The living room was filled with a strange smell. Fan Rou sniffed carefully — it was the smell of something burnt.
"What did you do?" Fan Rou's eyes, like searchlights, sized up Fan Li.
Fan Li lowered her head in embarrassment, "Cook, cooked food."
This month since she moved out, she'd been ordering takeout. The delivery guys in the neighborhood already knew her.
Those few restaurants, she was sick of them long ago and wanted to try something different, so she thought she'd learn to cook herself.
"I didn't expect that with too little water, it would start burning."
She clearly followed the recipe, but it turned out a complete mess, and she didn't know why.
Fan Rou picked up the cookbook thrown into the trash can, carefully looked it over and said, "The recipe isn't wrong. If you can't cook well, what's the point in blaming it?"
"Are you saying I did it wrong?" Fan Li retorted, her neck stiff, refusing to admit any mistake.
"That's just the reality, isn't it?"
