The taste… was quite unique…
His voice was as warm and gentle as water—a tenderness he had never shown anyone else.
Even the cold sharpness in his dark eyes softened as he looked expectantly at the porcelain bowl with its lid.
“I improved it a bit. When I boiled the milk, I added some sugar to neutralize the spicy ginger flavor.”
“I remember you liked sweet things when you were little. You should like this.”
His dark gaze fell on her. Song Chan lifted her eyes slightly without dodging, even lingering a bit.
She hated how quickly time passed. Her red lips parted as she tried to speak, but Su Yicen stopped her before the words came out.
He raised his hand and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “It’s time. Let’s go take a look.”
His hand fell naturally, brushing past Song Chan’s slender white arm before grasping her wrist and pulling her over.
The lid on the bowl was scalding hot. Su Yicen reached for it without thinking and nearly dropped it from the burning heat.
His hand, with its distinct joints, lifted to his ear. That instant of panic looked exactly like when he had been scalded as a child.
Song Chan asked him, “Are you okay?”
Su Yicen lowered his hand and blew on it in front of his mouth. The pad of his finger was visibly red, but he still pretended to be calm as he spoke.
“It’s fine.”
Song Chan pulled her hand free from his grasp, grabbed his wrist instead, and dragged him to the sink. She turned on the faucet and rinsed his scalded finger under the running water.
She nagged him, “Can’t you be more careful? If you can’t cook, don’t force yourself.”
“At least it’s just red now. If it blistered, it would hurt like hell.”
The flowing cool water washed away the burning pain. Su Yicen relaxed, obediently letting her tend to it as if savoring the moment.
He echoed her earlier words, drawing out the ending tone meaningfully.
“Hurt like hell?”
“Then, Miss Song, won’t you feel sorry for me?”
Song Chan’s dodging gaze proved him right—she really was feeling sorry for him.
Seeing this made Su Yicen’s mood even better. He tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Miss Song, feeling sorry for me again?”
His knowing question carried obvious pride. Song Chan could practically see his peacock tail reaching for the sky.
Cool water flowed between their palms. Though icy cold, it seemed to warm from the heat in their hands.
Once the redness on Su Yicen’s fingertip had faded, Song Chan shut off the faucet without mercy and slapped away the hand of the man beside her who tried to hold hers.
“Feel sorry for you my ass. If it hurts like hell, serves you right.”
“I’d help an injured little puppy I saw on the road too.”
Su Yicen agreed. “Our Miss Song is beautiful and kind-hearted.”
But suddenly, he changed his tune. He turned his head toward her, his upturned eye corner lightly cocked.
“So, Miss Song, were you just hinting…”
“That you like a puppy-like loyal dog boyfriend?”
Song Chan was speechless. She iced over her tone, putting on a stern, unsmiling face—not quite a warning.
“Flower Peacock, tone it down. Stop fanning your tail.”
The long-forgotten ginger milk pudding sat quietly in the opened bowl.
A pleasant milk aroma mingled with a faint ginger scent wafted into their noses, finally drawing attention.
The ginger yellow had blended into the pure white milk, creating a pale yellow hue surrounded by milky fragrance. It looked appetizing just to behold.
Whether the ginger milk pudding had the smooth, dense texture of pudding—and could hold up a spoon—had become the key test of the dessert’s success.
A porcelain spoon waited nearby. Su Yicen picked it up carefully, ready to inspect the results of his morning’s efforts.
When the spoon touched the ginger milk pudding, even the usually unflappable Su Yicen felt a faint, undetectable tension. This was his first time making a dessert for Song Chan, and he was eager for it to succeed.
Fortunately, effort paid off. The spoon stayed propped on top, perfectly replicating the smooth ginger milk pudding from the video tutorial.
He slid the bowl in front of Song Chan, his expectant gaze plain to see.
“Try it.”
Su Yicen had made it for her himself. Though Song Chan wouldn’t admit it out loud, the warmth and anticipation in her heart were hers alone.
The smooth texture looked fine, so Song Chan scooped up a spoonful without hesitation and popped it into her mouth.
In that instant, the air around them seemed to freeze. Her smile stiffened on her face.
Meeting Su Yicen’s expectant eyes, Song Chan didn’t want to discourage him too harshly. She closed her eyes and forced it down.
Su Yicen asked, “How is it?”
Song Chan paused for two seconds, keeping her stiff smile as she pondered how to soften the blow.
“The taste… is quite unique…”
“You can tell Mr. Su put his heart into it…”
Her words rang false, and Song Chan swallowed subconsciously. Her entire mouth felt pickled in salt.
Forget any milk fragrance—this intense saltiness completely overwhelmed the off ginger taste.
Song Chan couldn’t fathom how Su Yicen, strictly following the video steps, had produced something so brutally salty.
Then she remembered his “creative” touch…
‘He must have mistaken salt for sugar when boiling the milk…’
Realizing the likely culprit, she watched Su Yicen. Her frozen smile was starting to make her face ache.
It was his first time cooking, so Song Chan held back from discouraging him and kept up the white lie.
“It’s really… pretty good…”
But for all her words, the spoon in her hand never scooped another bite.
Su Yicen took it well. He nodded with a smile tugging at his lips. “Then Miss Song, have more. If you like it, I’ll make it again tomorrow.”
“Cough cough—”
Startled or choked by the salt, Song Chan coughed several times before recovering.
She waved her hands in hasty refusal. “No, really, no need…”
“I appreciate Mr. Su’s kindness, but don’t trouble yourself.”
Under Su Yicen’s eager gaze, Song Chan choked down a few more bites with water, giving him full face.
She’d barely eaten all day yesterday due to cramps and nothing today, leaving her waterlogged.
With so much water, her empty stomach let out an uncontrollable “gurgle.” Su Yicen caught it sharp-eared.
He asked, “You’re hungry?”
Song Chan didn’t deny it. “I’ll grab something outside later.”
Buoyed by her praise, Su Yicen brimmed with confidence and volunteered.
“Why go out? I’ll make something for you.”
She recalled how, right there moments ago, Su Yicen had spent over an hour following the video obsessively—only to produce this barely edible ginger milk pudding. Song Chan didn’t dare trust his skills again.
She refused hurriedly. “No need to trouble Mr. Su. I’ll eat at the office later.”
Su Yicen pressed seriously. “Did I make it bad?”
Song Chan still spared his feelings. “It’s not about taste—you’re just too slow at cooking. By the time you finish, it’ll be New Year’s Eve dinner.”
Her reluctant expression said it all.
Su Yicen grabbed the bowl of ginger milk pudding. Before Song Chan could stop him, he scooped a heaping spoonful and shoved it in his mouth.
Confidence vanished from his face the instant it hit his tongue, replaced by disbelief.
The next moment, he dumped the entire bowl in the trash.
His brows knitted tight. Unable to hide his dismay, he asked Song Chan, “How did you even swallow this?”
Song Chan smiled and teased lightly, “It’s fine. Could pass for pickled vegetables.”
To keep Su Yicen from dwelling, she took charge of dinner.
“Too much salt’s bad for you. For our health, let me cook.”
Confidence shattered, Su Yicen slipped out of the kitchen and called Feng Zheng.
“Get me on a cooking variety show.”
The abrupt order baffled Feng Zheng.
His top idol hated variety shows. Last time had been because…
That person’s name flashed in his mind, and Feng Zheng got it.
“Publicly funded cooking lessons? For your Song Editor at home?”
Su Yicen replied, “If you want to see it that way, sure.”