Jun Lii became increasingly silent as he drank.
Hot and sour soup, he'd tried it before.
Most chefs maintain a compromise between the sour and the hot, so even if it's not delicious, it's definitely not hard to swallow.
But the hot and sour soup made by his wife felt like chewing on chili peppers and lemons at the same time, bewildering the tongue with a touch of bitterness...
The experience made one's scalp tingle.
However, under Yan Yueqing's earnest, expectant gaze, he managed to finish it without changing his expression.
Made by my wife...
Simmered by my wife...
Personally made for me by my wife!!!
The more he drank, the sadder he felt.
Somehow, he suddenly remembered Yueqing six years ago, pregnant with the babies, worried about her own affairs while still having to drink this bowl of hot and sour soup...
Wuwuwu, what kind of hardship did my wife endure before?
The highest form of love is sympathy.
