Chapter 147 — The Long-Awaited...

"Ah!" Zhao Ying's face burned scarlet at Yang Juehuan's words, and despite herself she remembered that first visit of Yang Ce's, the scene in the bathroom, and her face flamed. Yang Ce picked up the dishes and the soup and, still grinning, brushed past Zhao Ying's body again. Zhao Ying had grievances she could not voice, yet there was also a strange sensation that made her heart pound. As Yang Ce passed by her, a shiver ran through her whole body.

To be continued.

1004. Lan Ling's Letter

Zhao Ying gritted her teeth and forced herself to endure the strange sensations in her body, but Yang Jiyan seemed to be doing it on purpose, dawdling endlessly. At last Zhao Ying could stand it no longer. "Yang Ce, are you ever going to be done? Why are you so slow carrying a couple of dishes?"

Yang Jiyan said pitifully, "How can you blame me? I'm carrying a plate in each hand—I'm afraid of spilling them."

How could Zhao Ying know that Yang Ce could carry not just one plate in each hand but several and keep perfect balance? She assumed he really was about to drop them, and so let it go.

After dawdling for ages, Yang Ce finally carried the two fragrant dishes of soup and food out of the kitchen, secretly delighted. What wonderful bounce.

Zhao Ying was left so unsettled by Yang Ce that her face felt feverish, burning hot. She was sure that if she laid an egg on her cheek at that moment, it would cook through.

Zhao Ying finished the last dish, took several deep breaths, and only then carried the serving bowl out of the kitchen—only to find Yang Ce already sprawled comfortably at the dining table, slurping his soup.

Zhao Ying was instantly annoyed. This fellow, eating before she even sat down. What sort of person was he? She had gone to all the trouble of cooking for him, and here he was acting as if it had nothing to do with her.

What galled Zhao Ying most was that Yang Ce was drinking straight from the soup bowl without even ladling out a portion for himself. She gave a humph. "Yang Ce, if you drink it like that, how am I supposed to have any?"

Yang Puqi was startled, then remembered that Zhao Ying was going to eat too. A little embarrassed, he said, "It was just so good. I couldn't resist the temptation, so I took a taste, and once I tasted it I simply couldn't stop. It's absolutely delicious."

Praised so warmly by Yang Ce, Zhao Ying's heart bloomed with joy, and her resentment over Heng eating alone without waiting for her was greatly diminished. Still, she grumbled, "And you didn't think that I haven't eaten yet either?"

"Then let's eat together. It's no big deal," Yang Hengye said with a laugh. What was the harm in two people sharing one bowl of soup? Besides, hadn't Zhao Ying been jealous of him and Wang Yanqiu sharing a bowl of noodles? Now he had gotten his own back.

"Eat together?" Zhao Ying was taken aback, then said, "Who wants to eat your spit?"

"Heh, it's not as if we haven't already. At the temple fair we ate after each other, ha-ha," Yang Ce said with a hearty laugh.

Zhao Ying's face went bright red. "You—don't talk nonsense. That was unintentional."

"All right, all right, unintentional, then." Yang Hengye said, "Hurry up and sit down and eat. It'll go cold again in a moment."

"I'd say it won't wait for cold—the food on this table is about to be eaten clean by you," Zhao Ying said with a glare and a scolding tone at Yang Puqi.

Sure enough, in no time at all Yang Cenbin had put away half a bowl of soup.

Yang Yongjin smiled good-naturedly, served two bowls of rice—the fuller one for himself, the smaller one for Zhao Ying—and the two of them sat around the table and began to eat.

Zhao Ying might have said she disdained Yang Juehuan's spit, but she still shyly picked up the soup spoon and drank the soup together with Yang Puqi. And she hardly drank little of it, either.

Yang Ce took it all in, secretly sighing to himself: a woman's mind, just as the books described—her mouth says one thing, her heart another.

"Ying-jie, I never expected you to cook so well. I haven't had my fill," Yang Ce said—not flattery, but the honest conviction that Zhao Ying was a master of the culinary arts.

"Is that so?" Zhao Ying said coolly. "Even if it's good, I won't cook it for you."

"Why not?" Yang Jiyan was dumbfounded, asking in some bewilderment.

"No reason." Zhao Ying suddenly smiled. "Do you take me for a servant, cooking for you every day?"

"Ha-ha, I never said every day. Just once in a while, to improve my meals—and that's settled, then," Yang Duoyan said to himself.

"You really have no shame. You say it's settled and so it's settled, honestly—" Zhao Ying shook her head, helpless against Heng's rascality.

Since Yang Ce had taken a nap earlier, it was already past eight in the evening by the time dinner was over, and the hour was late. Yang Ce very much wanted to stay and carry on the flirtation with Zhao Ying, but he understood that some things couldn't be rushed—haste makes waste. His relationship with Zhao Ying had not yet reached the stage of staying the night. If Yang Ce insisted on staying, Zhao Ying might not say anything, but her impression of him would surely plummet; she would think him a frivolous man who didn't take romance seriously.

So rather than wait for Zhao Ying to show him the door, Yang Ce preferred to take his leave on his own initiative. There would be another chance tomorrow evening anyway; this one moment was no great loss. He stood up and said, "Ying-jie, it's about time. I'll head back first. Tomorrow afternoon, after your class, give me a call and I'll come help you move."

Seeing that Yang Ce hadn't forgotten about the move, Zhao Ying was quite at a loss, and could only nod in agreement. "All right. After my class, I'll give you a call."

"Then it's settled." Yang Ce grinned, and only then handed Zhao Ying the bag he carried with him. "Sister Ying, there's a gift in here for you from Macau, and one more I bought you on the shopping street this morning. It's very meaningful. When you have time, study it a little."

What Yang Ce meant was of course the Memory Tree, but he could not say so too plainly, and could only hint at it, hoping Zhao Ying would discover its secret as soon as possible.

Zhao Ying took the gift he offered her, a sweetness welling up in her heart. Yang Ce had remembered her after all, and even while out today he had not forgotten to buy her a present. Yet her face showed nothing special; she smiled faintly and said, "Thank you. Then I'll accept it."

"Yes, but you must look at it. It's from my heart, you know." Yang Ce reminded her, rather uneasy.

"I know." Zhao Ying nodded, though inwardly she wondered—it was only a gift, so what did it matter when she looked at it?

Once out of Zhao Ying's home, Yang Ce let out a long breath. At last he had completed an exceedingly difficult task. As for whether Zhao Ying would look at it right away, and whether, having looked, she would discover the secret within, Yang Ce had no way of knowing.

But sooner or later she would discover it. On that point Yang Ce was not worried; if it truly came to that, he could drop another hint himself.

From Zhao Ying's house he walked to his car, and after getting in, Yang Ce did not drive off at once. Instead he sat in the car, drew a small box from his bosom, and began to study it.

This was the thing Zhang Zhishen had brought him, the thing Lan Ling had sent. Yang Ce's thoughts seemed to cross a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers, and he saw Lan Ling's impish, elfin smiling face, smiling at him, as if saying, "Hubby, I miss you."

Yang Ce shook his head lightly and quickly tore the little box open. Inside was an even smaller box and a sheet of letter paper folded into a small square.

Yang Ce unfolded the letter first and began to read.