I stayed home from school to study on my own for a month and a half.

The wounds all over my body had finally scabbed over and healed, the cast on my wrist had come off, and only a small, pale pink scar remained on my forehead—barely noticeable unless you looked closely.

Afraid I’d be left with more scarring, Auntie made the blandest food imaginable during that whole stretch.

So bland I felt like I was losing my sense of taste entirely.

Until this afternoon, when I was finally told my dietary restrictions were lifted!

Looking at the huge bowl of spicy crayfish in front of me, fragrant and rich, my mouth was already watering just from the smell.

Auntie was allergic to seafood and couldn’t eat it, and my brother thought crayfish looked ugly and didn’t like them either.

So this dish had been made specially just for me.

“Qingqing, go ahead and start with the shrimp to hold you over. Your brother’s not up yet, and the rest of the dishes on the stove aren’t ready.”

Zhou Haiyan had taken on a big last-minute job the night before and, unusually for him, hadn’t gone to sleep until ten in the morning—so even now, in the afternoon, he still hadn’t woken up.

I nodded happily.

I’ve always been a patient person, the type who likes to save the best for last.

I specifically grabbed an empty bowl, poured in half a bowl of the crayfish broth, and placed the peeled tail meat in piece by piece, letting it soak up all the flavor. Later I planned to mix it with fragrant white rice and eat it by the spoonful—a bite of meat, a bite of rice—nothing better in the world.

Having peeled about half a bowl, I decided to try some first and pulled off my disposable gloves.

Just then, Zhou Haiyan, hair a rumpled mess, sauntered over and pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down.

He propped his chin on his hand, dark eyes lowered, watching me.

He said nothing, still looking half-asleep, so I quietly swallowed the greeting I’d been about to give.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I kept feeling like his gaze was drifting, on and off, toward the bowl of shrimp meat beside my hand.

Must have been my imagination.

Auntie had said he didn’t like the taste.

So I lowered my head, took my spoon, stirred the broth evenly, and scooped up a bite, about to put it in my mouth.

He suddenly pointed at it. “Little sister, what is that you’re eating?”

I paused. It was strange, but I figured maybe since he didn’t like it, he just didn’t recognize it.

“Crayfish—peeled crayfish tail,” I added helpfully.

“Oh. Does mixing it like that actually taste good?” he asked, curious.

I answered with full confidence, “Of course, it’s absolutely delicious!”

Seeing his intent gaze, I tentatively held out the bowl to him.

“Want to try it, big brother?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve never liked this stuff,” he said, reluctantly accepting it anyway. “Fine, I’ll just have a taste.”

Then I watched, wide-eyed, as he scooped up an enormous spoonful, taking out a full quarter of the bowl in one go.

He swallowed it whole, frowning. “Hm, couldn’t really taste anything.”

Then he looked at me again.

Reluctantly, I said, “Want to try one more bite, then?”

Another huge scoop—another quarter of the tail meat, gone.

My chest tightened.

“Thank you, little sister, this is really good,” he exclaimed, breaking into a bright, wide smile that showed off his neat white teeth.

I rarely saw him smile that brilliantly—it caught me off guard for a moment.

Momentarily bewitched, I said, “Want another bite?”

Until, finally, the bowl of tail meat sat completely empty.

“…”

“I have to say, food tastes even better when you trick someone into giving it to you,” he said slowly, drawing out the words, all trace of that earlier innocent, polite expression gone from his face.

“???

“!!!”

I looked at the empty bowl in front of me, then looked at him.

I pouted, turned toward the kitchen, and shouted my complaint.

“Mama!”

“Ah!”

Panic flashed across Zhou Haiyan’s face, and he quickly clapped a hand over my mouth. “I’ll pay you back, I’ll pay you back double.”

The next second, Auntie came charging out of the kitchen, spatula in hand.

“What’s wrong, Qingqing? Food’s almost ready.”

Zhou Haiyan blinked at me frantically.

I changed course mid-sentence. “Big brother said he’s hungry.”

Auntie pointed the spatula at him, sounding exasperated. “Nag, nag, nag—I could just let you starve, you know!”

Then she turned and went back into the kitchen.

Him: “…”

Me: “…”

It only dawned on me belatedly—had I just called her the wrong thing without meaning to?

But everyone’s reaction had felt so natural.

I even started to doubt whether my own memory was playing tricks on me.