Wen Jiaren stood at the kitchen entrance, watching the figure busily moving inside, feeling a slight tingling at the tip of her nose and with eyes full of affection and reluctance.
She walked over, picked up a scarf that was lying nearby, and tied it around him from behind, "Don't get oil stains on yourself."
Mu Qian was frying eggs and felt the softness behind him, a warmth spreading in his heart, enveloping his cold heart and slowly warming it up, "How well done do you want the eggs?"
"What?"
Wen Jiaren leaned her face against his upright back, lazily responding.
He hooked the corner of his mouth, "The eggs, how well done do you want them?"
Wen Jiaren said, "I want them well done."
That way, she could hold him a little longer.
After finishing the noodles, Wen Jiaren picked up a collection of poems and taught Mu Xiao how to recite poetry.
Mu Qian took out his laptop to the side and quickly dealt with work matters amidst the woman's gentle and melodious voice.
