In the kitchen, Mo Xiangwen stood by the sink, carefully washing the vegetables as water rushed from the faucet.
Su Mengli had claimed the space in front of the stove, tying on that light pink apron and focusing intently on mincing green onions, ginger, garlic, and the soaked mushrooms into fine pieces.
Her movements were deft, and her mood seemed genuinely much improved, a soft curve at the corners of her lips. She even hummed a light, cheerful tune under her breath.
Mo Xiangwen placed the washed greens in a basket, setting the side vegetables—like green peppers—in bowls and dishes beside her.
He had been about to handle the ingredients as well, but just as he picked up the knife, Su Mengli spoke without even turning her head, as if she had eyes in the back of it. “Put that down. I’ll take care of it later.”
She paused, then explained, “It’s dangerous for someone with a fever like you to handle a knife.”
Mo Xiangwen froze for a moment before setting the knife down helplessly.
She was right, and he had no grounds to argue.
The risk was real, especially in his current state of feeling lightheaded and unsteady on his feet.
He glanced at Su Mengli. She was carefully peeling and cutting the potatoes into even little chunks, her profile gentle under the kitchen lights, her humming tune carrying a note of ease.
It seemed that his and Nuoya’s earlier politeness had indeed left her feeling quite dejected. Mo Xiangwen thought, a touch of confusion in his mind.
As Su Mengli sliced the potatoes, a few unruly strands of hair fell across her eyes, dangling and getting in the way.
She endured the discomfort long enough to finish cutting the potatoes, then washed her hands at the sink. She was about to head to the bathroom to tie her hair back before returning to cook when she suddenly remembered Mo Xiangwen, who was leaning nearby, lost in thought.
Seeing her pass by, Mo Xiangwen quickly stepped aside to make room.
Come to think of it, she never forgot to tie her hair up before entering the kitchen on normal days.
Truth be told, the main reason she’d forgotten today was her complicated mood.
And the culprit behind her complicated mood was right here at this moment.
…Oh well, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and besides, he was still under the weather.
Su Mengli shook her head and decided to deal with it back in her room.
She hurried to her bedroom and sat at the vanity, pulling her usual hair tie from the drawer.
As she raised her hand to the mirror, her nose caught the faint, lingering spicy scent of green onions and ginger that she hadn’t fully washed away.
Her delicate brows furrowed. If she tied her hair like this, wouldn’t the smell get into it?
She stepped out of her room to see if anyone in the living room could help, but Su Mengyao still hadn’t returned from Yan Nuoya’s place, and Shishi—who should have been in the living room—wasn’t there either…
Noticing that Mo Xiangwen’s door was open, she figured Shishi must be tired and resting in his room.
Thus, her gaze naturally turned toward the figure leaning at the kitchen doorway.
Su Mengli clutched the hair tie and walked back into the kitchen, stopping in front of Mo Xiangwen.
“Hm?” Mo Xiangwen snapped back to attention at her sudden movement, looking at her in bewilderment.
Without a word, Su Mengli pulled two clean tissues from the box nearby and handed them to him. “Wipe your hands.”
Mo Xiangwen glanced at her in confusion but took the tissues anyway.
His hands were already quite clean, just a bit damp, so this was a good chance to dry them off.
After tossing the tissues, Su Mengli pressed a plain black hair tie into his palm.
“Tie up my hair for me,” she said, turning around naturally and revealing her cascade of silky black hair and slender back to him.
Mo Xiangwen was utterly stunned, the small hair tie in his hand feeling like a hot potato.
Tie Mengli’s hair? Was this something he could even do?
He instinctively wanted to refuse—it just felt too inappropriate.
But the words of refusal reached his lips and were swallowed back down.
Forget it. Mengli’s mood was finally good; there was no need to ruin it.
She had just been upset about how distant and polite he’d been. Refusing now would only poke at the sore spot.
Besides, tying hair was just a small thing. He was overthinking it.
Mo Xiangwen’s weary brain opted to stop overanalyzing, silently shelving his refusal.
He took a deep breath and reached out, gently gathering Su Mengli’s dangling locks.
The touch was even smoother and silkier than he’d imagined.
The jet-black, flowing hair slipped through his fingers like the finest satin.
Clumsily, he tried to gather it all together. His fingertips inevitably brushed the delicate, warm skin of her nape, a subtle sensation that caused them both to stiffen almost imperceptibly.
Fortunately, Su Mengli didn’t blame him for it. She simply held her pose, waiting patiently for him to finish.
“Uh… how do I do this?” Mo Xiangwen’s voice came out dry and awkward.
He truly had no experience.
If he had to say, the only time he’d touched a girl’s hair was when he’d patted Shishi’s head.
Tying a girl’s hair? That was way beyond his knowledge.
“Just gather it up like that, hold it in your hand… yes, as high as possible, right in the middle of the back of your head…” Su Mengli guided him softly, tilting her head slightly to help. “Then wrap the hair tie around a few times to secure it… not too tight, or it’ll be uncomfortable.”
Mo Xiangwen fought to steady his nerves and followed her instructions, his movements stiff and hesitant.
He carefully gathered the silky strands, determined not to let them slip, and awkwardly wrapped the hair tie around them.
It was such a simple task—tying a ponytail—but his tension and inexperience made it take far longer than it should have.
At last, a crooked, uneven ponytail finally took shape in his hands.
It was far from pretty, but at least her hair was tied up.
Su Mengli reached back to feel the clearly amateurish result on the back of her head, then turned around. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes as she looked at Mo Xiangwen. “That clumsy? You’ve never tied a girl’s hair before?”
Mo Xiangwen shifted his gaze uncomfortably and answered honestly, “No.”
“Eh?” Su Mengli was genuinely surprised. She blinked. “No little sister or older sister?”
“Nope.” Mo Xiangwen shook his head. “This is my first time tying a girl’s hair.”
Su Mengli’s beautiful eyes widened slightly at that. Then the corners of her lips curved into an even deeper smile, and she let out a knowing hum laced with some odd undertone. “Oh-ho~”
She said nothing more and turned back to pick up the knife, resuming her work with the ingredients.
With her hair out of the way, Su Mengli’s movements became even smoother and more precise.
She swiftly blanched the chicken chunks to remove any raw taste, her actions flowing as smoothly as water.
While she worked, Mo Xiangwen opened the soy sauce, oyster sauce, and various seasonings, mixing them in proper proportions in a small bowl.
Su Mengli, waiting for the chicken to finish blanching, glanced curiously at what he was doing. Her cooking skills were solid—passed down from her mother—but they leaned toward everyday dishes with lighter flavors. Something like braised chicken rice, which called for rich, heavy sauces and the art of caramelizing sugar, was unfamiliar territory for her.
Once Mo Xiangwen finished the sauce mix and had nothing else to do, he leaned against the side.
As Su Mengli prepared to drain the blanched chicken, he reminded her, “Mengli, when you caramelize the sugar later, don’t let the oil get too hot. Use a low flame.”
Su Mengli paused and looked back at him in surprise. “Caramelize the sugar?”
Though he’d requested the dish and asked her to buy the ingredients, she hadn’t expected this extra step.
Caramelizing sugar did enhance the flavor and color of meat, but it was tricky and prone to going wrong. Even if it succeeded, the difference wasn’t always huge.
Most home cooks skipped it for everyday meals.
Under her gaze, Mo Xiangwen felt a bit awkward and looked away, clearing his throat. “Learned it online. Gotta know a couple of your go-to dishes to survive.”
Su Mengli blinked her pretty eyes.
Survive? His standards for survival were pretty high.
“Is that so?” She clearly didn’t buy it but didn’t press, turning back to heat the wok and add oil.
Faced with her obvious skepticism, Mo Xiangwen had no counter. It was the truth, after all.
Following his advice, Su Mengli heated the oil only until warm, then took some rock sugar. After a moment’s hesitation, she crushed it a bit with the flat of her knife before carefully sprinkling it into the wok.
The sugar slowly melted in the warm oil, tiny bubbles forming at the edges as the color deepened.
Su Mengli watched the wok tensely, her heart pounding. Her grip on the spatula stiffened.
This was completely new to her, and after questioning him earlier, failing now would be embarrassing.
“That’s right, keep it low, stir slowly so the sugar heats evenly,” Mo Xiangwen said from behind her, his voice calm and clear. “Don’t rush. Wait until it’s this amber color… yes, just like that. Now add the ginger slices and the blanched chicken chunks. Careful of the splattering oil.”
He hesitated before adding, “This step’s a bit risky. How about I take over?”
Su Mengli shook her head, declining his offer, and swiftly poured in the drained chicken pieces as instructed.
Although she had indeed never made a caramel coating before, anyone who had stir-fried vegetables had dealt with oil splatters. She just needed to be a little more careful.
“Sizzle—” came a loud hiss as the scalding sugar-oil mixture violently reacted with the residual moisture on the chicken pieces, sending hot oil splattering everywhere.
Su Mengli had already taken a step back the instant the chicken hit the wok, but even she hadn’t anticipated such a fierce reaction.
“Careful!” Mo Xiangwen’s urgent shout rang out almost simultaneously with the splatters.
In that split second, having half-expected it, he fought through his dizziness and instinctively leaned forward. His hand shot out to seize Su Mengli’s wrist, yanking her backward with force.
At the same time, his other hand reached by pure reflex for the pot lid nearby. With a resounding clang, he slammed it down over the bubbling wok, blocking the rest of the flying oil.
Su Mengli stumbled back several small steps from his sudden pull, steadying herself only when she collided with his chest.
“A-are you alright? Did it burn you?” Mo Xiangwen panted lightly, his fingers trembling slightly around her wrist.
Still shaken, Su Mengli glanced down at her wrist and forearm, inspecting them carefully several times. There were no burn marks from the oil splatters.
She shook her head at once and lifted her arm to show him. “I’m fine! It didn’t burn me! You just scared me half to death. Good thing you reacted so quickly.”
Overly anxious, Mo Xiangwen took hold of her arm and examined it intently several times over before finally relaxing.
“I’m really okay.” Su Mengli gave a small shake of her head, her tone soothing. “We should get back to stir-frying, or it’ll burn.”
With that, she gently pulled her hand free from his grasp, lifted the lid, and a rich caramel aroma mingled with the scent of chicken wafted into the air.
The oil in the wok had settled down considerably by now, no longer prone to splashing.
Mo Xiangwen watched her grip the spatula once more. He seemed on the verge of saying something—his lips parted—but in the end, he swallowed the words.
He had wanted to take over, but he knew she would refuse.
He stepped back half a pace in silence, giving her room while keeping a watchful eye on her.
“Now…” Mo Xiangwen worked to keep his voice even. “Crank the heat up just a touch. Stir-fry the chicken pieces evenly with the caramel so it coats them all.”
Su Mengli followed his instructions, smoothly tossing the chicken in the wok as the golden-red caramel quickly enveloped every piece.
“Then add the prepared scallion segments, ginger slices, millet peppers, minced garlic, and diced mushrooms from the side…” Mo Xiangwen continued.
But even without his prompting, Su Mengli had already dumped all the chopped ingredients from the nearby bowls into the wok in one smooth motion—almost in perfect sync with his words. Her wrist flicked nimbly as she stirred everything together.
Her movements were remarkably deft. Clearly, she was no novice at cooking, and that earlier mishap had been nothing more than a minor hiccup.
Mo Xiangwen blinked in mild surprise, realizing he had worried needlessly.
The rest of the stir-frying to release the aromas proceeded just like any ordinary dish.
With Su Mengli’s skill level, she hardly needed his extra guidance.
As he watched her work the stove with such confidence, Mo Xiangwen’s strained nerves finally eased a fraction. In their place came a sharper wave of exhaustion.
He retreated quietly to the rear, leaning against the wall once more to observe Su Mengli.
“So fragrant…” Su Mengli murmured as she tossed the ingredients, her expression one of focused concentration.
Once everything was evenly stir-fried, she glanced at Mo Xiangwen. “Next? The sauce and water?”
“Um…” Mo Xiangwen’s voice dipped lower, laced with weary fatigue. “Pour in that bowl of sauce I prepared earlier, stir-fry to coat everything evenly, then add hot water—just enough to cover the chicken—and bring it to a boil.”
Su Mengli did exactly that, adding the sauce and giving it a quick toss. A deep, savory aroma bloomed immediately.
She followed up by pouring in plenty of hot water and watched as the broth came to a rolling boil.
“And now?” Su Mengli asked.
“Once it’s boiling…” Mo Xiangwen narrowed his eyes slightly, stifling a quiet yawn. “Pour the chicken and broth into the clay pot nearby, lid it up, set it to a low simmer, and that’s it…”
“This step’s a little tricky.” Mo Xiangwen rallied his energy and stepped closer. “Let me lend a hand.”
Su Mengli hesitated for a moment but nodded.
With Mo Xiangwen’s assistance, the chicken and broth transferred smoothly from the wok to the clay pot.
Su Mengli lit the burner beneath it, then turned to Mo Xiangwen. His complexion looked even worse than before, and her heart clenched involuntarily.
“All set now—it’s just simmering from here.” Su Mengli tugged him away from the wall, taking hold of his arm and steering him toward the kitchen door. “No point in both of us hanging around. You go back and rest.”
Her voice was soft and gentle, yet it carried a note of concern Mo Xiangwen found impossible to refuse.
He considered it for a moment. She was right—the next steps were just adding potatoes and green peppers at the right intervals. Nothing risky remained.
Without another word, he nodded obediently, gave a few final instructions, and headed off to his room.
Su Mengli’s gaze trailed after his retreating figure.
The kitchen fell utterly quiet in his absence, save for the faint gurgle starting up from the clay pot and the thickening aroma filling the air.
She let out a soft breath, her hand rising unconsciously to her chest. Her heartbeat felt quicker than usual.
It must be the lingering shock from earlier, she thought.
Her other hand drifted absently to the wrist he had gripped moments ago, where the faint warmth of his fevered skin seemed to linger still.
For some reason, Su Mengli found herself lost in thought, her mind wandering.
Right—she had forgotten to tell him that Shishi might be in his room. The realization struck her suddenly.
