When Qin Xin finished writing, she sent the manuscript to the publisher's editor.
At that moment, Nalan Ye Jue happened to knock on the study room door: "Want something to eat?"
Qin Xin was just about to say, "I've eaten, no need," but her body was surprisingly honest, leaning a bit towards Nalan Ye Jue: "What is it?"
What kind of dish smells so fragrant?
From afar, it made one's mouth water.
Nalan Ye Jue's lips slightly curved upward, while he maneuvered his wheelchair with one hand and held a tray with the other, like a waiter with great skill, arriving at the desk to spread a napkin for her, setting up the bowl and chopsticks.
Seeing Qin Xin's curious baby expression, the curve of his lips deepened even more: "Just made a simple midnight snack, give it a try."
Indeed simple.
Just a bowl of porridge.
Thick white porridge.
Qin Xin couldn't believe it. She picked up the small spoon and scooped a little.
Putting it in her mouth, it melted instantly.
