After returning home, Jiang Zixuan set his suitcase down in the living room.

He sat there for a while. Feeling a little bored, he scratched his hair, then got up and walked into the empty bedroom.

The empty room was noticeably larger than his own. If anything, *this* was the real master bedroom—the landlord couple had lived here, while their son stayed in the guest room.

Jiang Zixuan chose the guest room for simple reasons: designed for the son, its minimalist, cozy style suited his taste perfectly. Plus—it was smaller and quicker to clean.

He rarely entered the master bedroom after moving in, let alone cleaned it. Though the landlords had tidied before leaving, dust had settled over time. Standing at the doorway, Jiang Zixuan felt it looked messier than on day one.

…Or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks.

With nothing else to do, he grabbed a broom and dustpan for a quick sweep. Soon, the trash can held half a bucket of debris.

Wiping sweat beading on his forehead, he double-checked the AC—still working. He sighed in relief and returned to the living room.

Shu Yuxin hadn’t come back. No messages on his phone either.

He sat a while longer, then couldn’t resist heading to the kitchen.

The fridge held only drinks and a bit of fruit. After rummaging behind a half-cut watermelon, he spotted some dried noodles—bought early on for late-night hunger when he didn’t want to go out.

True, Jiang Zixuan could cook. Not many dishes, but right now, his skills were definitely a notch above Shu Yuxin’s.

“Heh. If worse comes to worst, two bowls of noodles’ll do,” he muttered, nodding as he closed the fridge. “‘Dark cuisine’… Never actually tried making that before.”

The thought even sparked a flicker of excitement.

After more waiting, Shu Yuxin finally returned from grocery shopping. When Jiang Zixuan opened the door, the girl stood there holding two bulging bags, her smile warm and bright as a spring breeze.

“Ready to meet your doom, Master?” she chirped.

Jiang Zixuan chuckled, ushering her in. “If you can turn edible stuff into inedible messes… well, that’s a skill too.”

The kitchen was right by the entrance. She set the bags down, clapped her hands. “Try and see! It’s been ages since I cooked.”

Since Jiang Zixuan had used the kitchen before, it was clean and ready. Shu Yuxin glanced around, washed her hands, pulled a large cleaver from the cabinet, gave it a playful twirl, and started unpacking.

Jiang Zixuan, standing behind her, finally saw what she’d bought—

Potatoes. Different kinds of potatoes. So many. So many.

“Wait… you *only* bought potatoes?” he blurted.

“Of course not!” She shot him a look, pulling out garlic and chilies. “How do you cook with *just* potatoes?”

His lips twitched. “You’re not… planning to make *only* potato slices, are you?”

She held his gaze, then defiantly yanked out a pack of chicken breast. “Definitely not!”

Jiang Zixuan: “….”

With ingredients laid out, it was time to cook. Seeing him still silent by the door, Shu Yuxin felt a twinge of unease. She set the cleaver down, turned, and gently nudged him out. “Don’t stand there—you’re cramping my style! I’ll call you when it’s ready!”

He left without protest. He didn’t mind her buying only what she liked. It was just… the first time he’d *felt* picky eating’s power so vividly. Kinda funny, actually.

Back in the kitchen, once sure he wasn’t peeking, Shu Yuxin placed her phone beside the cutting board.

The screen showed a tutorial: *How to Make Delicious Stir-Fried Potato Slices*.

She’d joked about “dark cuisine,” but deep down, our heroine truly hoped to nail this dish and show off to her best friend.

“Potato slices… should be simple…” Having reread the article three times on her way home, she felt confident. One last glance—then peeling, slicing.

“Yuxin,” Jiang Zixuan called from the living room, “did you buy rice? Don’t forget to cook some!”

Her hands froze.

She’d forgotten.

No wonder she’d felt something missing at the supermarket—she’d even circled back twice, yet blanked completely.

“Ha… haha… Zixuan, I think… I forgot.”

Jiang Zixuan facepalmed.

Dinner was officially a lost cause.

*Should I ask her to clean next time? Feels easier than cooking…*

“Zixuan… should I run down again?” Her voice floated over, tentative.

He sighed inwardly. “Nah. Fridge has enough noodles for two bowls. We’ll make do.”

“Great! I *can* cook noodles!” Shu Yuxin perked up instantly, grinning. “I’ll cook them just for you!”

Jiang Zixuan felt a faint headache bloom.

Back in the day, he’d have shot back sharp enough to sting. But now… would pushing back seem ungrateful?

So he stayed quiet.

She’d meant it playfully. His silence surprised her slightly—but she didn’t dwell.

Cooking was rusty for her, yet she still loved the hands-on joy. Since childhood, Shu Yuxin adored crafting things: a spear from books and wood, “cultivating” a tiny plot in the wild with a tiny shovel… She cherished that immersive flow. (Her family once joked she had ADHD.)

Now, this simple act effortlessly reawakened that long-dormant spark—and pulled her completely in.