TSDT - 13

Meng Jingshu didn’t approve of her cooking. His reason was: “Who was just crying and screaming in pain? And now you’re still messing around?”

Jiang Ying emphasized: “I wasn’t crying, okay?”

The pain just made her eyes water a bit, but absolutely no tears fell. She didn’t cry, she was strong, this was very important.

“It’s just a sprain, not a broken leg. And cooking uses hands, not feet.” She shuffled a few small steps to the kitchen. Actually, if she just walked slowly, her foot didn’t feel anything.

Meng Jingshu stood behind her, his low, cold voice remarking, “Stubborn.”

Jiang Ying glared at him: “All these fresh vegetables will go bad if we don’t eat them, it’s a waste.” She quickly picked out a few ingredients from the fridge and asked him, “Any dietary restrictions?”

Meng Jingshu shook his head.

Young Master Meng had absolutely no self-awareness as a guest. While the host was cooking, he didn’t even sit down and wait properly. Instead, he stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall behind Jiang Ying, looking like he was watching to see what kind of trouble she would cause.

Washing and chopping, vegetables sizzling in the hot pan, the aroma filling the air, Jiang Ying’s hands never stopped. Seeing Meng Jingshu idle, she even ordered him around.

“Hey, open the door to let the smell out.”

“Water, water, give me water. Not for drinking, tap water!”

“Throw these in the trash can.”

“Dinner’s ready, go turn off the power.”

...

When had Young Master Meng ever done such chores? Although he did as told, he exuded displeasure, glancing sideways at her. Jiang Ying was busy tending the fire and seasoning, completely oblivious.

“...”

No interaction, no confrontation.

Never mind.

As the dishes were almost ready, Jiang Ying felt they needed a little garnish. She took a bunch of green onions from the fridge, ready to wash and chop them to sprinkle into the pot.

She turned around and saw Meng Jingshu washing his hands after throwing away eggshells.

“Oh dear.”

Meng Jingshu paused, turning to look at her: “What?”

Jiang Ying threw the green onions back into the fridge: “Suddenly remembered, you don’t eat green onions.”

Meng Jingshu was silent.

He was quite particular about his diet. His grandmother had lectured him about it countless times since he was a child. The old lady was soft-hearted and only scolded him a few times each time, ultimately still letting him have his way. After college, living alone, he had indeed reined himself in quite a bit. Socializing and entertaining, he couldn’t be arbitrary; he hadn’t brought up this habit in a long time.

Actually, he could eat them now.

But he didn’t want to say.

The apartment only had one multi-purpose table and two chairs; eating, working, and entertainment all happened there. Jiang Ying spread a purple-gray checkered tablecloth on the table, and all the dishes were laid out: eggplant with minced meat, shrimp and egg custard, oyster sauce lettuce, and two bowls of rice, arranged horizontally, perfectly filling the width of the table when they sat down.

Meng Jingshu took a bite, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He turned his head, and Jiang Ying was resting her face in her hands, waiting for his evaluation.

“Delicious,” he said honestly.

To be frank, he hadn’t had high expectations for Jiang Ying’s cooking. The same dish could be made in a thousand different ways by different people, but hers, just perfectly, was exactly to his liking.

Jiang Ying hummed proudly, “Of course.”

Twenty minutes later, the dishes were empty. Jiang Ying had about half a bowl of rice left, couldn’t eat it, and poured it away.

Meng Jingshu said, “Now you’re not calling it a waste?”

Jiang Ying: “Can’t hear, can’t hear.”

Meng Jingshu: “...”

Jiang Ying couldn’t stand the presence of greasy utensils and immediately cleared the dishes to wash them after dinner.

Meng Jingshu remembered that last time at his place, after she drank milk, he put the cup in the sink, intending to let the hourly cleaner handle it the next day. He woke up first the next morning, passed the kitchen, and found the sink empty. Next to it, a set of sparkling clean cups were neatly inverted.

After a full meal, people tend to become lazy, their thoughts drift, and they don’t want to move.

Meng Jingshu handled the messages on his phone, but his gaze kept being drawn to her slender figure.

After tidying up the kitchen efficiently, Jiang Ying sat back down to rest, opened her laptop, chose a variety show, and started her night. They didn’t talk much, each doing their own thing, like deskmates quietly studying during self-study in middle school.

At some point, Meng Jingshu was drawn by Jiang Ying’s laughter. He pulled his chair closer, and Jiang Ying shared an earbud with him.

They melted into the laziness of the night, enjoying their leisure, with occasional laughter and chatter.

Who knows how much time passed. The player automatically skipped to a new episode. When it reached a certain point, Jiang Ying became alert.

She said, “It’s getting late, you should go.”

Relaxation was suddenly shattered, an important need stifled.

Meng Jingshu abruptly sat up straight, turning to look at her: “Why should I go?”

Jiang Ying met his gaze. When he slightly furrowed his brow, his severe demeanor could really intimidate people.

She met his questioning gaze, tilting her head: “Otherwise?”

He said nothing, his expression even colder.

Jiang Ying chuckled softly.

It had to be said, men were quite transparent in certain aspects. She could see the displeasure of an unfulfilled desire for intimacy on his stern face; every unmoving eyelash expressed his unfulfilled craving.

His face grew darker and darker as she laughed. When Jiang Ying had laughed enough, she explained, “Not tonight, it’s my period.”

Initially, she had truly just wanted to simply eat frog, which was why she suggested noon. Who knew that she had time off, he was free too, and then they ran into all sorts of messy things, which made it so late. She hadn’t originally intended for him to come to her place.

One sentence crushed Meng Jingshu’s sternness. His lips parted, and he quickly said, “I’m not...”

He abruptly cut off the rest of his words, unsure what to say or what he could say. He sharply turned his head, no longer looking at Jiang Ying.

Unbeknownst to herself, Jiang Ying felt particularly pleased when she saw his ears slightly reddened.

She merrily pushed him up: “Go, go, and take the trash out for me. See you next time~”

Meng Jingshu’s face was still grim, his lips tightly pressed, as he stood up to get his jacket.

Jiang Ying sat watching him, finding it amusing, and added, “If you really can’t stand it, go find someone else. It’s not too late now.”

Meng Jingshu, exasperated by her, sneered, “You’re quite the planner.”

Jiang Ying smiled and waved goodbye to him: “Bye-bye.”

Watching him walk to the door, Jiang Ying suddenly remembered something, something that annoyed her. She called out to him: “Wait a second.”

Meng Jingshu stood still, coldly.

Jiang Ying pulled a small paper bag from the corner of the wall and handed it to Meng Jingshu: “I forgot earlier, your stuff.”

Meng Jingshu glanced at her, and at her signal, took out the contents.

“...”

It was that shirt.

It was a gift from Fu Xuan for one of his birthdays, and it was also the most direct evidence of her judgment that he had changed his mind during their last argument, and her proof to the world that she had been wronged.

Triple Kill.

Meng Jingshu’s face was ashen. He stuffed the shirt and the bag together into a trash bag, tying the opening tightly.

He said fiercely, “Jiang Ying, you just wait!”

...

Wait for what?

She didn’t know.

Who cared?

Jiang Ying only cared about her own happiness, as if by making him angry, her negative energy would be released, and a surge of joy would well up from the bottom of her heart.

After showering, feeling refreshed, Jiang Ying’s conscience pricked her, and she sent Meng Jingshu a WeChat message to check on him.

Jiang Ying: “Did you get home?”

A few seconds later, he replied directly with a [smiling face].

Driven by mischief, Jiang Ying asked again: “Or did you go find someone else?”

This time, there was no further response.

Jiang Ying pouted.

Hmph, cheapskate.