It was just a simple question—asking what he wanted for breakfast.
Nian Le watched as the younger brother’s body stiffened, as if he had seen something unspeakable. He turned quickly, retreating into his room, and shut the door tightly behind him.
???
Nian Le thought for a moment, then glanced down at the beaten egg mixture in his hand. He wasn’t sure whether it was himself who had scared him off—or the bowl of eggs.
“Huohuo.” Setting the bowl aside, Nian Le took out his phone from his apron pocket, seeking help from outside the battlefield.
“Does your brother have anything he’s scared of or dislikes?”
“Him? He’s not afraid of heaven or earth. If he really had something to fear, we wouldn’t have had to run this far.” Huo Huohuo sighed. “By the way, how has he been these past two days?”
Wiping his hands on his apron, Nian Le typed, “Pretty quiet. Just… he doesn’t come downstairs to eat.”
He hit send, but there was no reply for a long while. The typing indicator kept blinking on and off, but no words came through.
“I think I forgot to tell you.” Huo Huohuo pressed a hand against his chest, sneaking a guilty glance at his mother.
“Ever since the accident, Huo Weiran’s right hand was injured. It’s hard for him to eat, and he makes a mess at the dining table. He’s also very prideful, so he hasn’t eaten in the dining room since then. Usually, we just leave a tray at his door and collect it an hour later. His appetite isn’t great, but he’ll still manage a few bites.”
Reading the message carefully, Nian Le faintly recalled the look in Huo Weiran’s eyes when he stood upstairs earlier. If he wasn’t mistaken, his face had gone a little pale.
What a feat.
He had barely arrived and already managed to starve him for a whole day.
The words he’d said the day before—“Your family asked me to take care of you”—now pierced right through Nian Le’s chest.
There was no time for more thought. He sped up the meal preparation, stirring so fast the spatula nearly sparked. Two dishes and one soup later, he pulled out a tray and bowl from the huge cupboard, plating the food. Just then, noises came from upstairs.
Looking up, Nian Le saw the injured younger brother walking down step by step, face set in stone.
He sat down at the dining table across from him.
After a moment of quiet, Nian Le pushed the tray toward Huo Weiran, carefully placing the utensils on his left side, avoiding the plastered right arm.
Huo Weiran stared at the food in front of him. He recalled an old saying: “One does not bend his back for five bushels of rice.”
His mother’s words—“Let the little wife discipline you properly”—still echoed in his ears.
Was this his method of “discipline”?
A slap with one hand, a sweet date with the other.
What did he think he was doing?
Training a dog?
Suppressing the emptiness in his stomach, Huo Weiran kept his expression cool as he looked at the tray.
“What is this?”
Just as Nian Le had served himself a bowl of rice, he heard the question. Looking up, he saw that Huo Weiran seemed displeased with the food, his face cold enough to freeze over.
“The main dish is tomato, ham, and egg noodles. The sides are stir-fried corn with shrimp, chilled vegetables, and yam and pork rib soup.” Nian Le’s voice was gentle, his expression carrying a faint smile.
“Try it.”
With his left hand, Huo Weiran picked up the chopsticks and prodded the cold dish. Then he looked up, his voice icy.
“I don’t eat garlic.”
Glancing at the minced garlic in the vegetables, Nian Le realized that many patients indeed couldn’t eat garlic, and some disliked the taste.
Without hesitation, he removed the plate, carefully picked out the dish, and spent ten minutes remaking a plate of water spinach without garlic before serving it again.
Huo Weiran picked up a porcelain spoon, stirring the soup indifferently. The milky broth shimmered with scallions, pork ribs resting at the bottom, and slices of white yam rising and sinking with the motion.
“I don’t eat scallions.”
Patiently, Nian Le took the bowl and replaced it with one freshly ladled from the pot, this time without scallions.
“The noodles are too oily.” Huo Weiran lifted a few strands of tomato-egg noodles, the savory broth dripping enticingly from them.
It was true the dish required some oil to fry the eggs and tomatoes, but Nian Le had used very little. The kitchen only had camellia oil, which was light and mild.
Facing the harsh, nitpicking gaze, Nian Le realized: the younger brother was deliberately finding fault.
“If you have any food taboos, just list them all at once.” Nian Le’s voice remained steady, his amber eyes calm as he looked at Huo Weiran.
“I won’t let you go hungry again, but in the coming days, I’ll be busy with competitions. I won’t always have as much time to trial and error as today.”
He pulled out a chair, sat across from him, and opened the notepad on his phone, lips slightly curved.
Huo Weiran silently watched the young man in front of him. Maybe because he was a few years older, he carried a strong yet gentle presence, never flustered, always rational.
Perhaps his appearance reflected his nature—his brows and eyes soft yet clear, independent yet tender. Meeting his gaze brought an inexplicable sense of calm.
But none of that was reason to let him off.
“I don’t eat garlic, ginger, or scallions.” Huo Weiran spoke coldly, eyes sweeping past the faintly pink fingertips across from him.
“I don’t eat cilantro, onions, celery, bitter melon, or any strongly flavored vegetables. No kelp, bean sprouts, fatty meat, or animal organs. No poultry feet, claws, necks, or heads. No shellfish. No hairtail, grouper, or yellow croaker. No starch-based foods. No fried eggs… and don’t put any canned food in front of me, except jam.”
Huo Weiran spoke a little quickly, and Nian Le’s fingers flew over his phone screen as he typed, listening to the younger brother continue.
“No cumin, no douban paste, no curry. Too oily, too salty, too spicy, too sweet—all don’t agree with me. As for the exact degree, you’ll have to figure that out slowly. At least four dishes and one soup every day, three meals a day, not a single one less.”
Pushing the tray aside, Huo Weiran’s gaze was ice cold. His pickiness toward food was taken to the extreme.
“And I don’t eat takeout. Don’t even think about passing off store-bought food.”
Nian Le quickly noted everything down, carried the tray back into the kitchen, and before starting the stove again, calmly searched the available hotel rooms in Jiangzhou.
Perfect. The price had already gone up to 2,400 yuan a night.
Keeping his composure, Nian Le picked out fresh ingredients and started cooking again. An hour and a half later, he carried out four dishes and one soup:
Stir-fried yam with black fungus, braised beef brisket with potatoes, hand-torn cabbage, pan-seared chicken breast, and a tender minced pork and tofu soup. No problem at all.
Under the weight of the “little wife” gaze, Huo Weiran slowly picked up his chopsticks and tried a bite. The flavor was just right, not greasy at all. For the moment… he actually couldn’t find any fault.
“Does it taste okay?” Removing his apron, Nian Le sat across from him with a faint smile at his lips.
2,400 yuan a day—if he didn’t have to buy the ingredients himself, he’d happily cook ten meals for that.
Noticing the sweat beading on the young man’s forehead, Huo Weiran said nothing. The two of them quietly finished the meal. Huo Weiran watched him rise, load the dishes into the dishwasher, and carefully wipe down the kitchen counters and dining table. His lashes lowered slightly, lips pale, his whole demeanor unmistakably like that of a homemaker.
“Today’s meal was a bit late. How about the next one at five?” Nian Le checked the time—it was nearly noon already. Since they’d missed breakfast, one less meal today still met the “three meals” requirement.
Eating makes one softer. Huo Weiran gave a cold acknowledgment, turning his face aside.
“I’ll pay you for the meals.”
I won’t eat for free.
Stunned for a couple of seconds, Nian Le suddenly realized—this rebellious youth was more considerate than he’d imagined. At least, he could recognize the value of another person’s labor.
But since he was already eating and living here for free, taking money on top of that—any capitalist would cry hearing this.
“No need.” With a smile, Nian Le looked at him.
“As long as you like it.”
There was a note of quiet delight in his voice. Catching it from the corner of his eye, Huo Weiran saw that the young man’s happiness was genuine.
He seemed to feel a real sense of accomplishment, brimming with warmth and joy.
But Huo Weiran wouldn’t like him, nor would he accept such things for free under the guise of love. In the end, all of it would become a tangled debt.
“According to the standard rate for private chefs, I’ll pay you.”
Huo Weiran looked at Nian Le, his tone icy and final.
“When you decide to leave, come to my room. I’ll settle the entire sum with you at once.”
Nian Le stood there, waving his hand with genuine sincerity. He had never seen anyone so stubborn about forcing money into someone’s hands.
“You’ll take it whether you want it or not.” Huo Weiran shot him a cold glance. “Between you and me, it’s nothing more than a transaction.”
Nian Le looked at his younger brother with complicated eyes.
You’re actually a pretty good kid.
Huo Weiran silently observed the “little wife” his mother had foisted upon him. Perhaps sensing his unwelcoming attitude, the young man made no complaints. He simply lowered his eyes, wiping the counters quietly, emotions carefully kept in check.
He was clearly holding himself together, hiding any trace of sadness.
For some reason, Huo Weiran felt his own chest sink. Subconsciously, his gaze shifted to his arm.
His mother hadn’t told Nian Le the truth about his condition. All he saw was the plaster cast, completely unaware that the injury was permanent.
That explained why he hadn’t given up yet—why he was being extra attentive. Because he thought the wound would heal.
And now as well—would he think that once the injury improved, his temperament wouldn’t be so intolerable?
A sharp tightness rose in Huo Weiran’s throat. His gaze turned dark. Without another glance at the figure before him, he stood and went upstairs, shutting himself back in his room.
Nian Le, with his slight obsession for neatness, folded the cleaning cloth into a precise square and put it back in its place before feeling at ease.
The whole time, he sensed someone’s gaze on his back. By the time he turned around, Huo Weiran had already gone upstairs.
Too busy to thank his younger brother for his generosity, Nian Le had more pressing matters to handle.
Tomorrow was the first day of the Yixin Cup. Since the dressing table in the guest room was too small, he set up a folding board in the living room. Placing out the stones, with a Go record book by his side, he replayed several past games move by move, studying them again.
This practice was called “reviewing”—like students going over problems they had solved before. Each look brought new insight.
Laying out the match he had played with the elderly man earlier, Nian Le bent his head in thought, repeatedly calculating variations. The man’s control was formidable, always seeking elegant formations. Had he not underestimated him, had his opening been steadier, the outcome would have been uncertain.
That had been his first game in Jiangzhou, and if even a shop-owning elder possessed such skill, the masters he would face in the Yixin Cup would surely be far stronger.
Lowering his gaze, Nian Le immersed himself in the game, searching for a path to victory against flawless play. By the two-hundredth move, the board blurred before his eyes. Pain throbbed in his head, dizziness swirling up like a tide.
Clutching his forehead with one hand, he closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and practiced deep breathing until the ache slowly receded.
Time passed silently. Then, the sound of movement reached him. Nian Le opened his eyes to see Huo Weiran coming downstairs, moving through the dim light toward the refrigerator. He took out a bottle of water.
Feeling that his head had mostly recovered, Nian Le got up and turned on the light. Looking at the injured arm and the bottle of water, his expression softened as he approached.
“Do you need me to open it for you?”
He still hadn’t been discouraged.
Huo Weiran’s gray eyes swept faintly over the “little wife.” With one hand, he picked up the bottled water, tilted it at an angle, letting it graze across his firm abs. The cap instantly popped off and fell to the floor, bouncing twice.
He didn’t say a word the entire time. Tilting his head back, he took two sips of water, then held the bottle in one hand and headed upstairs, his demeanor cold and aloof.
[mfn] If you enjoy my translations, you can show your support by leaving a comment or donating to my Ko-fi. It will be much appreciated. Thank you! [/mfn]
