Mengmeng's headache finally subsided after Mu Qingxue's gentle soothing and a short rest, though her little face was still somewhat pale and she remained listless and lacking in energy.
Looking at her, Mu Qingxue felt a lingering wave of fear, and much of her resentment toward Lin Fan dissipated—after all, it had been an unintentional mistake on his part.
By dinnertime, what Lin Fan served was still barely edible stir-fried greens and rice; the stems of the vegetables were a bit raw while the leaves were wilted, and the rice was partly uncooked.
Mengmeng took a couple of bites, her little brows furrowing once more. She put down her tiny spoon and looked pitifully at Mu Qingxue:
"Mommy, Daddy's cooking... is a bit hard. The veggies aren't tasty either."
Mu Qingxue's gaze swept over the corner Lin Fan used as a kitchen, so crude it could hardly be called one—a few unwashed instant noodle bowls lay tilted to one side, the only appliance was a solitary rice cooker, and the stove still bore traces of scorched food.
Then she looked back at Mengmeng's expectant yet timid little eyes, and let out a soft sigh.
She glanced at the greasy stovetop and frowned slightly, but looking at Mengmeng's yearning expression, she nevertheless put down her apple and small knife, quietly rolling up the sleeves of her school uniform to reveal a fair, slender length of wrist:
"…Let me do it instead. What's left in the fridge? What does Mengmeng want to eat?"
With a somewhat sheepish look, Lin Fan pointed to a few plastic bags in the corner:
"There are still some greens, a block of tofu, and two eggs."
Mu Qingxue's culinary skills turned out to be unexpectedly good.
Though her movements in washing and cutting the vegetables were slightly unfamiliar, they were methodical and clear.
The ordinary greens and tofu that Lin Fan had bought were transformed by her hands within moments into several home-style dishes rich in color, aroma, and flavor.
The wok was heated up, scallions and ginger added to release their fragrance, and the greens went into the pan for a quick stir-fry, soon turning a vibrant green.
The tofu was cut into pieces, pan-fried slowly over low heat until golden brown on both sides, and then drizzled with a simple sauce.
The eggs were beaten, a little warm water added, and the resulting steamed egg custard was as smooth and tender as pudding.
The aroma of the food quickly dispelled the lingering smell of instant noodles and mildew in the rented room.
She had been forced to learn this by her mother since childhood; her mother always said a girl had to know how to cook a few decent dishes, and she never expected it would come in handy in a place like this.
Mengmeng ate until her little mouth was shiny with oil and her cheeks were bulging, shouting indistinctly:
"Mommy's cooking is the best! A hundred times better than Daddy's! So fragrant!"
She paused, then added another sentence, as if comforting Lin Fan and predicting the future at the same time:
"In the future, Daddy's cooking will be even better than Mommy's! Mengmeng likes to eat it too!"
Hearing this, Lin Fan felt a mixture of amusement and warmth in his heart.
This little girl really knew how to puff him up with praise.
He secretly made up his mind that, even if not for any grand future, just for Mengmeng's words alone, he had to hone his cooking skills, raise Mengmeng until she was plump and rosy, and keep her utterly adorable.
It was also the first time he had tasted food that carried the flavor of "home"—simple, yet exceptionally delicious.
The rice had been re-cooked by Mu Qingxue in his rice cooker, and the heat and timing were just right.
Watching Mu Qingxue busy before the cramped and greasy "stovetop"—her movements unpracticed yet still elegant—some hardened corner inside him quietly collapsed and softened.
He thought, if... if this wasn't an absurd farce, if every day could be like this with her here, with Mengmeng here, this shabby rented room didn't seem so unbearable after all.
That evening, beneath the single dim yellow lightbulb of the rented room, the three of them sat around the small, paint-peeling broken table.
Mengmeng sat in the middle, doodling with the crayons Lin Fan had bought, muttering to herself as she drew a crooked little person, next to it a larger person, and an amorphous sun.
Lin Fan was poring over college entrance examination review materials, occasionally frowning when stuck on a difficult math problem.
As for Mu Qingxue, she would take out Mengmeng's toddler picture book to teach her how to read, or occasionally, unable to help herself, pick up a red pen to circle a few obvious mistakes on Lin Fan's mock exam papers.
When explaining problems, her logic was clear and her voice cool yet unexpectedly patient—more thorough than some of the teachers at school.
Lin Fan listened with total concentration, feeling he benefited immensely.
A scene like this possessed a strange warmth that didn't quite belong here.
Yet this fragile warmth was always instantly shattered by Mengmeng's unfiltered childlike words:
"Daddy, you have to study hard! Get into a good university! Only then can you make lots and lots of money in the future, and marry such a pretty wife like Mommy! Then we can live in a big house!"
Lin Fan was just raising his cup to drink some water when, hearing this, he spat it out with a "poof." Part of the water sprayed onto the test paper, and part onto the floor.
He coughed violently, choking until his face turned crimson, and scrambled for tissues in a thoroughly disheveled state.
Mu Qingxue's cheeks were several shades redder than the evening glow outside the window. The red pen in her hand streaked a long, awkward red mark across Lin Fan's test paper, and even the tips of her ears were burning.
She wanted to say something, but found her throat a bit dry, so she could only lower her head and pretend to read intently, while her heart pounded uncontrollably.
Mu Qingxue came over almost every evening, staying for an hour or two and leaving quietly before it was completely dark.
She had been extremely careful, wearing a hat and mask whenever she came and went, keeping her head down as much as possible, and walking right against the base of the wall.
Yet her appearance still drew the attention of some neighbors in this mixed and complicated apartment building.
Especially that middle-aged woman living next door who had previously been disturbed by Mengmeng's crying; she had a booming voice and sharp eyes.
She seemed exceptionally attentive to the goings-on in Lin Fan's household.
Every time Mu Qingxue came or went, the woman would "coincidentally" loiter in the hallway, or "coincidentally" pick vegetables and dry laundry by her doorway,
inspecting Mu Qingxue up and down with an unmasked, probing gaze that felt as though it wanted to pierce right through her hat and mask.
On this day, just as Mu Qingxue was about to go downstairs, the middle-aged woman "coincidentally" emerged carrying a basin of freshly washed clothes, blocking the narrow stairwell dead center with a smile that didn't reach her eyes:
"Well, well, the young miss is here to tutor Lin Fan's boy again?
Such a good student, still bringing so much stuff every day, bags upon bags. Anyone not knowing better would think you three were a family.
And this child is so pretty, she really does share a few facial features with you."
She paused, her gaze sharpening as she swept it over Mu Qingxue:
"Looking at how you're dressed, you don't look like someone who lives around here either. Young miss, what exactly is your relationship with Lin Fan?"
That sharp gaze made Mu Qingxue feel as though she had been stripped bare, like pins and needles pricking her back.
Her grip on her schoolbag straps tightened, her steps halted, and her face turned slightly pale beneath her mask.
Sensing this, Lin Fan immediately stepped out from the room, walked a few steps to stand slightly in front of Mu Qingxue to block most of the woman's view, and forced a somewhat stiff smile at her:
"Auntie Wang, my classmate is warm-hearted and has great grades, so she's helping me go over some problems. The college entrance exams are coming up soon, so we have to hurry.
Mengmeng is the child of a distant relative of mine, staying with me temporarily. My classmate just happens to like kids and brought some things along for her."
He tried using his slender frame to block those ill-intentioned eyes, his voice a bit louder than usual with a hint of deliberate ease, but his tone brooked no argument.
He knew that the more he explained, the easier it was to hand others ammunition; all he could do was remain vague.