Chapter 13 Drawing Near

Chapter 13 Getting Closer

Xie Chong knew he was in the wrong but wouldn't admit it, and deliberately snapped at her: "What are you yelling for?!"

Mou Wen looked past him and asked, "What's behind you? You're not hiding some weapon to use on me, are you? Let me tell you, if we actually fought, you might not even beat me!"

Mou Wen had caught lambs out on the pasture before!

The stubborn little lamb ran around the pen, and Mou Wen followed the adults to catch it. She was still a tiny thing back then, diving forward to block the lamb's escape route before lifting it up.

The little lamb bleated indignantly, and her face, smudged with dirt, split into a delighted grin.

"I'll beat you senseless!" Xie Chong took two steps back, jerking his chin at the cabinet door: "Fix it now! Quit dragging your feet!" He quickly pulled his hand back to his chest, backing off.

Mou Wen got up from his bed and, when he wasn't looking, gave it two deliberate bounces: How was his mattress this comfortable? Mou Wen had never slept on a good mattress in her life, and now she could feel the difference between his and her own.

Mr. Xie really had it good.

She went to examine the handle. It wasn't Xie Chong's fault—the furniture factory hadn't driven the screws in properly. This kind of work was way too easy for Mou Wen. She'd been hardworking since she was a kid, cooking at seven or eight, and by her teens, she could handle all kinds of chores around the house.

She quickly fixed the handle and carefully checked the rest of them too. Worried something else in Xie Chong's place might break, she offered to do a full inspection of the whole house.

Xie Chong followed her around, watching her fiddle with things.

She could do anything and knew everything about it. Xie Chong had never met anyone with hands-on skills as strong as hers.

His phone rang, and he stepped away to answer it.

Mou Wen overheard him saying:

"I'm home alone, what's up?"

"I'm fine, I just don't feel like going out."

"That's all!"

Xie Chong hated people prying into his personal business; he didn't want to lay his life out for anyone to see. But those words sounded weird to Mou Wen.

If someone asked her what she was doing, she'd definitely say, "I'm fixing furniture at a client's house!" If she were Xie Chong, she'd say, "I'm busy—my cabinet door's broken, and I'm fixing it." She would tell the truth.

She thought: Maybe that's just how people differ.

Mou Wen didn't interrupt him or bring it up. After checking all the furniture, she thumped her chest and assured him, "I've checked everything—your money was definitely well spent! These pieces are all top quality."

For full-package clients like him, the company ordered all the furniture from the same factory, with strict quality requirements.

"And I just did a full quality check on your furniture too. Let me put it this way: within three years, as long as nobody deliberately breaks it, nothing will go wrong!"

Mou Wen felt this visit was totally worth it. Someone as picky as Xie Chong—she was really afraid he'd have something breaking every other day. The company promised a 10-year warranty for full-package clients, and she dreaded him causing trouble when she was super busy!

Now it was fine; she'd checked everything and felt at ease.

Xie Chong asked her, "Does my place look nice? Did you see those pots and dishes? Pretty, right?"

"Pretty, pretty." Mou Wen praised him sincerely, then remembered she needed Xie Chong to sign something for her.

She pulled a folder out of her canvas bag and took out a repair form, filling it out carefully.

Xie Chong hadn't expected this: she was actually pulling out a repair form like the other workers and asking him to sign it.

Seeing Xie Chong refuse to sign, Mou Wen spoke to him nicely, "Mr. Xie, look, this is part of my job. But today's the weekend—technically, a designer shouldn't have to do this kind of work. Still, to make sure your life goes smoothly, I came in person."

Xie Chong didn't budge.

She continued, "Please don't think I'm being pushy—I just want my boss to see how dedicated I am. And for this repair, I can apply for overtime..."

Xie Chong stopped messing with her, took the form, and signed it. As he signed, he asked, "All your furniture gets ordered from a factory in Hebei?"

"It's not far from Beijing—it's our own factory." Mou Wen didn't dare tell Xie Chong that furniture production was outsourced to a furniture factory, just as she didn't dare tell him that Foreman Liu was also just a subcontractor who took on work from many other companies.

Every industry has its own ins and outs. She didn't understand Xie Chong's work, and she couldn't lay her own livelihood bare for him to see.

These were things Mou Wen had gradually come to understand after starting her real job. She deliberately tried to figure out how the industry worked. Sometimes at night, with nothing to do at home, she would sketch out workflow diagrams on paper, finding it fascinating. She would also occasionally daydream: What if I started my own company? How would I go about it?

She didn't have the ability to start a company right now.

She had no money, no connections, and didn't understand the ropes. She was still just a "drawer of blueprints" who needed plenty of time to learn.

"Keeping secrets from me, huh?" Xie Chong scoffed. "I want to find a factory to produce a batch of wooden photo frames—see if any of them have mold-making and production capabilities."

"Our furniture factory only takes big orders—who has time for your little frames?" Mou Wen winked at him, deliberately trying to provoke him. When Xie Chong raised his hand as if to smack her, she dodged symbolically.

The furniture was fixed, and she couldn't linger any longer. Even though she loved Xie Chong's home, it was time to go.

As she headed toward the door and was about to change her shoes, Xie Chong asked, "How do you usually eat lunch on weekends?"

"I cook for myself."

"You can cook?" he asked.

"Can't you?" Mou Wen shot back. "Cooking—isn't that just something anyone with hands can do?"

Xie Chong wanted to strangle her.

When he studied abroad, all his Chinese classmates could cook, but he happened to be terrible at it. He hated the smell of oil and smoke. The Chinese restaurants overseas didn't taste the same as back home, but at least they were better than burgers and fries. He ate out for every meal, ordering several dishes each time and taking the leftovers home to eat later.

While his classmates studied hairstyling and cooking, he was studying how to make money.

His first real business venture was something like a personal shopper.

Jiang Wu wanted to eat chocolate, so he planned to buy a bit of everything. But he got carried away and ended up hauling back an entire box of chocolate. Jiang Wu couldn't eat that much, so he resold it at a high price.

"Being a middleman" was that fun? He found it enjoyable.

The day after selling the chocolate, he applied to register a trading company, and that's how the business began.

His parents didn't object.

They thought their son had a clear head and was decisive—since he had the idea to do business, they'd let him go for it. At first, they didn't expect much; they figured he'd gain some experience, take a few losses, and learn a lesson.

Until three months later, when he sold a batch of $300,000 worth of dressing mirrors from China to the UK. Only then did they realize: their son wasn't just playing around. He actually had the ability to make it work.

"I can't cook. I don't like cooking," Xie Chong said. "You say you have hands—well, let's see if you can actually cook well. You're not just bragging, are you?"

Mou Wen had never been one to back down from a challenge. Hearing him say that, every hair on her body stood up in defiance: "What makes you think I'm bragging? Just wait—if it tastes good, you owe me an apology!"

"If it tastes good, I'll call you grandma."

"Who wants you calling me grandma?"

A sudden surge of competitive spirit enveloped them both—since that was the case, they'd go stock up and then return for an all-out culinary showdown.

Xie Chong had a remote meeting to handle, which conveniently let him dodge the trip to the supermarket. Mou Wen extended her hand toward him: "Then give me the money, and I'll go buy."

"Are you really that stingy?" Xie Chong said as he pulled out his wallet, took out five hundred yuan, and handed it to Mou Wen, asking if it was enough. She replied, "With this much, I could buy half a supermarket~" Whenever she went to the supermarket herself, she only bought a few items, totaling no more than ten or twenty yuan. She didn't like hoarding things, afraid of waste, so she always bought just enough for the current meal—naturally, she never spent much.

Mou Wen took the money and headed off happily to the warehouse-style supermarket.

She absolutely loved browsing supermarkets.

How could there be a place as fun as a supermarket in this world? They had everything there. Sometimes she'd stand in front of the shelves, studying the strange product descriptions, finding it all fascinating.

Now she had a new hobby: enjoying supermarket trips without spending her own money.

If only every supermarket visit could be free of charge! She darted through the aisles joyfully, her mind automatically matching recipes to the ingredients she'd need. Just then, she received a message from Xie Chong: "I have nothing at home, not even oil and salt."

"What do you have at your place?" Mou Wen replied.

"I have the world's most beautiful tableware."

"But you don't even eat."

"I just like how they look. Got a problem with that?"

Mou Wen pursed her lips: Was this some rich person's quirky taste? Fancying flashy, impractical things and taking pride in them.

She picked out all those items for Xie Chong.

She compared prices, ingredients, and capacities carefully, just as she would for herself—even though it was Xie Chong's money, she didn't want to waste it.

When she exited the supermarket, she was carrying two enormous shopping bags in each hand. That didn't bother her; she hauled them to the bus stop, took the bus to near Xie Chong's place, and then carried them all the way to his door.

When Xie Chong saw Mou Wen, her T-shirt was already soaked.

On such a hot day, she'd hauled all those bags from the supermarket and taken the bus back. Xie Chong didn't understand and asked, "Why didn't you take a taxi? Were you short on cash?"

Mou Wen placed the remaining thirty-five yuan on the table: "I had enough, but I didn't want to take a taxi. It's not that big a deal."

She looked like she'd been baked by the August sun. Standing a meter away, Xie Chong could still feel the heat radiating off her. Her palms were left with two deep red lines from the heavy bags.

"Do you just love suffering?" Xie Chong was clearly displeased: "I gave you money. You could've taken a taxi and saved yourself the trouble, right?" He looked dead serious.

"But I didn't feel like I was suffering at all!" Mou Wen replied earnestly: "I thought it was fun! Really, browsing the supermarket was fun, waiting for the bus was fun, riding the bus was fun... Maybe it was a little hot on the way, but I didn't find it unpleasant..."

Mou Wen had no idea why Xie Chong was so serious.

Xie Chong had never had a hard day in his life—actually, he'd never had a single ordinary day. In this world, the vast majority of people lived like that: browsing supermarkets, squeezing onto buses, cooking at home, and nickel-and-diming over every penny.

But she didn't explain further, because at that moment, he handed her a tub of Häagen-Dazs.

Mou Wen had only had Häagen-Dazs once before. It was during her school days that a teacher took them to an event, and afterward, the organizers treated them to a buffet where each person got a little scoop of Häagen-Dazs.

In summer, the popsicles she ate most often were cream bars and snowman popsicles. Back in the small supermarket in her hometown, there were also those "green tongue" popsicles—soft, green, and when you ate them, it was like licking a long "tongue." They weren't that tasty, but kids loved them, waving them around while eating.

Xie Chong silently opened the lid and offered it to her: "Eat!"

"Then I'll really dig in?" Mou Wen asked politely, getting a fierce glare from him.

Mou Wen immediately scooped a small bite into her mouth. A little sweetness and coolness spread across her tongue, and her eyes crinkled happily into crescents.

"This is so good," she said.

"Have as much as you want," Xie Chong said. "Can you manage the cooking on your own later? I have a meeting."

"I've got this! Let me use your fancy kitchen!"

The kitchen had both a Western-style and a Chinese-style stove, positioned on either side. His kitchen was so big that Mou Wen could dance in it.

Her mother, Ge Yunqing, had spent her whole life stuck in a bun shop, always dreaming of owning a huge kitchen. Not the kind with the sky as the ceiling and the earth as the floor like in the grasslands, but a really modern, bright, clean, and spacious one.

Xie Chong had that kitchen.

Mou Wen slid the kitchen door shut, sealing herself inside.

Even though Xie Chong had already shown off his luxurious cookware and tableware, she admired them all over again. She really marveled at his aesthetic—those porcelain pieces were so clean and translucent, each pattern handcrafted. How much did they cost, she wondered.

Then she got down to business.

She didn't make anything fancy for Xie Chong; she decided to make dumplings. Mou Wen's skill with noodles and dough came from her mother—dumplings, buns, flatbreads, steamed buns, noodles... These staples that were a constant in her life were the greatest comfort during her countless days and nights away studying and working.

Xie Chong was connecting to an international meeting and was furious at the people on the call. An order he'd placed for some items he'd spotted in Jingdezhen was going to be delayed because some reckless young punk named Chen had offered the factory a higher price to cut in line.

Xie Chong demanded they fulfill the contract immediately, threatening, "Otherwise, I'll sue you into bankruptcy. Don't mess with me."

Xie Chong had his own principles in business. He valued integrity, and when he encountered those who went back on their word, he fought them to the end. He'd also battle anyone who tried to cut in on his deals. His legal team was always busy, suing one person today and another tomorrow, claiming they were straightening out the market.

During the meeting, he got up to refill his cup. Passing by the kitchen, he saw Mou Wen inside, chopping the dumpling filling with a rhythmic clatter. She held a knife in each hand, taking turns chopping on the cutting board, her body swaying slightly with the motion.

Was she humming? Do people actually hum while they cook? She looked so happy.

She was a real pro at making dumplings.

Just like my grandma.

Is my grandma reincarnated?

Xie Chong nearly fell to his knees before Mou Wen's back.

He stood there watching for a bit. His mother never cooked, and his father never lifted a finger. His memories of the kitchen were tied to both his grandmothers. He thought it was unusual—a woman in her early twenties, humming in the kitchen.

Mou Wen had no idea about any of this: she was focused on showing off her cooking skills to knock that condescending attitude out of Xie Chong. She was super competitive—if she was going to do it, she'd do it perfectly. She wanted to see Xie Chong's eyes pop at "how delicious this is" and have him beg her to make it again.

She made him lamb, carrot, and scallion dumplings, made a pot of stewed lamb chops, stir-fried some beef, smashed cucumbers, and tossed a spinach salad. All just home cooking.

As the meal was almost done, Xie Chong finally finished his meeting. He walked into the kitchen and talked to Mou Wen with a tone of great respect: "You're just like my grandma."

Mou Wen raised the ladle like she was going to hit him: "Are you crazy? What nonsense are you talking every time? Is that how you talk to your grandma?"

Xie Chong laughed: "My grandma made dumplings for me."

"Then go find your grandma."

"My grandma's dead," Xie Chong said. "My other grandma could make them too, but not as good. She's dead too."

"..." Mou Wen asked, "So how did you eat when you were little? Were your parents really busy?"

"When I was taking horseback riding lessons, I'd mooch meals at the club. There was a family there who were really kind—they always made food for me too. I loved eating their food."

It must have been a beautiful memory, because Mou Wen saw a look of deep feeling flicker in Xie Chong's eyes.

She was really curious to hear that story.

But Xie Chong was drawn to the dumplings, grabbed one. It was so hot that he winced, spinning in place and blowing steam toward the ceiling. Mou Wen couldn't help rolling her eyes. Then she heard Xie Chong say, "How many did you make?"

"Forty."

"Do you know how much two normal, healthy adults can put away?" Xie Chong began to nitpick. "You made too few."

"You're not eating any veggies, are you?"

"I am."

"Then shut it."

The two bickered while setting the table, then sat down across from each other. Xie Chong said, "Dumplings with booze, the more you drink, the more you've got," and went to his liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Moutai.

Mou Wen had never tried Moutai and insisted on trying it. He poured her a small shot glass. She tipped her head back, let out a "zir" as she downed it, and even copied her elders with a "siha" gasp.

Xie Chong laughed, resting his hand on his forehead.

Neither of them thought anything was amiss. In this big city, two young people just sat down together for a meal. At least that's what Xie Chong thought.

He ate with gusto.

Mou Wen hadn't bragged: she really could cook.

He even thought about paying her to come cook for him whenever she was free—after all, he had no one to cook for him, and she needed the money.

But he quickly suppressed that thought, because he caught a look Mou Wen hadn't pulled away yet.

It was a look Xie Chong had seen in many women's eyes:

Admiration.