Yan Ningke loved fish, but he had to be mindful of his health and avoid spicy, irritating foods, so Aunt An simply made a fish and lamb soup.
It tasted incredible, and Yan Ningke ate until his head was covered in sweat.
Shao Ke pulled out a tissue and handed it to him, asking with an air of casualness, "Do you like fish that much?"
Yan Ningke paused in the middle of drinking his soup for a second, so briefly it would have gone unnoticed without close attention. He swallowed the mouthful and grinned. "It tastes good. Aunt An's cooking is unbeatable."
Shao Ke gazed at him. The young man held his bowl and sipped his soup, looking almost reverent.
Yan Ningke blew at the steam, his lowered, long lashes fluttering slightly.
At the orphanage, they mostly ate potatoes and cabbage. In winter, there might also be a bowl of radish soup, the cheapest kind.
One Lunar New Year's Eve, a few elderly men from the neighborhood who enjoyed fishing brought over several grass carp they had caught, saying they wanted to give the children an extra dish for the holiday.
The director accepted with profuse thanks. Once the men left, the director turned around and divided the fish among several other staff members. Perhaps a conscience had stirred; faced with all those eagerly waiting eyes, the director took out one fish as though handing out charity and told the cook to prepare it for them.
There were more than twenty children of all ages in the orphanage. A fish weighing a little over three jin was nowhere near enough to share, so a thin, watery radish and fish head soup appeared on their table.
Yan Ningke had been so hungry that he sneaked into the kitchen to smell the