Chapter Sixty-One: Cooking Personally

The girl was focused on cooking in the kitchen, while in the study on the other side, Mu Tingye’s sword-like brows were tightly knitted as he recalled the scene of the young girl gazing adoringly at Mu Zichen and smiling. Even though it was just a TV show, he felt inexplicably displeased. She had called Mu Zichen handsome—was she implying he himself was not? Did she think he was too old? Sinking into deep self-doubt, Mu Tingye couldn’t help but touch his own face, checking for wrinkles.

If the girl knew, she would certainly have scolded him: “How are you old? Your skin is smooth and delicate, even better than those young girls.” Then, to prove her point, she would reach out and touch his face herself.

Downstairs, the girl had already finished cooking and asked Aunt He to help carry the dishes to the table, while she went upstairs herself to call Mu Tingye for dinner.

There was a knock at the door, and Mu Tingye instinctively frowned, but then he heard the girl’s voice from outside.

“Uncle Tingye, it’s time for dinner.” Her voice was gentle and sweet, clearly the sign of a good temper.

His brows relaxed without him realizing, and his feet moved faster than his mind as he opened the study door. Looking down at the girl who only reached his shoulder, his eyes grew a little complicated. “I’m coming.”

Hmm? Why isn’t she leaving? What if the food gets cold?

“Hurry up! You’re not enthusiastic about eating at all. When I was at school, did you also not eat on time, Uncle Tingye?” Without waiting for a reply, the girl grabbed his hand and pulled him along, scolding him as she walked, though she sounded more like a newborn kitten than anything threatening.

Listening to her words of concern, Mu Tingye smiled, and the irritation in his heart vanished in an instant.

When she didn’t get a response, the girl turned around, her clear, beautiful eyes wide open as she glared at the man’s softened expression. “Looks like you don’t take my words seriously at all, Uncle Tingye. From now on, I won’t care about you anymore.” The angry little kitten immediately let go of his big hand and marched ahead in a huff.

The sudden loss of that softness in his palm, coupled with her words, left Mu Tingye in a panic. In a few long strides, he blocked her path, seized her slender, smooth arm, and pinned her against the railing. His eyes burned with a wild intensity, as if he might devour her whole. “No!”

His deep voice rang out again, carrying an undeniable command: “You’re not allowed to stop caring about me!”

Looking at this somewhat unfamiliar side of Mu Tingye, the girl bit her lip, wanting to speak but finding herself unable to. All she could do was blink her innocent, rabbit-like eyes at him.

Mu Tingye did nothing more, only stared at her with a fierce and penetrating gaze.

What would she say—would she keep caring for him, or really stop?

“Will you really never care about Uncle again?” His magnetic voice held a trace of hurt, yet was so alluring that it was impossible to be cruel to him.

“How could I? I was only saying that out of anger. But Uncle Tingye still needs to behave himself.” Swayed by his charm, the girl explained at once, her pure eyes filled with urgency and regret, afraid that he might misunderstand. In truth, she had regretted her words the moment she spoke them, worried she’d gone too far and might send Mu Tingye into brooding isolation. Fortunately, his temperament was steady enough.

Afraid he might do something drastic, the girl grabbed his big hand again, chattering as she led him downstairs, her tone tinged with pride. “Uncle Tingye, let’s hurry and eat or the food will get cold. You don’t know—today I cooked it all myself!”

Cooked it herself?

Mu Tingye was slightly taken aback, his gaze settling on the girl walking ahead. He had never imagined she would cook. In his mind, the Mu family would never let her work in the kitchen, especially with Mu Zichen around. Would he allow it?

The girl, glancing back, caught the look on his face and snorted inwardly. Surprised? Pleased? This was something she’d learned especially for him, cooked especially for him—he’d better finish every bite.

Outwardly, she only blinked her watery, aggrieved eyes and pouted. “Hmph, Uncle Tingye doesn’t even believe I made it myself.”

Just then, they reached the dining table. The girl took the opportunity to slip her hand free, sat down with her cheeks puffed out, and adopted a stance that said she wouldn’t eat unless she was comforted.

Mu Tingye was about to say something when Aunt He appeared from the kitchen. “Sir, you don’t know—Miss made all this herself today. She said you work too hard at the office and wanted to make some home-style dishes for you.”

Having delivered her message, Aunt He didn’t linger, muttering to herself as she left—perhaps intentionally.

“No wonder Miss was so insistent on learning to cook. She got several burns but never gave up. Turns out, she wanted to cook for you.”

...

After hearing Aunt He, the girl began to doubt her own memory and consulted the system.

[System, is my memory faulty? When did I get several burns?]

The system was just as confused. [I don’t know either.]

They looked at each other in confusion. It was one thing for one of them to forget, but both? Or was Aunt He just getting old?

Aunt He’s words were like a heavy stone cast into his calm lake, sending endless ripples through Mu Tingye’s heart.

What did Aunt He say? The young girl learned to cook especially for him, and even got several burns in the process?

In a daze, Mu Tingye strode over to the girl, took her wrist, and carefully examined her delicate hands as if searching for some grave injury.

The girl hastened to reassure him, “It’s nothing, Uncle Tingye. That was when I was first learning. I don’t get hurt anymore.”

Mu Tingye’s heart stalled for a moment. So she had been injured many times before, all without his knowledge. The realization was both sweet and painful.

“In the future, try not to…” Mu Tingye hesitated, holding her fair, tender hand. His brows furrowed slightly, torn between words.

He wanted to say not to cook for him anymore, but he couldn’t bear it. She was his girl—he wished he could eat her cooking every day. Even if it were poison, he’d swallow it without fear.

“Uncle Tingye, try it first. If you like it, I’ll cook for you again.” The girl’s clear eyes sparkled as she smiled sweetly, her voice as sugary as candy.

She nudged the unmoving man toward his seat, her gentle voice urging him on: “Uncle Tingye, hurry and taste it.”

Mu Tingye obliged, picking up a piece of braised pork. After chewing a few times, he concluded: it was delicious.

Though not quite up to the standards of the family chef, it tasted like home. Considering she hadn’t been learning for long, it was remarkable.

“It’s very good.”

He was never stingy with praise when it was deserved. And then, to further prove his point, he demonstrated with action.

The four dishes were eaten nearly to the last bite. The girl, with her tiny appetite, had only a little, while most ended up in Mu Tingye’s stomach. Seeing the man she liked eat so heartily, the girl was delighted.

“Uncle Tingye, next time I’ll find another chance to cook for you.” She walked up to him, her gaze gentle, her voice sweet as sugar.