Jingliu continued to stare coldly at Bai Heng.
Yet those small, icy hands only trembled and did not pull away.
In the end, she still yielded and followed Bai Heng into the house.
By then, Bai Heng had already served meals for herself and Jingliu.
It had to be said that Bai Heng, who had once held himself to the standards of a Childhood Fiancé, was indeed quite skilled at cooking.
And compared to Jingliu's cooking, it was practically a dimensionality-reduction strike.
When they first picked up their chopsticks, Jingliu and Bai Heng were both rather reserved, eating at a fairly slow pace.
Bai Heng had even worried that his dishes did not suit their tastes.
But when his chopsticks reached toward the plate of salt-and-pepper prawns in front of Bai Heng and he received a wary look in return, he realized he had been overthinking it.
So he gave an awkward laugh and said, "Eat as much as you like. If it isn't enough, I'll stir-fry a couple more dishes."
After he said that,
the frequency with which the two of them used their chopsticks noticeably increased.
Before long, not even the prawn shells remained from the salt-and-pepper prawns. The shredded lemon chicken had been swept into their bowls like a whirlwind, leaving only the lemon behind, and even the pork ribs had been gnawed clean.
If they had not needed to maintain their image, the two of them probably would have sucked their fingers clean.
When the chicken-and-pork-tripe soup was nearly gone, Jingliu looked at the third bowl of rice she had finished, raised her head, and silently glanced at Bai Heng.
But after pursing her little mouth, now round and full from eating, she turned her head toward Bai Heng beside her, pretending she was not looking