Chapter 92 Picky Eater Ordinary Person

Chapter 92: A Picky Eater, Just an Ordinary Person

Shen Shiyan slept especially soundly this time.

In the hazy dream, there were his mother and Shen Ci. He couldn't quite remember where they were, only that Shen Ci was in a white suit with a white veil over his head, and his mother was crying on the side.

"Little Baby, be happy forever with the person you love."

A gentle, soft voice—not the one from the phone, but the one from when he was old enough to remember things, the one that used to tell him stories.

The applause around them was enthusiastic. Shen Sicheng toasted him, joking that he'd finally gotten what he wanted.

In the dream, Shen Shiyan lifted the white veil from Shen Ci's face. He could faintly hear piano music in the background—the wedding march.

The morning light faded, and the sunlight, now harsher, fell on Shen Shiyan. He shielded his eyes with his arm and, rolling over, touched the spot beside him. It was cold, with no trace of body heat.

The dream shattered in an instant. Shen Shiyan opened his eyes. The room was empty, just him.

"Shen Ci?" Shen Shiyan rubbed his temples.

No one answered.

Aside from a lingering weakness, Shen Shiyan felt fine otherwise. The fever had completely broken, and his head was clear.

He rubbed his slightly sore shoulder, slid on his slippers, and left the bedroom. He stopped short at the sofa, frozen in place.

He saw Shen Ci standing quietly in the kitchen, holding a ladle and stirring a pot in circles. Shen Shiyan watched him pick up his phone from the marble counter and unlock it—probably looking something up again.

"Shen Ci." Shen Shiyan called his name in a low voice.

"Brother!" Shen Ci turned around and smiled at him. "You're awake! Are you hungry? Breakfast will be done in a few minutes..."

As he spoke, his movements slowed, and something splashed out of the white clay pot, scalding Shen Ci. He yelped, and the ladle clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces.

Shen Shiyan rushed over, worried. With one hand, he deftly turned off the gas, and with the other, he gently grabbed Shen Ci's wrist and guided his scalded hand under the cold water from the faucet.

"Does it hurt? Where else did you burn? What about your other hand?" Shen Shiyan, flustered with worry, frantically checked Shen Ci's exposed skin.

The pain faded the second the cold water hit the back of his hand. Shen Ci looked into Shen Shiyan's worried eyes and felt an inexplicable sense of grievance.

"It hurts." Shen Ci didn't hesitate to play up his weakness. Then, remembering the pot, he twisted around to check it. "My red date, longan, lotus seed, and white fungus soup!"

A very long name.

Shen Shiyan put an arm around Shen Ci's shoulder, holding him still. He turned off the faucet, grabbed a paper towel from a small rack nearby, and carefully dried Shen Ci's hand. "The heat was too high. You have to keep stirring the soup constantly, without stopping. It's easy to get burned."

Shen Ci tilted his head, looking at the mess on the floor, feeling even more upset. "It was my first time making it. The tutorial didn't go into that much detail. I was almost done."

Shen Shiyan held Shen Ci's hand, palm up, revealing only two faint red marks on the back. He gently blew on Shen Ci's hand, a trace of self-blame in his expression. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have distracted you."

He let go of Shen Ci, rolled up his pajama sleeves, grabbed the cleaning tools, and cleaned up the broken pieces and leftover soup.

The feeling in Shen Ci's hand was completely back to normal. In an instant, he remembered he had been cooking for Shen Shiyan. Now the roles were reversed, and the patient had taken over the rest of the work.

"Does it still hurt?" Shen Shiyan added a little purified water to the pot. Luckily, he had turned off the heat quickly, so it wasn't burnt. "If it still hurts, go run it under cold water for a bit longer."

"Brother." Shen Ci didn't answer. Before the stove was lit again, he came over, wrapped his arms around Shen Shiyan's neck, pulled him down, and stood on his tiptoes to press his cheek against Shen Shiyan's. Only then did he let go, looking relieved. "The fever's gone. Do you still feel bad?"

"I'm fine now." Shen Shiyan looked at Shen Ci for a few seconds as the gas stove clicked and ignited. "Go wait at the table."

Shen Ci obediently said, "Okay."

"What made you want to make this?" Shen Shiyan took a small sip of the sweet soup from the ladle, watching Shen Ci eat distractedly.

"Sick people should eat something light." Shen Ci chewed a lotus seed very slowly. "I know you don't like plain congee."

Shen Shiyan paused. He really didn't like congee, but he'd never said so. Since moving to the new house, Shen Ci had never asked for congee either. He had hardly ever made it. Shen Shiyan didn't know how Shen Ci had figured out such a small detail.

"Back in the Shen family, during morning training, whenever there was congee for breakfast, you never drank it," Shen Ci said, as if reading Shen Shiyan's thoughts. "That's also why I was a bit bolder, more willing to get close to you. Because I felt that the usually formidable Shen Shiyan was actually just an ordinary person who could be a picky eater."

An ordinary person.

An extremely subtle word.

Shen Shiyan suddenly felt very grateful that he had a heart that would always soften for Shen Ci.

So, a long time ago, the person he had decided to raise and nurture had also been secretly observing him. He had chosen to get closer because he saw that Shen Shiyan was more like an ordinary person.

Now, Shen Ci was still by his side. He would stay up all night with him when he was sick. This person, spoiled and never having set foot in a kitchen, had woken up early to cook for him.

He remembered that beautiful yet fragile dream from the morning—the dream of his wedding to Shen Ci.

Whether Shen Shiyan was just an experiment for Shen Ci's affection no longer seemed to matter.

Shen Ci slowly emerged from his sullen mood. He put down his spoon. "And, I also know you don't like eating toon, nor crown daisy, nor ginger, nor lamb."

Every ingredient he listed was spot on—all things Shen Shiyan disliked.

"What surprises me more than your picky eating is that you're afraid of spiders." Shen Ci recalled something from his second year of middle school and chuckled. "But all of this makes me feel like you're a vivid, living person. It makes me... more..."

*Like...*

He didn't say those two words. Shen Ci was a bit afraid. He worried Shen Shiyan wouldn't accept it, and even more that saying it would change Shen Shiyan, that he would no longer spoil and indulge him like this.

Besides, pouring out such heartfelt words at breakfast was hardly appropriate.

Shen Shiyan listened very seriously. He chuckled as well, stood up, and ladled himself another half bowl. Looking at Shen Ci, he asked, "Makes you what?"

Shen Ci sat across from him, watching Shen Shiyan spoon the white fungus soup—which he considered his own creation—into his mouth, one spoonful at a time.

"Makes me like you more." Shen Ci couldn't help it. He said it quietly. He didn't look away, nervously watching Shen Shiyan's expression.

The latter still calmly drank his soup. There was no exaggerated reaction, no obvious stunned expression. Just a very faint, "Mm."

Only Shen Shiyan himself felt the momentary weakness in the wrist holding the spoon.

To Shen Ci, "like you more" was almost akin to a confession. But to Shen Shiyan, it was just four of the most ordinary words in life. Shen Ci, though not particularly perceptive about feelings, was the best at expressing himself. From the time he was eleven until now, Shen Shiyan had heard him say "I like you" and "I love you" countless times.

Shen Shiyan was used to categorizing these expressions as familial affection.

Even after he had realized his own feelings, every time he heard such words, he couldn't help but be moved.

"Don't be upset about breaking the spoon." Shen Shiyan pushed his empty bowl aside. "It was delicious. A very successful first time in the kitchen."

Shen Ci's eyes widened slightly. His earlier unhappiness was almost gone.

"Shen Ci." Shen Shiyan saw a hint of excitement and eagerness in his eyes. "That was comfort, not encouragement."

"One person who can cook is enough."

The kitchen was a bit dangerous for Shen Ci. Those faint red marks were already enough to make Shen Shiyan's heart ache.