Chapter 122: Chapter 122

At eleven o’clock at night, the apartment’s door emitted the sound of the password being input, followed by a "click," and the lock was released.

Fu Jichen, carrying the fatigue of the day, pushed open the door. The living room lights were on, and the curtains of the panoramic glass windows weren’t drawn. When he raised his eyes, the dazzling lights of the city night, both near and far, were within sight, shimmering in hues of orange, yellow, red, and green.

Changing into slippers at the entrance, Fu Jichen walked inside, rounded the corner, and found Shen Jianian still awake.

Covered with a black and white checkered blanket, she was curled up in a small heap on the sofa, holding a book in her hands. Perhaps having heard the sound of the door opening, she raised her head to look over.

Their gazes met, Fu Jichen slightly surprised, opened his mouth to ask, "Not resting so late?"

Shen Jianian instinctively glanced at the clock on the wall; it wasn’t quite late yet: "I slept all afternoon, not very tired."

"Waiting for me?" Fu Jichen said as his gaze softened, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he walked over, draping it over the back of the sofa.

Shen Jianian didn’t answer; instead, she asked, "Are you having a late-night snack?"

Fu Jichen leaned down, one hand pressing on the armrest of the sofa, the other on the backrest, encircling her within his embrace, his eyes closely following hers: "You haven’t answered my question."

Being so close, his features carried a captivating charm with a hint of aggression, his gaze profound. If he intended to tempt someone, not many could resist.

Shen Jianian steadied her mind, picked up the book on her lap as a signal: "Just sitting here reading, lost track of time."

The implication being, not deliberately waiting for you.

Fu Jichen raised a hand, his distinctly jointed fingers tapped lightly on her forehead: "Saying one thing but feeling another."

Shen Jianian covered her forehead and wriggled out from under his arm, stepped into her slippers, and rose somewhat awkwardly: "I’ll cook a bowl of noodles for you."

"You?" Fu Jichen didn’t hide the doubt in his tone.

"Don’t underestimate me."

Leaving that remark, Shen Jianian headed to the kitchen.

Fu Jichen followed her in, his towering silhouette imposing beside her like a majestic, immovable mountain, his presence too strong, making Shen Jianian unsure where to start. She turned to negotiate with him: "Can you leave for a moment?"

"I’m not interfering, can’t I just watch?"

"Your presence makes me nervous."

Fu Jichen chuckled, leaned against the counter, glanced at the brand-new kitchenware, then shifted his gaze back to her face, never really expecting her to cook: "You’re injured, don’t bother. Call Aunt Cheng over."

"My leg is injured, not my hand, which doesn’t affect cooking noodles," Shen Jianian insisted, "You go sit on the sofa and wait for a while."

Fu Jichen conceded to her, reluctantly leaving the kitchen space.

Shen Jianian let out a breath, rolled up her sleeves and turned on the electric stove, spraying some oil in the frying pan, cracking in an egg, and started another pot with ample clean water, covering it to boil.

The smoke extractor automatically activated, it’s silent, only producing a faint sound.

Shen Jianian picked up a spatula to flip the frying egg in the pan; good, this time it didn’t fall apart. Her previous attempts either ended up overcooked or lacked form.

She placed the perfectly fried egg onto a plate, just as the water boiled in the other pot. She added a small handful of noodles and, as they were almost done, tossed in some greens.

Fu Jichen didn’t go far, lit a cigarette and held it between his fingers, quietly watching her busy figure beside the counter.

She wore light-colored knitwear and loose pants, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing a section of arm, akin to tender lotus roots, an apron hung around her neck, her waist string unfastened, one hand holding the pot lid, the other stirring the pot with chopsticks, her long, smooth hair tied into a loose ponytail, slender back radiating warmth.

Fu Jichen flicked the cigarette ash, truth be told, he had never associated her with this kind of homely scene, but witnessing it now, his heart surged with an indescribable emotion.

He gained a more tangible understanding of the phrase "companionship for life."

She fit the description of a lovely domestic partner perfectly.

Shen Jianian was entirely unaware her every movement had caught someone else’s eye, scooping the cooked noodles from the pot, deliberately placing them in a large bowl, arranging the vegetables and fried egg.

The essential step was opening the rice cooker, scooping out two large spoons of bone broth kept warm, and placing several pieces of tender meat.

Shen Jianian looked at the bowl of noodles, the presentation akin to a restaurant’s signature dish, a sense of accomplishment growing inside. She removed the apron from her neck, turned to call Fu Jichen over to eat, only to see he had somehow come over.

"Done?" Fu Jichen stubbed out the cigarette and remarked, "Quite fast."

He anticipated seeing her flustered, perhaps even knocking over pots and pans, but unexpectedly, she was quick and adept, exuding the demeanor of a master chef.

Particularly impressive since she was also managing with an injured leg, genuinely making him see her in a new light.

Shen Jianian pulled out a pair of chopsticks, rinsed them under the tap, handed them to him, and nodded her chin, "Eat up."

Fu Jichen didn’t take it to the dining room; he sat by the island, picked up a bite of noodles with the chopsticks, and put it in his mouth under her watchful eyes. After chewing carefully, he said, "If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would’ve thought you secretly ordered from a private restaurant."

Receiving such high praise, Shen Jianian touched her nose, feeling undeserving.

She simply fried an egg and cooked a bowl of plain noodles; the good taste was entirely thanks to the bone broth Aunt Cheng had made that afternoon; it was the soul of the noodle dish.

"If it’s not enough, you can refill the broth," Shen Jianian pointed to the rice cooker, "Aunt Cheng’s soup, there’s a lot left."

This was essentially an indirect explanation for why the noodles tasted so good.

Fu Jichen hooked his lips slightly, "I’ve tasted Aunt Cheng’s cooking, but why do I feel it’s even more delicious than what I’ve had before? Why do you think that is?"

Shen Jianian: "Hurry up and eat! It’ll get cold if you don’t."

The injured leg didn’t stop Shen Jianian from practicing the piano; she still went to the suburban villa every day, rain or shine.

Time flew by like a rushing stream, and in the blink of an eye, it was Mr. Fu’s birthday.

A long time ago, Fu Jichen mentioned in front of her that he would take her to meet his family on his grandfather’s birthday banquet. She had an inkling of what this meant but felt some resistance.

However, in some aspects, he was domineering and forceful. She had no way to avoid it as he had already arranged everything for her.

"You haven’t worn this qipao since it was brought back; are you going to wear it to the birthday banquet?" Fu Jichen took a wooden box from the wardrobe, opened it, and placed it on the bed.

Inside lay a neatly folded qipao and vest, a gentle white silk jacquard qipao paired with a goose yellow vest, exuding an elegant and feminine aura.

The staircase at Yunding Palace had been renovated, and they had moved back. It was twilight, and the evening glow cast colorful reflections on the glass windows, with the black window frames naturally forming an indoor decorative painting.

Shen Jianian’s knee had mostly healed. She sat alone in the lounge chair by the window, watching the man who had rushed back from work, whose first task upon arriving home was to help her pick clothes for the birthday banquet.

Meanwhile, she was still internally struggling with how to refuse him.

Not hearing her response, Fu Jichen put the qipao back, walked to the window, "There’s been a change in the old man’s birthday banquet arrangements. Originally, the family planned to hold it at a hotel under Jun Mountain’s banner, lively with dozens of tables, inviting friends and relatives. But the old man disagreed upon learning this, deciding to just have a meal at the old house with family."

As the seniors aged, they increasingly disliked grandeur, just desiring family reunions to enjoy the joy of family bonds.

The old man’s words were there to be heeded, so they canceled the hotel arrangements and chose to do it at home instead.

He thought this way she’d have fewer concerns, but to his surprise, she grew even more reluctant after hearing this, "It’s just your family; it’s not suitable for me to go."

"There’s nothing unsuitable." Fu Jichen didn’t give her time to delay further, glanced at his watch, "The banquet starts at seven-thirty; it’s already past five."

Reluctantly, Shen Jianian picked up the qipao from the wooden box and went to the dressing room to change.

When she came out, she saw Fu Jichen leaning lazily against the edge of the dressing table with a deep blue velvet box in his hand, his long legs slightly bent, eyes lowered.

Upon hearing footsteps, Fu Jichen lifted his gaze and saw the girl standing quietly in the qipao, his eyes lingering on her for a long time, his dark eyes full of admiration.

Seeing him focus intently on her, the words Shen Jianian wanted to say suddenly slipped her mind. She knitted her brows slightly, feeling self-annoyed.

Fu Jichen watched for a long time, only feeling that even her furrowed brow exuded an irresistible charm, teasing at the heart, "I told you you’d look beautiful in a qipao, and indeed you do."

Black hair, white skin, rosy lips, bright eyes, forming a girl uniquely one of a kind in the world.

For the first time, being praised so directly for her appearance left Shen Jianian stunned, lips gently pressed together, unsure what to say.

Fu Jichen beckoned her over with a smile, "Come here."