Chapter 146

Chapter 146

◎I'll Cook for You.◎

The very person who had driven him to such a destitute state now dared to mock his lack of ambition—this was truly, folks, the tables have turned!

In an instant, Meng Qi's grievance burst inside him like a firecracker, a whirlwind of feelings crashed down on him like a meteor shower. Feelings of dread, oppression, suffocation, despair—all mashed together, squeezing his chest tight, leaving him breathless, dizzy, and nauseous. It was unbearable.

He felt he had to blow off this pent-up resentment that was thrashing around in his heart, or else he wouldn't be Meng Qi anymore—he'd be Meng the Blowfish!

Without warning, Meng Qi whipped his head up and drove his skull right into Ren Suiyi's chin. Ren Suiyi hissed and sucked in a sharp breath, immediately let go of the hand pinning his neck, instead rubbing his own jaw.

Now!

In a flash, Meng Qi seized the opportunity to break free from Ren Suiyi's grip, stepping back a large pace. Like greased lightning, he shoved the whole cold steamed bun he was holding into Ren Suiyi's open mouth. To avoid waking the others, he hissed through gritted teeth, "You're the one who's crying! Open your eyes and see—even if everyone in the world cries, I won't!"

Then he sniffled hard, blinking back the tears.

Ren Suiyi pulled the cold bun out of his mouth and eyed it, asking in a cool tone, "Why's it so cold? You think that feels good? Do you often eat like this? No wonder your stomach hurts."

Like talking to a wall—and completely illogical, too.

Meng Qi didn't want to answer. He just turned his back on him, pretending Ren Suiyi didn't exist, and continued searching the counter for something else edible. Moving around like that used up even more energy, and he was even hungrier.

Ren Suiyi trailed after him, still rambling, "You don't want snacks? We've got eggs, noodles, lots of veggies here… How about a bowl of clear noodle soup? I'll make it for you."

What?!

When he was starving, down to his last ounce of strength, and someone said they'd make him a bowl of noodle soup—who could refuse that? How could anyone say no to that?!

Of course not!

Even if they laced it with rat poison, he'd still want a taste! When you're starving, even an enemy offering food becomes a friend, and Ren Suiyi wasn't exactly his enemy.

At that thought, Meng Qi froze, his eyes gleaming as he turned, staring at Ren Suiyi like he was a hot bowl of soup. He was this close to saying yes.

But reality quickly snapped him out of it, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

He really wanted that soup, but he didn't exactly trust Master Ren's cooking skills. What if it was all talk, just getting his hopes up? That would be more painful than rat poison.

"You want some? Easy. Give me a few minutes, and I'll whip it up." Ren Suiyi's lips curled up.

That small move from Meng Qi flipped a switch in Ren Suiyi, making him instantly happier and calmer. He quickly grabbed a chair and set it down in front of Meng Qi, telling him to sit and wait, while he snagged an apron from the peg and tied it on—actually looked the part.

Meng Qi sat down slowly, full of hope, watching Ren Suiyi roll up his sleeves... over and over again.

Why was he still just rolling his sleeves in circles?

The confidence from Ren Suiyi's smooth apron-tying evaporated as he kept fumbling with his sleeves. And he was still at it… Meng Qi couldn't help frowning, wondering what Ren Suiyi was up to?

He could actually cook something for himself; it wasn't that he couldn't.

But he was too hungry. His first thought upon entering the kitchen was to find something ready to eat and fill his stomach quickly. After failing to find anything good, he got hungrier, his emotions collapsed, and he felt so wronged that he no longer had the mood or energy to cook for himself.

That novel never mentioned Ren Suiyi cooking, so Meng Qi didn't know if he could. Based on his limited understanding of typical CEOs, he instinctively assumed Ren Suiyi couldn't cook. Later, Ren Suiyi's skilled apron-tying changed his mind, and he started to hope for that bowl of clear noodle soup…

But his hopes were misplaced! The greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment!

Even an octopus would have finished rolling its sleeves by now, and Ren Suiyi was still spinning in circles! Was he glitched or what?

Meng Qi felt dizzy watching Ren Suiyi roll his sleeves, so he rubbed his forehead. His stomach growled, and he felt even hungrier, so he had to ask, "What are you even looking for?"

Ren Suiyi glanced sideways at Meng Qi, a puzzled look on his face, and asked, "Where's the gas range?"

After asking, he even leaned out to look beyond the kitchen door.

As the corner of Meng Qi's mouth twitched, the disappointment in his heart crumbled into the Taklamakan Desert.

He should never have expected anything, right? The young master can't cook without a gas stove, can he?

Under Ren Suiyi's eager gaze, Meng Qi, heart sinking, pointed a shaking finger at the soot-black stove opening, and said with difficulty, "No gas, no propane either. Uncle Gu doesn't do electric stuff, so no induction cooker. Brother Yiyi, this is a farmhouse wood stove. You light a fire and cook with wood. Can you handle that?"

"…Why not? It's still using fire to cook." Ren Suiyi stared blankly at the soot-blackened stove opening for a few seconds, then nodded in affirmation, "Organic, natural. Good."

"That's why everyone loves Uncle Gu's cooking. Dishes stewed over a wood fire, and porridge—they're really fragrant." The mention of food made Meng Qi's mouth water. He unconsciously licked his lips, as if the flavors of the delicious dishes from dinner still lingered on them—sweet, oily…

Let him console himself with this small illusion.

Ren Suiyi bent down, cupped Meng Qi's face in both hands, and rubbed his cheeks, promising with flamboyant confidence, "Just wait—your big bro is going to make you something way better!"

Up to now, including his grandparents, Meng Qi had never found anyone whose cooking could beat Elder Gu's. Although Ren Suiyi said that with great confidence, Meng Qi didn't hold high hopes for the taste of the clear noodle soup Ren Suiyi would make. At most, he hoped it would be hot and cooked, so he wouldn't have to eat cold food on this early winter night.

Clang, clang, clang—the sound of chopping came from nearby.

Smooth, powerful, rhythmic. Meng Qi stared incredulously at Ren Suiyi's back for a long time before daring to believe that Ren Suiyi could indeed cook. His skilled knife work was proof enough.

Maybe it was okay to have a little hope?

Meng Qi licked his lips again, slightly refreshing his opinion of Ren Suiyi.

The side dishes were prepared, placed in separate bowls, and arranged on the stove. Then he took out two eggs, gently cracked them on the edge of a bowl, and with a quick squeeze of thumb, index, and middle fingers, the yellow-and-white egg liquid slid smoothly into the bowl. The chopsticks used to beat the eggs spun rapidly, clattering against the porcelain bowl in a crisp, rhythmic melody.

Could someone actually turn the process of cooking into a visually pleasing performance art piece?

Meng Qi couldn't help thinking to himself: Cool! It's really unfair—compared to him, his cooking was never this elegant. He always seemed flustered, forgetting one thing or another, and the kitchen was usually a mess after he was done. Unlike Ren Suiyi, who could plate everything beautifully while keeping the counter clean.

If Ren Suiyi's cooking was like creating art, then his own cooking was really like fighting a small battle on a battlefield.

Ren Suiyi took about four or five minutes to arrange everything needed for the clear noodle soup on the stove. The next step should be lighting the fire, right? Meng Qi, who was attentively monitoring the progress, thought to himself: Would he be able to light the fire? Should he offer to help, or wait for him to embarrass himself? But if he messes up, it'll slow down my meal, won't it?

As he passed by Meng Qi, Ren Suiyi reached out and pinched the back of Meng Qi's neck, saying, "Be good, wait a little longer."

This gave Meng Qi goosebumps all over his back.

All his life, only his grandparents had called him "good boy" or "good grandson." At the time, he thought it was just a normal term of endearment, no different from calling his name. But now, hearing Ren Suiyi say "good" in such a casual tone felt so strange to him, like an electric shock running through his heart, numbing him…

Meng Qi reached back to scratch his back—it itched, he wanted to scratch it.

Ren Suiyi was stuffing firewood into the stove, not the easy-to-light dry grass, but pieces of firewood—ones that Liang Wenkai had chopped in advance.

Seeing Meng Qi twisting his body to try to scratch his back, Ren Suiyi casually threw down the firewood, stood up, and walked toward Meng Qi, asking as he approached, "Back itchy? Can you reach it? Let me help you."

Startled, Meng Qi immediately put his hands down, sat up straight, and repeatedly refused, "No need, it's not itchy anymore."

Ren Suiyi stopped short, his mouth a tight line. He said nothing and didn’t continue walking toward Meng Qi. A few seconds later, he turned around and sat down on the small wooden stool that Elder Gu usually used for cooking, then resumed focusing on adding firewood to the stove.

When he counted to eleven, Meng Qi’s hope quietly crumbled again.

“Bro, you can’t pile that much firewood into the stove before lighting it. You need to use dry grass as kindling to start the fire first, and only then add the firewood,” Meng Qi reminded.

Ren Suiyi still said nothing, silently pulling out the firewood he had stuffed into the stove one by one.

His look of awkward embarrassment mixed with helpless grievance made Meng Qi laugh out loud.

“Author’s Note”

To find inspiration, I took a job as a nanny (?). Did inspiration come? No [crying]. Did my energy go away? Yes [crying]. I can’t get enough sleep every day, oh my... A draft from days ago, only today I had the energy to take it out and revise it [crying].