Chapter 38: Actually, I Only Know How to Cook Instant Noodles

Leng Mohan did not object; he merely watched her retreating figure and let out a soft sigh.

Lin Yan arrived in the kitchen, gazing at the rows of neatly arranged tableware. She ran her fingers lightly over them—they were pristine, white, and smooth to the touch, yet she did not know how to use a single one.

She stood there, dazed and at a loss.

Leng Mohan leaned his head back against the sofa, feeling a wave of exhaustion. He had compressed two weeks' worth of work into one, waking up at four or five in the morning and not sleeping until two or three the next day. He was truly worn out.

With his eyes closed and drifting into a light slumber, he suddenly jolted awake to find Lin Yan standing by the doorway, her doe-like eyes tilted as she watched him.

"Is the noodles ready? That was fast," Leng Mohan asked with a faint, amused smile.

"No... um, how about I order takeout for you?" Lin Yan said, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Why?"

"I... I only know how to make instant noodles. I don't know how to cook raw noodles." Lin Yan lowered her head further.

Her expression made Leng Mohan laugh out loud.

"Silly girl."

Leng Mohan stood up and walked steadily out of the room toward the stairs.

Lin Yan stood frozen in the room. He had just said two words—what were they? "Silly girl"? The tone had held a hint of indulgence that she took a long time to process, yet a faint sweetness bloomed in her heart.

Biting her lower lip, she headed downstairs five minutes later.

The living room was empty. Just as she was considering whether to call for takeout, she heard a rhythmic chopping sound coming from the kitchen.

She turned and ran into the kitchen to find Leng Mohan wearing an apron that was slightly too small for his frame, whisking eggs while chopped tomatoes sat on the marble countertop.

The scene was somewhat comical, yet it struck a chord deep within Lin Yan. Leng Mohan actually knew how to cook, and judging by his movements, he was quite skilled.

In the two years they had been married, she had never known this. She had been trying so hard to be a good wife, yet she knew nothing about her own husband.

"Go watch some TV in the living room; it'll be ready soon," Leng Mohan said, using his chopsticks to scramble the eggs.

Lin Yan blinked. "Do you not need my help?"

Leng Mohan glanced back at her without a word. Lin Yan felt too shy to just wait in the living room, so the spacious kitchen became the setting for an unusual scene: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a small apron was busy boiling water, chopping vegetables, and stir-frying, while the petite woman behind him followed him like a shadow, moving wherever he moved.

She looked down at his feet, matching his stride step for step. Though her pace was shorter than his, she kept her movements perfectly in sync with his, like his shadow.

When it was finally time to stir-fry, Leng Mohan looked back at Lin Yan and noticed she was curiously watching his footsteps. He smiled faintly, holding the spatula in one hand and reaching out with the other. "Yan, could you hand me that?"

Lin Yan looked up, her eyes bright with a spark of joy. She happily scurried over to the other side of the counter, grabbed a white container, and presented it to him like a treasure.

He curled his lips into a smile and pried open the lid. He furrowed his brows, letting out a soft chuckle; it seemed he had truly overestimated his little wife’s culinary expertise.