Yin Wujie pushed the wheelchair to the kitchen door.
In the kitchen, the little girl was wearing an apron, looking very domestic and experienced, as she held the ladle and stirred the vegetables.
Yin Wujie sat there, watching for a while, his thoughts growing more profound.
In his eyes, her mother had always been the most perfect woman in the world.
But his mother... couldn't cook.
He and his brother had never tasted the meals she made since they were young.
Though he had longed more than once to taste his mother's cooking, it seemed that chance would never come in this lifetime.
In this regard, his mother seemed not as capable as the little girl in front of him.
His gaze darkened slightly, as he sat motionless, watching the little girl hum a cheerful tune while cooking a dish and pouring it onto a serving plate.
She eagerly took several bites with her chopsticks, the hot soup causing her to puff out air, yet she didn't spit it out.
She seemed like she was starving.
