Han Zhenzhen found herself in a pickle with an onion in hand. At home, she was the kind of pampered rich young lady who never lifted a finger—even when she wanted a glass of water, a servant would bring it to her immediately.
The only things she ever did by herself in her life were probably bathing, dressing, and eating. Asking her to chop an onion was like asking the onion to chop her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yan Luoxi watching her with a look that clearly said she was ready for a show. Biting her lip, Han Zhenzhen walked over to the faucet and washed the onion under the water.
Yan Luoxi stepped aside and peeled garlic with Song Xuan, her sideways glance always monitoring Han Zhenzhen's awkward struggle with the knife—clearly at a loss on where to start. She shook her head gently.
Spurred by Yan Luoxi's expression, Han Zhenzhen thought to herself, "It's just an onion, I can do it!"
