93: Chapter 93 Like a Ripe Peach

Wang Xiaohu looked at Sun Lingling.

He looked at her tears and red-rimmed eyes.

The girl he had known for three years but had never truly understood.

"Lingling, you..."

Sun Lingling wiped away her tears.

"Brother Xiaohu, I know I have no right to say this. But I don't want to hide it anymore. That kind of person isn't worth your sadness; you deserve someone better."

Wang Xiaohu looked at her, his throat tightening.

"Lingling, I know what I'm like. I have no money, no skills, just a poor laborer. I'm not worth you liking me."

Sun Lingling looked at him, tears still hanging on her face, but she smiled.

"You are."

Wang Xiaohu was stunned.

Sun Lingling leaned in and kissed his lips.

It was very light, very quick, carrying a young girl's shyness and courage.

Wang Xiaohu's mind went blank.

He felt the temperature of her lips, soft and warm, with a hint of saltiness—it was her tears.

Sun Lingling tried to pull back, but Wang Xiaohu's hand suddenly lifted and wrapped around her waist.

He deepened the kiss, clumsy yet forceful, as if wanting to melt all his grievances and unwillingness into it.

Sun Lingling closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, dripping onto their pressed-together lips.

After an unknown amount of time, they finally separated.

Sun Lingling leaned into Wang Xiaohu's arms, her face flushed red as blood, even the tips of her ears turning red.

Wang Xiaohu looked down at her, still a bit dazed.

"Lingling... do you really like me?"

Sun Lingling looked up and rolled her eyes at him.

"If I didn't like you, why would I kiss you?"

Wang Xiaohu scratched his head and smiled sheepishly.

This was his first time smiling tonight, smiling like a child.

Watching him smile, Sun Lingling's heart softened completely.

She leaned on his shoulder and said softly.

"Brother Xiaohu, be with me. I don't want a dowry, I don't want gold jewelry, I don't want a house or a car. I only want you."

Wang Xiaohu was stunned.

"What did you say?"

Sun Lingling looked up at him.

"I said, I don't want a dowry. I only want you."

Wang Xiaohu's nose tingled, and tears almost fell.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn't get a single word out.

Sun Lingling looked at him.

"What's wrong?"

Wang Xiaohu shook his head and pulled her into his arms.

"Lingling, thank you."

Sun Lingling leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, the corners of her mouth curling up.

The two just held each other like that, neither speaking.

The night breeze blew over, a bit chilly, but both their hearts were warm.

After a while, Sun Lingling looked up at him.

"Brother Xiaohu, tonight... I don't want to go back."

Wang Xiaohu was taken aback.

"Not going back? Then where will you stay?"

Sun Lingling looked at him, her face as red as an apple.

"I, I'll be with you..."

Wang Xiaohu swallowed hard.

"This... isn't it too fast?"

Sun Lingling glared at him.

"Do you want me or not? If not, I'm leaving."

She made a move to stand up.

Wang Xiaohu grabbed her.

"I do! Who said I didn't!"

Sun Lingling laughed and threw herself into his arms.

Wang Xiaohu held her, his heart pounding.

He stood up, took her hand, and walked down the pedestrian bridge.

The night breeze blew, dispersing the sour smell of beer cans and bringing the faint scent from her body.

Wang Xiaohu looked down at the person beside him; she was looking up at him, her eyes bright like stars.

The corners of his mouth slowly curled up.

This damn life didn't seem so bad after all.

...

The scene shifted to Yuntian City.

The fragrance of food wafted from the kitchen, and the sound of the spatula stir-frying was crisp and efficient.

Zhao Yaqin stood in front of the stove wearing an apron, her long hair casually tied back with a rubber band, revealing her fair neck and a small patch of smooth back.

She wore a close-fitting off-white loungewear set that outlined the curves of her waist and hips.

The apron strings were tied in a bow behind her waist, emphasizing how slim and soft that part of her waist was.

Wang Yang leaned against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching her work.

The light spilled down from above, landing on her and gilding her with a layer of warm yellow light.

Zhao Yaqin's profile was beautiful, with a high, perky nose bridge, lips slightly pursed, and long eyelashes.

They fluttered gently as she lowered her head to chop vegetables.

When she bent over to grab a plate, her loungewear tightened.

The curve of her hips was round and full, like a ripe peach.

Wang Yang's throat moved.

"Have you seen enough?"

Zhao Yaqin didn't turn her head, her voice filled with a smile.

Wang Yang smiled.

"Not enough. No matter how much I look, it's not enough."

Zhao Yaqin blushed and turned around, holding the plate.

On the plate were freshly cooked scrambled eggs with tomatoes, red and yellow mixed together, steaming hot.

She glared at Wang Yang, her gaze both coquettish and shy.

"All you know is how to sweet-talk. Go, take the dishes."

Wang Yang walked over with a smile, reaching out to take the plate, his fingers intentionally brushing against the back of her hand.

Zhao Yaqin flinched, her face turning even redder.

Wang Yang carried the dish to the dining table, set it down, and came back for more.

Zhao Yaqin ladled the pork rib soup out of the pot.

The soup was milky white, the ribs stewed until tender, the aroma drilling straight into his nose.

Wang Yang stood behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, and took a deep breath.

"So fragrant. I really want to eat 'it'."

Zhao Yaqin turned her head to look at him.

"Is the soup fragrant, or am I? Speak clearly, what do you want to eat?"

Wang Yang smiled.

"Both are fragrant. The soup is fragrant, you are even more fragrant. I like eating both."

Zhao Yaqin gently pushed him away.

"Alright, alright, go sit down, it'll be ready in a moment."

Wang Yang kissed her on the cheek and turned to sit at the dining table.

The dishes were soon all served.

Scrambled eggs with tomatoes, braised pork ribs, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, and seaweed egg drop soup—the table was full.

Zhao Yaqin untied her apron and sat down opposite him.

The neckline of her loungewear opened slightly as she bent over, revealing a stretch of fair collarbone and the soft curve of her chest.

Under the light, that patch of skin was dazzlingly white.

Wang Yang's gaze landed there, pausing for a second.

Zhao Yaqin noticed, blushed, and reached up to pull at her neckline.

"What are you looking at... Eat."

Wang Yang smiled and picked up his chopsticks.

Zhao Yaqin didn't rush to serve herself; instead, she picked up a piece of pork rib and held it to Wang Yang's lips.

"Taste this."

Wang Yang was taken aback.

In the past, he was the one serving her, and she would shyly accept.

Today, it was reversed.

Wang Yang opened his mouth and took it; the ribs were stewed until soft and tender, rich in sauce, and melted in his mouth.

He nodded.

"Delicious."

Zhao Yaqin smiled, picked up a piece of fish, picked out the bones, and held it out.

Wang Yang took it again.

She picked up a bite, and he ate a bite.

Like she was feeding a child, one spoonful after another, one piece after another, patient and gentle.

Wang Yang leaned back in his chair, enjoying her feeding him, his heart feeling warm.

Zhao Yaqin picked up a piece of braised pork belly and brought it to his lips.

Wang Yang took a bite, his brows furrowing.

The meat was good, and it was stewed until tender, but it had ginger in it.

He had never eaten ginger since childhood; eating it made him feel nauseous.

Wang Yang even used to have an online handle called "Don't Eat Ginger."

He placed the remaining half of the meat on his plate, intending to throw it away.