Chapter 125

The rising steam blurred the stillness at the bottom of his eyes, and his tense jawline seemed to relax slightly from the warmth of the food.

He raised his hand, his distinct knuckles gently rubbing his throbbing temples, and said softly, "You're thoughtful."

Ling'er saw this and quickly pushed a bowl of congee toward Li Qingxuan: "Big Brother Qingxuan, you and Sister Huang Rong should have some too, to warm yourselves."

She paused, her voice softening further with a girl's special tender concern: "Those older sisters… they've all gone to sleep; Shuang'er and I just checked, and the doors are securely closed."

"Mm, good." Li Feifei replied.

Huang Rong reached out to take the bowl of congee; her fingertips felt the warmth transmitted from the ceramic bowl, and that warmth seemed to follow her meridians, slightly easing the chill in her heart.

She sipped the thin yet warm congee in small mouthfuls; the warm current slid into her stomach, dispelling some of her bodily fatigue.

In the study, only the faint sound of swallowing and the occasional soft clink of the spoon against the bowl remained.

The warm yellow light illuminated the two people eating in silence; the food's warmth silently blended with the surrounding heavy atmosphere, adding a touch of comforting human warmth to this night after the calamity.

Li Qingxuan and the others were discussing their journey in the study when they heard the door open outside; Li Qingxuan led the way out, and the three people he had brought back stood at the entrance, at a loss.

One of them let out a growl from his stomach, and Li Qingxuan stepped forward to ease the tension, saying, "I happen to be hungry; let's go downstairs to eat."

Upon entering the canteen, Ling'er and Shuang'er went into the kitchen to stir-fry dishes, while Li Feifei and Huang Rong first served several bowls of congee, plated two dishes of pickled vegetables, and then sat at the dining table.

The canteen was filled with the aroma of cooking food, like a thin veil of warmth gently settling over everything.

The clatter of the spatula and the pop of oil splatters strangely formed a soothing background sound.

The three women stood awkwardly at the doorway, their freshly washed bodies clad in clean but unfamiliar garments, making them appear especially frail.

The warm yellow light of the canteen, the scent of food, and the silhouettes of those seated around the table all made them feel a disorienting sense of not belonging.

Their gazes darted like startled deer, quickly scanning this bright yet unfamiliar space before dropping to fix on their own clean but still uneasy clasped fingers.

"Please have a seat," Li Feifei said softly, as if afraid to disturb something, rising to pull out a few empty chairs: "First, drink some congee to warm your stomach; the dishes will be ready shortly."

Huang Rong also gently pushed the filled bowl of congee to the center of the table; a thin layer of rice oil floated on the warm congee's surface, exuding a plain grain fragrance.

They hesitated, exchanging fearful glances with their eyes, and moved their feet extremely slowly.

The woman whose stomach had growled instinctively covered her abdomen; instantly, shame and deeper panic flushed her face, as if this bodily sound had exposed some improper desire.

In the end, they practically perched on the edge of the chairs, sitting down with extreme caution.

The rough wooden chair backs pressed against their rigid spines, providing an odd yet reassuring sense of support.

They dared not fully relax, their bodies still slightly leaned forward, hands placed cautiously on their pressed knees, eyes downcast, only daring to fix on the bowl of white congee steaming with faint vapor before them.

The rising steam blurred the lingering panic in their eyes, as well as the intense discomfort brought by this new environment before them.

Their tense nerves seemed to receive the faintest soothing from the food's warmth and the surrounding silent acceptance, relaxing just a little.

That plain bowl of white congee, in their eyes, was nothing less than a spring in the desert—the first genuine, tangible kindness this world had given them.

Ling'er and Shuang'er quickly brought up the dishes; smelling the food's aroma, the three women's throats involuntarily twitched, their long‑starved instincts instantly awakened.

They sipped the congee in small mouthfuls, eyes fixed rigidly on their own bowls; the richer and more tempting the food's aroma, the more they felt an unreal dread, fearing that this fleeting warmth would shatter like a bubble at any moment.

They merely flicked a greedy glance with the corner of their eyes over the few plates of glistening green vegetables on the table, then quickly lowered their lids, their breathing becoming shallow and suppressed.

Li Feifei picked up her chopsticks, gave each of them a few pieces, and pushed the dishes toward them; the meal ended in silence.

Ling'er and Shuang'er took the bowls and chopsticks from their hands and headed to the kitchen; the three of them sat awkwardly at the dining table, hands on their laps, heads bowed, as if they had done something wrong.

Li Qingxuan broke the silence: "From now on we'll live together here; please introduce yourselves."

The five of them glanced at each other, and eventually the eldest woman spoke first: "My name is… Wang Hongmei."

She paused, her lips moving a few times, then slowly said: "I'm twenty‑six."

Afterwards she lowered her gaze, daring not to meet anyone's eyes.

After a brief silence, a slender woman beside her spoke softly: "Chen Xiulan, twenty‑four." Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

Finally, everyone's gaze—including that of Li Feifei, Li Qingxuan, and the others—settled on the youngest woman in the corner.

She continually kept herself curled up as if trying to shrink into the chair, her face buried deep in the narrow space formed by the crook of her arm and her knee, only a sliver of pale nape and damp hair at her temples visible.

The warm yellow light of the canteen fell on her thin, trembling shoulders; the air seemed to congeal, leaving only the faint, intermittent gasps she struggled to suppress but still let escape.

She clutched herself tightly, as if that were the only driftwood she could hold onto; facing the surrounding gazes and silent inquiries, she merely buried her head deeper, like an over‑startled snail that has fully retracted into its shell, refusing to give any response.

That very silence weighed heavier on everyone's heart than any crying or shouting.

Silence lay like solidified wax, heavily enveloping every inch of the canteen's air.

Li Qingxuan's gaze slowly swept over the curled‑up figure, finally coming to rest on Wang Hongmei's lowered shoulder; his throat twitched slightly, but he did not rush to speak.

The warm yellow light cast flickering shadows on the tabletop; the lingering aroma of food intertwined with this stillness in an incongruous way, as if even the sound of popping oil were fading away in the distance.

Li Feifei's fingers unconsciously rubbed the rough grain of the table's edge; the pity in her eyes turned into a silent sigh.

She glanced at Chen Xiulan, who bit her lower lip so hard that a faint trace of blood seeped from the flesh.

Huang Rong rose silently, pushing a cup of cold tea to the table's center; the faint clink of the porcelain bowl against the wood startled the woman in the corner, who jerked her neck back, her eyes darting like a frightened bird over everyone before snapping back to her tightly clenched fingertips.

The young woman's breathing finally eased a little, "Li Jing, 22."

After her emotions had eased, she spoke softly; her pallid skin glowed with a fragile sheen in the lamplight, as if a mere breath of wind could blow her away entirely.

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