Chapter 99: Kitchen Talk

After understanding Li Qingxuan's thoughts, Li Feifei helplessly turned and walked toward the kitchen, her steps heavy.

But her last words echoed clearly in Li Qingxuan's mind: "Opportunities won't wait for you forever. That little brat Shuang'er is sly as hell, her eyes are sharp."

Li Qingxuan stood where he was, the spot where her fingertip had poked his chest still faintly aching; he watched Li Feifei's disappearing back behind the kitchen door, his expression complex, not knowing whether the news she brought was good or bad.

Li Qingxuan took a deep breath, tossed aside the emotions in his mind, the air filling his lungs brought a hint of coolness, but it could not extinguish the fire ignited in his heart by Li Feifei's words; instead it flared higher. He unconsciously lifted his hand, the pad of his thumb gently rubbing the spot where Li Feifei's fingertip had rested, as if trying to wipe something away, or to confirm something.

His gaze, however, involuntarily drifted toward the direction Zhao Ling'er had just fled in panic; the door to the kitchen stood ajar, letting through a sliver of light.

Inside the kitchen, Ling'er and Shuang'er, who were washing bowls and chopsticks, saw Li Feifei walk in and both lifted their heads to look at her.

Li Feifei looked at the two, whose height and appearance were identical, and both so gorgeous, she couldn't help but sigh again: This is totally unfair.

Shuang'er raised her hand and passed the clean plate to Zhao Ling'er, who was standing by the sink responsible for rinsing, her mouth splitting into a grin as she cheerfully shouted, "Sister Feifei! The bowls are almost done!"

The faucet gushed, splashing droplets that wet the bangs on her forehead.

Hearing the call, Zhao Ling'er's hand motion barely paused; she didn't dare turn her head, only slightly turned her face and softly said, "Sister Feifei."

She was vigorously scrubbing a bowl, while a pile of bowls awaiting rinsing stacked in the sink, clearly she had been agonizing in the kitchen for a while.

The foam floating in the sink gathered and dispersed before her eyes, much like her current tumultuous and uneasy mood; she could clearly feel Li Feifei's gaze landing on her back, that gaze gentle yet penetrating, causing her lingering embarrassment to well up again.

Her cheeks seemed to heat up faintly again, so she lowered her head further, almost pressing it against the sink's edge.

Li Feifei walked to the sink, leaning against the cool metal countertop, arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over Zhao Ling'er's tense profile and Shuang'er's carefree little face, the corner of her mouth hinting at a meaningful faint smile.

The kitchen was filled with a faint fragrance and the slight coolness of water vapor; the sound of flowing water and clinking dishes filled the brief silence.

"You washed them really clean." Li Feifei's voice broke the silence, carrying her usual gentleness, her gaze like a precise probe lightly landing on Zhao Ling'er's slightly red ears.

"Ling'er does things meticulously, scrubbing each bowl for a long time, no wonder they're so clean." She spoke in a teasing tone, mocking Zhao Ling'er, who suddenly seemed to realize, immediately washing the dishes efficiently, no longer letting her mind wander.

"Ling'er, what do you think of your brother Qingxuan?" Li Feifei asked, pretending nonchalance as she reached out to scoop up a bowl and began washing it in the sink.

"In ancient tales, heroes who save beauties must promise themselves in marriage—I think it'd be better to let my sister marry him, hehe!" Shuang'er completely missed her sister's face turning pale in an instant, as she placed the washed plate into the sink and said with a mischievous grin, her little face full of excitement at stirring up trouble, "Besides, my sister definitely likes Qingxuan; when she sleeps she clings tightly to him, sleeping so soundly!"

"Plop—"

Zhao Ling'er's plate slipped from her hand and fell heavily into the foam-filled sink, splashing a large spray of water mixed with white foam, drenching her front and arms.

The cool water made her body shudder, but it was nothing compared to the bone‑chilling impact of Shuang'er's words; she seemed jolted awake by the sound, whipping around, her face flushed like a sunset sky, ashamed and furious, her voice suddenly sharp: "Zhao Shuang'er! Shut your mouth!"

She even trembled slightly from extreme embarrassment and anger, as if she were about to rush over and cover her sister's utterly unguarded little mouth the next second.

Shuang'er was frightened by her sister's unprecedented fierce reaction; the spoon she had just picked up to rinse clattered into the sink with a "clang".

Her big eyes quickly filled with tears of grievance, her mouth puckered; looking at her furious sister, then at Li Feifei nearby, she instinctively felt afraid, her small body unconsciously shrinking back behind Li Feifei.

Li Feifei, quick-eyed and quick-handed, grabbed Zhao Ling'er's body as she nearly toppled from her swift turn, and with her other hand firmly pressed her shoulder; though the force was light, it carried undeniable comfort and restraint.

Her gaze swept over Zhao Ling'er's heaving chest from intense emotional fluctuations and Shuang'er's tear‑rimmed little face, finally settling on Zhao Ling'er's eyes, which almost seemed to spit fire yet hid deep panic and helplessness.

"Ling'er," Li Feifei's voice remained gentle, even carrying a barely perceptible sigh, but beneath that gentleness lay a rock‑like stabilizing power that clearly penetrated Zhao Ling'er's brink‑of‑collapse emotion: "Don't scare your sister."

Her fingertips lightly pinched Zhao Ling'er's ice‑cold, soaked sleeve, as if transmitting some silent comfort, or reminding her of her current lapse.

Only the sound of the faucet gurgling remained in the kitchen, monotonous and continuous, washing away the dishes in the sink and that silent thunder just now.

Foam floated and burst on the water's surface, like Zhao Ling'er's shattered sense of shame at this moment; Shuang'er's intermittent soft sobs added a further measure of suffocating oppression.

Li Feifei's fingertips still rested on Zhao Ling'er's ice‑cold, soaked sleeve, that gentle yet firm pressure like an anchor in a stormy sea.

Zhao Ling'er's ragged breaths echoed in the kitchen air; she unconsciously clenched her fists, nails digging deep into her palms, trying to use that slight pain to suppress the tumultuous shame welling up from her heart.

Shuang'er's sobs were like tiny needles, pricking her tense nerves one after another, making her heart doubt what she was even doing.

"All right, Shuang'er, stop crying," Li Feifei's voice sounded just in time, warm and gentle yet carrying undeniable authority; she turned sideways to pull the sobbing little girl to her side, using the pad of her finger to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks, "Sister isn't scolding you on purpose; she was startled by your words."

These words were like a thin gauze, lightly covering the earlier thunder, yet cleverly sidestepping the main issue.

Shuang'er hiccuped, her big eyes brimming with tears, her small hand tightly gripping Li Feifei's shirt cuff, as if it were the only driftwood in a vast ocean.

Zhao Ling'er, however, remained frozen in place, water droplets sliding down her hair tips, spreading a wet patch across the dark fabric on her chest.

She dared not lift her head, her gaze locked tightly on the foam floating in the sink, its gathering and dispersing like her fractured thoughts—the warmth of last night's embrace, Li Qingxuan's silent stare, Li Feifei's perceptive gaze, and Shuang'er's bold words—all surging and colliding in her mind.

Her cheeks burned hot, as if about to ignite, even the roots of her ears tinged with a flush of red.

"Ling'er," Li Feifei's voice drew nearer, almost brushing her ear, warm breath blowing over her icy skin, "Stop overthinking, hurry and apologize to your sister."

That tone remained gentle, yet like a probe it lightly pried open her layered defenses, straight to the panic she most refused to show.

In the kitchen, the faucet still gurgled, the monotonous sound of flowing water scouring the dishes, also scouring the congealed air.

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