Chapter 39: Fake Play

“Secretary Zhuang seems to have misunderstood the relationship between us two.” Fan Xia stroked a small, fuzzy head with a gentle expression.

Misunderstanding? Rong Xiu smiled ambiguously. How he wished it wasn’t a misunderstanding, but the truth.

However, on the wedding day, he was already very satisfied that she could leave Wen Lan Sheng and return home with him.

“The clothes Secretary Zhuang chose……” Fan Xia took the clothes bought by Zhuang Nian and looked at them. It was a well-tailored women’s dress, with silk-like smooth fabric.

The base color of the dress was pure white, but the rose print on it was truly gorgeous. Fan Xia’s usual clothing style was elegant and simple, while this dress was clearly in the style of a flamboyant lady, worldly and carefree. Wearing such a dress without a couple of angelic-faced, devilishly-bodied male models as companions would seem out of place.

“I’ll ask Zhuang Nian to buy another one.” Rong Xiu also noticed Zhuang Nian’s unique aesthetic sense and prepared to call him back.

“No need to trouble, it’s fine as long as I have something to wear,” Fan Xia said. It was only temporary wear anyway.

She took the bag and went into the bathroom, took off her wedding dress, and put on the dress bought by Zhuang Nian. Although the dress looked flowery, it was actually quite simple to wear. Women’s clothes, unlike men’s, are generally more comfortable, and the size fit well.

Fan Xia put the changed wedding dress into a paper bag, looking at herself in the mirror. The roses bloomed angrily and in full bloom, the passionate fiery clusters forming a stark contrast with the cold and quiet wedding scene. If she went back wearing this and was seen by Wen Lan Sheng……

Fan Xia curved her lips in a deep smile, starting to appreciate Secretary Zhuang’s aesthetics.

Rong Xiu served the last dish, placing it on the table. Hearing movement from the bathroom, he looked up, a flash of amazement passing through his eyes.

Although the dress was vibrant in color, it didn’t appear vulgar on Fan Xia. Instead, due to her inherent temperament, it exuded a kind of proudly blooming beauty, standing apart from the bland and tasteless world.

By the time Rong Xiu came back to his senses, Fan Xia was tilting her head, looking at him with composure.

Caught red-handed.

Rong Xiu lowered his head, his knuckles visibly tightening, focusing on arranging the dishes: “The meal is ready, we can eat now,” he said.

Fan Xia pulled out a chair and sat down. Everything was already prepared, even the chopsticks were properly placed on the chopstick rest.

“Time was limited, I didn’t make much, we’ll have to make do,” Rong Xiu said, his tone steady, but his slender fingers slightly curled on the table surface, the tense joints already betraying his current nervous state.

Fan Xia rested her chin on her hand and smiled: “You call this making do? It’s already very sumptuous.”

Perilla seaweed seared wagyu, pan-fried matsutake mushrooms, dried scallop and crab meat soup, spring onion stir-fried prawns, sweet and sour grouper, lotus and double crispy celery, as well as a bowl of angelica fish maw soup. Even the accompanying rice was pine nut and silkie chicken fried rice. The presentation of each dish was exquisite. If this was called making do, then the meals Wen Lan Sheng had been making all these years could only be considered subsistence.

Rong Xiu pressed his lips together, smiling faintly, his hands behind his back trying to undo the apron, but for a long time there was no sign of it loosening.

“Is it stuck? Let me help you.” Fan Xia stood up and walked behind Rong Xiu.

Rong Xiu instinctively held his breath. A very faint force tugged at his waist, a light cold fragrance wafting from behind him, as if embracing him from the back. The floor-to-ceiling window faintly reflected her image, head lowered in concentration as she helped him undo the ties. Her long hair lightly brushed against his solid back, her white slender fingers just touching his lower back, almost able to reach his dimples.

“It seems to be knotted, it’s a bit difficult to untie. Please wait a moment,” Fan Xia said.

“Mm.” Rong Xiu let out a low hum, his nasal tone heavy, as if suppressing something.

Fan Xia lowered her head a bit more, concentrating on untying the strings at his waist. Without realizing it, her forehead was resting against his back. Almost instantly, she felt the muscles in Rong Xiu’s back tighten like an iron plate, his scorching body temperature and cold snow cedar scent enveloping her like a large net.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Rong Xiu’s strong, rhythmic heartbeat thumped in her eardrums, as if trying to take root in her body. Her fingertips began to fumble, the simple ties somehow impossible to untie, binding his narrow and firm waist even tighter.

Fan Xia took a deep breath, calmed down, and started to untie the strings from the beginning.

“Done,” she said.

Rong Xiu’s tense back seemed to soften in an instant. The thin warm afternoon light shone on his profile, dyeing the back of his neck with an unnatural, almost decadent redness.

“Then, let’s eat,” Rong Xiu said, covering his abnormally red neck, his voice hoarse.

Fan Xia nodded and sat down again.

Looking at the table full of delicious dishes, she didn’t know which one to start with.

“Is it not to your taste?” Rong Xiu had somehow already removed his hand from his neck, his cold eyes tinged with the smoke of human life.

Fan Xia shook her head: “Of course not.”

When her parents were still alive, her father Xie Ying would cook delicious meals for her and her mother in various ways, exquisite and abundant. Sometimes they wouldn’t have repeated dishes even in a month, even during winters when resources were scarce and there was nothing but potatoes and cabbage. Gradually, Fan Xia’s palate became picky.

Later, she was sent to the orphanage. Forced by circumstances, her picky palate changed to accepting anything that was cooked and wouldn’t kill her if eaten. She had almost forgotten what her father Xie Ying’s cooking tasted like.

After that, Wen Lan Sheng became her boyfriend. Knowing she hadn’t been treated well at the orphanage, he often brought her food.

At first, his cooking skills were poor, and his hands were covered in oil splatter marks. Later, his culinary skills gradually improved, and she had always thought Wen Lan Sheng’s cooking was quite good among men.

Until she tasted a bite of Rong Xiu’s spring onion stir-fried prawns, she realized what a real difference was.

“How is it? Is it okay?” Rong Xiu asked, his fingers gripping the chopsticks turning white at the knuckles, anxious and uneasy.

Fan Xia scooped a spoonful of dried scallop and crab meat soup, the delicate and slightly sweet tender crab meat texture blooming on her taste buds: “It’s delicious, very delicious.”

The whitened knuckles finally regained some color. Rong Xiu visibly relaxed, his lips still carrying a smile. At this moment, he was no different from any ordinary man receiving praise, but in Fan Xia’s eyes, she felt he was very different from other men.