Xia Chuan woke up still feeling a dull ache spread through his body.

Especially the bruise on his back—it sent sharp, unfamiliar pain shooting through him the moment he lifted off the bed.

He checked the wall clock. Past ten in the morning. He was clearly late.

But with his whole body screaming in protest at the slightest movement, school was out of the question. Every shift made him feel like his bones might scatter.

His stomach growled. Hunger finally pushed him to get up, eat something, then collapse back into bed.

He’d skipped dinner last night and fallen straight asleep, leaving his belly completely empty.

The moment Xia Chuan tried to sit up, searing pain jolted his half-asleep mind fully awake. Only by bracing his arms did he manage to struggle upright.

*How am I supposed to cook breakfast like this?*

"Huh?"

Still pondering how to fill his stomach, Xia Chuan’s eyes sharpened on something placed on his desk. He focused.

A large bowl of porridge. And a note.

Driven by hunger, he summoned sheer willpower to shuffle over step by painful step, then dropped heavily into the chair beside the table.

The second his butt hit the seat, he started gulping down the porridge.

It was simple ginkgo porridge—surprisingly delicious.

He finished it quickly, a trace of fullness easing the gnawing emptiness in his gut.

Only then did he pause and pick up the note beside the empty bowl.

Mo Yao’s handwriting.

*So she made this ginkgo porridge… Her cooking’s improved so much.*

Xia Chuan finally lifted the paper and read silently:

—————————————————————————————————————

*Xia Chuan, don’t walk Qian Yu to school today. Rest well and drink plenty of water. There’s ginkgo porridge on the table—drink it all! This bowl contains my life’s culinary wisdom. Guaranteed to satisfy Master! One last reminder: REST WELL. DRINK WATER. (∩_∩)

Mo Yao*

—————————————————————————————————————

Since Xia Chuan had been teaching Mo Yao to cook while making meals himself, her calling him "Master" made sense.

Reading the note, Xia Chuan smiled—a genuine, warm smile.

*How could I be so blind? I’ve always had someone this important right beside me.*

*No. Three people.*

He thought of Wang Yin and Qian Yu too.

After finishing, he carefully folded the note and tucked it into the drawer beside his bed.

It was one of the few things he could truly call a memory.

——————————————————————————————————————

Xia Chuan stayed in bed until noon.

When the clock struck twelve, hunger pangs returned. He felt a trace of shame—it had only been two hours since his last meal.

Still, he gritted his teeth against the emptiness. He had zero energy to cook. *Missing one or two meals won’t kill me.*

With that thought, he decided to sleep—anything to forget the hunger.

He’d barely closed his eyes when he heard the scrape of a key turning in the lock.

*Someone’s picking my lock?*

Bruised and battered, Xia Chuan knew resistance was pointless.

Pretending to sleep was his best option.

He prayed silently: *Please don’t open…*

His prayer went unanswered. The door swung open—effortlessly.

*Damn. That fast? Is this guy a pro thief?*

But the figure stepping in wasn’t a thief. It was Mo Yao, hauling a huge grocery bag.

*Phew. Not a burglar.* Then again, who’d rob this dirt-poor dorm room?

*How’d she get in? A key? Wang Yin must’ve given it to her.*

"Xia Chuan! You’re awake?" Mo Yao asked, relief brightening her voice.

"Woke up ages ago. What, you think I’d sleep till noon? I’m not *that* lazy." (Someone coughed pointedly.)

Xia Chuan shot back.

"I thought you’d rest longer."

Mo Yao wiped sweat from her brow—clearly exhausted from lugging the heavy bag.

"What can I say? Early to bed, early to rise. Model citizen here."

Xia Chuan shrugged.

"Shameless," Mo Yao huffed, already heading toward his tiny kitchen with the bag.

"What are you doing?" Xia Chuan called after her.

"Cooking. What else? You can’t exactly feed yourself like this. Injured bodies need proper nutrition." She started unpacking vegetables and washing them.

"You came back just to cook for me at lunch? Seriously, no need to go through all this trouble."

Xia Chuan had always been fiercely independent—used to solving problems alone, never leaning on others.

"Stop being such a baby! I’m already here. Are you telling me to leave hungry and head back to work? Just rest. Let me show off my skills."

Mo Yao glanced back, grinning.

Xia Chuan fell silent. What could he say after that?

All he could manage was a quiet:

"Thanks."

Mo Yao didn’t reply—probably focused on chopping.

His room was a single space, bathroom aside. Even lying in bed, he could easily see Mo Yao’s profile as she worked.

He’d always thought her beautiful. After so long together, that first awe had mellowed into comfortable familiarity. But watching her like this—really *seeing* her—was new.

Classic oval face. Porcelain skin. Delicate features. Long lashes. A textbook pretty girl. No outsider would guess she was a mother of a two-year-old.

Xia Chuan couldn’t imagine the hardships she’d faced raising a child alone—the prejudice, the injustice. Yet she’d never broken. She’d carried on.

*If she, a young girl, could stand so strong… why can’t I?*

Remembering his own shattered state after cutting ties with Liu Yixia yesterday, he felt foolish.

A quiet realization settled in his chest.

Mesmerized by her profile, Xia Chuan didn’t notice her cheeks flushing deeper red.

"Are you *done* staring yet?!"

Mo Yao had felt his gaze the whole time. She’d tried to ignore it, but the heat in her face was messing up her cooking. Finally, flustered and scolding, she snapped.

"Huh? Staring at what?"

Caught off guard, Xia Chuan stammered dumbly—making her blush even harder.

Realizing his rudeness, he fumbled for words but found none.

Mo Yao huffed, turning back to her chopping, refusing to look at him.

Yet a small, pleased smile tugged at her lips. Under her breath, too soft for him to hear:

"Idiot…"

————————————————————————————————————

Mo Yao finished cooking quickly. The dishes looked surprisingly good—especially after this morning’s porridge. Xia Chuan decided she’d officially graduated from his tutelage.

"Try my cooking!" she declared proudly, clearly confident in her work. *Even as a mom, she’s still so childlike sometimes. But that’s what makes her her.*

Under her eager gaze, Xia Chuan picked up a slice of meat and put it in his mouth.

A flash of light exploded in his mind. He froze.

*Oh god. This unforgettable flavor…*

From the taste, Xia Chuan understood one terrible truth:

They were completely out of salt.

The overwhelming saltiness flooded his mouth, making his injuries feel ten times worse.

Gritting his teeth, he forced the bite down.

"Well? How is it?" Mo Yao leaned forward, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

*How is it?! Can’t you see my face turning ashen? My soul leaving my body?!*

But Xia Chuan swallowed his complaint. This was her effort, her care. He couldn’t crush that.

"Mmm. Delicious. Tastes like… the ocean." He forced a smile.

"Really? Great!" Mo Yao beamed.

"Eat with me," Xia Chuan insisted. *No way am I finishing this salt-bomb solo. I’ll get salt poisoning.*

"Oh, I can’t." Mo Yao waved him off.

*Of course. You make this and bail?*

"I have to rush back to work. Can’t stay."

Her words cut through his thoughts. He stared.

"I came back *only* because I knew you couldn’t cook. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late." She checked the wall clock and started putting on her shoes.

"But… you haven’t eaten…"

All Xia Chuan could manage was that weak protest as she headed for the door.

"No choice. Even this lunch break is cutting it close. I’ll wash the dishes later. Just promise you’ll eat *everything*." Her voice turned urgent—she was truly pressed for time.

*SLAM!*

The door shut behind her.

Xia Chuan stood alone, staring at the closed door.

For the first time, his cramped room felt unbearably empty.

Guilt twisted in his chest. His view of Mo Yao shifted.

He’d always thought her too young, unreliable. But she’d already learned to shoulder responsibility—playful sometimes, yet fiercely serious when it mattered.

Mo Yao had grown into an incredible woman.

*And me?*

*What have I done?*

*What can I even offer her and her daughter?*

*"Promise you’ll eat everything."*

Maybe he couldn’t do much right now.

But at least he could honor this kindness in front of him.

Xia Chuan picked up another slice of meat. Chewed. The saltiness flooded his mouth again, thick and choking.

Suddenly, warmth spilled from his eyes. His voice came out rough, low:

"...Still way too salty."

A single tear traced down his cheek—whether from the salt, or something else, even he didn’t know.