“By the way, the doctor left you some medicine when he left. Take it three times a day, before meals. It’s a good time for you to take it now,” Fan Xia pointed to the fever medicine and the water already poured on the coffee table.

Rong Xiu walked over and tested the water temperature. It was neither cold nor hot, just right.

Rong Xiu’s eyes secretly swept over Fan Xia busy in the kitchen, his thin lips curling into a slight arc. No one but her could do such meticulous things.

Following the doctor’s instructions, he swallowed the medicine and slightly raised his head to drink the water Fan Xia had pre-warmed. The smooth water wrapped around the bitter pill as it flowed down his throat. Though it was just ordinary water, it somehow tasted a bit sweet at this moment.

Rong Xiu held the water glass, and even though he had already taken the medicine, he still drank all the water in the glass sip by sip until there wasn’t a drop left. Only then did he put the glass back on the coffee table and sit at the island counter.

Watching Fan Xia slowly pour the beaten egg mixture into the yam and lotus root porridge and gently stir in the same direction, he couldn’t help but ask, “Fan Xia, how do you know how to cook? Did Wen Lan Sheng make you do it?”

“No,” Fan Xia shook her head. “You know, my parents passed away early, and I was sent to an orphanage afterwards. At that time, the management was chaotic and we often couldn’t eat enough. I would secretly climb over the wall to find things to eat. Later, when I started working, I didn’t have much savings, so to save money, I would learn to cook at home.”

In just a few sentences, Rong Xiu seemed to see the young Fan Xia struggling to survive with her small, soft body.

He didn’t know if Fan Xia’s current ability to face all hardships calmly was shaped by those childhood hardships. If that was the case, he would rather Fan Xia not be like this now, if it meant not experiencing those past pains.

“Let me help you,” Rong Xiu said, walking to her side.

“You know how to cook?” Now it was Fan Xia’s turn to be surprised.

Rong Xiu looked up at her, his narrow, cold eyes filled with a faint smile: “Why would you think I don’t know how?”

“I’ve seen in TV dramas that young masters from rich families never lift a finger,” Fan Xia laughed.

Rong Xiu’s slightly upturned eyes smiled: “Not everyone is like that. Today, I’ll break your impression. Perhaps my cooking is even better than Wen Lan Sheng’s.”

Fan Xia shook her head with a smile, stopping Rong Xiu’s hand as he was about to tie on an apron: “That won’t do. Today you’re the patient, I can’t let you cook. Otherwise, I’d be neglecting my duty.”

“We’re not at the company now. I’m not your boss, and you’re not my subordinate,” Rong Xiu said, his fingers nervously gripping where she couldn’t see: “Come to think of it, you always call me CEO or senior. You’ve never called me by my name… Actually, in private, you can just call me like that.”

Fan Xia was taken aback.

Rong Xiu’s thick eyelashes trembled slightly, hiding the anxiety in his heart, and said, “If you’re too formal in private, I’ll feel uncomfortable.”

Fan Xia relaxed: “Is that so? Alright, I’ll change it from now on.”

She picked up a spoon, ladled a bowl of porridge, and said, “It’s time to eat, Rong Xiu.”

Her clear and gentle voice carried a faint smile, like an April spring breeze brushing over his heart.

This was the first time Fan Xia had called his name. Rong Xiu’s heart felt like it had fallen into a honey jar.

But seeing only one portion of porridge in front of him, Rong Xiu asked, “Aren’t you going to have some?”

Fan Xia shook her head: “This is specially made for you. You’re the patient, drinking some porridge is good for your body.”

“But—” Rong Xiu opened his mouth.

Fan Xia’s phone rang inopportunely. He looked down and saw the caller ID was ‘Lan Sheng’. The honey jar in Rong Xiu’s heart shattered. “What is it?” Fan Xia answered the phone.

Wen Lan Sheng’s voice on the other end of the phone was faint, but from the tone, it seemed he was asking why she hadn’t returned at this hour.

Rong Xiu looked at the sky, it was almost completely dark. No wonder he called to ask.

As Fan Xia’s fiancé, her future husband, Wen Lan Sheng had the right to care about her.

But this care was a thorn in Rong Xiu’s heart, piercing through the jealousy and discontent he had carefully wrapped up. Why? Why him? What’s so good about him? Just because they’re childhood sweethearts? Just because Wen Lan Sheng appeared in Fan Xia’s life a few years earlier than him, so he would never have the right to stand by her side for a lifetime?

Why!

Reason tore apart, the sea of jealousy surged.

Rong Xiu scooped up the yam and lotus root porridge in the bowl, his cold voice sounding beside Fan Xia: “You’ve been tired all day too, have some.”

Fan Xia looked at Rong Xiu in surprise, her finger accidentally touching the hang-up button.

But his voice still slowly transmitted through the phone into Wen Lan Sheng’s ears.

Wen Lan Sheng had prepared a big table of dishes, waited for Fan Xia for two hours without seeing her return, thought she was working overtime, and worried about her health, so he called to ask. Who knew…

Wen Lan Sheng’s hand clenched into a fist. He recognized that as Rong Xiu’s voice. What was he doing by Fan Xia’s side? And deliberately using such an ambiguous tone.

“I’m sorry, I forgot you were on the phone with Lan Sheng,” Rong Xiu said apologetically. “He won’t misunderstand, will he?”

“If he knows the person who just spoke was you, and not someone else, he probably won’t misunderstand,” Fan Xia didn’t quite believe these words herself.

Fan Xia knew how strong Wen Lan Sheng’s jealousy was. Over the years, Wen Lan Sheng had secretly gotten rid of countless men who were interested in her.

She knew it all, but never exposed it.

Rong Xiu’s words just now not only indicated that she wasn’t working overtime at the company, but also that she was out eating with another man. With Wen Lan Sheng’s temper, he must be furious right now.

“Then I’ll make a video call to explain things clearly to him,” Rong Xiu offered.

“Thank you for the trouble,” Fan Xia sighed in relief and dialed the video call.

“Who was that man just now? You… this isn’t the company, where are you now?” Wen Lan Sheng’s delicate face, filled with resentment, came through, immediately launching into a series of questions.

But what he got wasn’t Fan Xia’s explanation, but Rong Xiu’s annoying face. “Sorry about that, Lan Sheng. Fan Xia is at my house now. I had a high fever last night, and thanks to Fan Xia coming to take care of me, she even thoughtfully made me some yam and lotus root porridge. But she insists on letting me drink it alone. How could I feel right about that? So I asked her to eat with me, not expecting you to overhear and misunderstand.”

Rong Xiu lazily rested his chin on his hand, explaining unhurriedly. His hair, disheveled from the high fever, hung over his forehead, adding a touch of fragility to his haggard, sickly appearance. Yet the black robe revealed a large expanse of porcelain-white skin on his chest, half-hidden and half-revealed, making it difficult to describe his innocence.

Wen Lan Sheng was enraged by Rong Xiu’s deliberate provocation, but due to Rong Xiu’s position as Fan Xia’s direct superior, he had to swallow his anger.

“So that’s how it is. Then I’m relieved,” he said, barely containing his fury.

Rong Xiu’s thin lips curved slightly, sketching a faint smile: “I knew Lan Sheng was a considerate person, not like those petty men out there who get jealous over little things, showing no magnanimity at all.”

Wen Lan Sheng’s fingers were almost crushed by his own grip.

“Alright, since we’ve cleared things up, we’ll hang up now.”

Without waiting for Wen Lan Sheng’s agreement, Rong Xiu hung up the call. Wen Lan Sheng was furious, seeing the meal he had carefully prepared become a joke. In anger, he smashed all the dishes onto the floor.