She suddenly remembered the scene of the knife plunging into his palm, blood gushing out. She wondered how badly his hand was injured. Apprehensively, she let him place the soup in front of her.
The sweet soup was steaming and a little scalding, but she desperately needed the warmth. She clutched the bowl tightly, ignoring the heat, and quickly took two small sips. In no time, she had finished the entire bowl.
As the warmth spread through her, a flush appeared on her pale face. Wan Donglin put down his chopsticks. Suddenly, he felt full—sometimes, just looking at certain people was enough to make one feel satisfied.
He said excitedly, "Xixi, do you remember last New Year's Eve? We only had sweet glutinous rice balls to eat. This year is much better, such a lavish spread..."
She turned and walked away, leaving him mid-sentence. He looked abashed but didn't chase after her.
