Xie Qizhen made breakfast this morning.
It looked quite good—vibrant in color and very appetizing.
When Jiang Qingli sat down, a familiar sense of dread washed over her as her father pushed a bowl of congee toward her.
Xie Qizhen was a classic kitchen assassin.
A military genius, Xie Qizhen hadn't set foot in a kitchen for the first thirty-odd years of his life.
But after getting married, he heard someone say, "The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach." So, he had been trying his best to become the ideal husband—one who could hold his own in the parlor and in the kitchen.
Unfortunately, in Jiang Qingli's memory, nothing Xie Qizhen cooked had ever turned out normal.
Xie Qizhen was very diligent and took it very seriously, but his creations always seemed to come with a natural-born determination to poison whoever ate them.
