After a bowl of black rice porridge with brown sugar, Xu Nianhua felt sweet and warm inside. She brought the bowl to the kitchen and asked, "Yicheng, have you eaten yet? What's cooking in this pot?"
"Silkie chicken soup." Pei Yicheng replied, paused for a moment, and said, "You lost a lot of blood this time; you still need to take care of yourself. The doctor said Silkie chicken soup is good for you. I just happened to stew one. You can have it for lunch on the train, too."
Now, putting the stewed Silkie chicken soup into a thermos, it's just right for lunch.
"Yicheng, you… got up this early just to make soup for me?" Xu Nianhua looked at him in disbelief. The fragrance of chicken soup kept wafting from the pot, making her confused.
The aroma was oddly familiar.
