unlikely to return, Chen Shu and Ning Qing made a simple lunch, like parents whose children were out of the house.
On a whim, Chen Shu stir-fried a big bowl of minced pork with pickled yardlong beans, a dish he had not made in ages. Without Neighbor Next Door, it would probably last them several days.
He also made a pot of tomato and meatball soup and stir-fried some hot and sour napa cabbage. That was lunch.
The dishes were simple, but they all went wonderfully with rice.
A couple of days earlier, Neighbor Next Door had brought over a high-tech rice cooker shaped like a large barrel. It replicated the traditional process of making steamed rice: boiling the grains first, draining them, then punching holes through the rice before steaming it. The result was fluffy and delicious, with every grain distinct. And it was fully automatic—very high-tech.
Chen Shu loved rice like that.
Their neighbor had put thought into the gift.
With rice steamed until every grain stood apart, some hot and sour napa cabbage, or a spoonful of minced pork and pickled yardlong beans, he could eat several big bowls without anything else.
Sure enough, when they finished eating, Qingqing had polished off the hot and sour napa cabbage, but half a pot of soup and meatballs remained. They had gone through only about a fifth of the huge bowl of minced pork and pickled yardlong beans. With just the two of them, it would last five days in the fridge.
At one in the afternoon, they sprawled out like corpses after lunch.
"Bzz! Bzz!"
His phone suddenly rang.
Beauty with Eight-Pack Abs: Anyone want to see Suannai and Wei