Mianmian laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I suppose I can make an exception—just for you, Mr. Lu."
She turned toward the kitchen, her footsteps light, shoulders easing with something that felt dangerously close to happiness. Her voice floated back over her shoulder. "You're lucky I didn't throw out the last of the soup bones."
Yanchen took a seat by the window, resting his arms on the table, watching her silhouette move with the quiet confidence of someone entirely in her element.
Ten minutes later, the savory scent of spiced broth and stewed beef filled the air once again.
Mianmian emerged with a deep ceramic bowl, steam rising from thick-cut noodles nestled under tender slices of beef, crisp greens, and a soft-boiled egg marinated in soy. A small dish of pickled vegetables sat on the side.
She placed it in front of him with a quiet, "Hope it's still to your taste."
