"What time is it?" The drowsy voice came as Lan Ying's heart skipped a beat.
She thought it was just a passing thought, but didn't expect her mistress to actually drift off so comfortably.
"Five minutes to ten, madam," Lan Ying replied.
The person reclining on the chaise longue slowly got up, reaching out to peel off the mask from her face: "Is there anything to eat?"
"Yes, there is."
At ten thirty, Lan Ying brought out a bowl of tomato beef noodles, the noodles and soup distinct, making it look appetizing.
A simple bowl of beef noodles was transformed by Lan Ying into a dish full of color, aroma, and taste.
Jiang Muwan ate this bowl of noodles very slowly.
How slow?
Slow enough that by the time Lan Ying had cleaned the kitchen, only a quarter of the noodles were gone.
A pace comparable to a snail.
At eleven o'clock, Jiang Muwan put down her chopsticks, both the noodles and the soup were finished.
