The clean fragrance of porridge drifted through the air. The scent of rice, mingled with a fresh, herbal aroma, wafted into Jiang Ci's nose, making her swallow involuntarily.
Grumble—
In the empty, quiet room, the small sound was clearly heard by Lu Yan.
“Would you like to eat now? It might still be a bit hot.” Lu Yan picked up the bowl, touching its middle. He could feel the heat, but his hands, covered in burn scars, had long since ceased to care about such a temperature.
The blush that had just faded from Jiang Ci's face threatened to return. He had definitely heard it. Jiang Ci, could you embarrass yourself any more? She pinched the corner of the quilt, rubbing it back and forth between her fingers.
Lu Yan was still waiting for an answer. Just as Jiang Ci was about to speak, she saw that he had already scooped up a spoonful of porridge and was bringing it toward her.
The hand she had raised to take the bowl froze in midair. Was he... going to feed her? The porridge was held before her, steam rising from it, radiating an inviting warmth. Forget it. If he wanted to feed her, so be it. Why care so much?
Jiang Ci had reached a point of self-abandonment. The porridge was close, but not quite close enough; she had to crane her neck to reach the spoon. Her neck grew stiff, and the movement pulled at her wounds, causing a sharp jolt of pain, but she did not make a sound.
She craned her neck, her slightly pale, chapped lips parting slightly.
Slurp—
Lu Yan was already prepared to have porridge spat all over his face. He knew exactly how terrible this stuff tasted. The sourness of stale rice, the astringency of the Meridian-Connecting Orchid root, the bitterness of the elixir, and the burnt taste from the bottom of the pot—all mixed together into a flavor profile complex enough to make one question life itself. Even a dog wouldn't eat it. To be honest, he felt a bit guilty feeding this to a patient. Though he had saved her life, which more than repaid the favor of those hundred-odd spirit stones.
He began to organize his words, preparing to tell the girl to just bear with it. After all, there really was no rice left in the house today. And feeding her Inedia Pills, those stomach-tricking things, while she was sick? What kind of cultivation joke was that?
“Um... the porridge...”
“Could you please move the spoon a bit to the right? Thank you.”
Huh? Lu Yan wondered if he had misheard. My friend, is your tongue numb? Can you really swallow this? He seriously doubted the girl's taste buds.
“Oh, oh, right.”
But since she had asked, he might as well comply. To each their own, no matter how bizarre. What if she actually liked this terrible taste? With a stiff expression, Lu Yan shifted the spoon slightly to the right.
Jiang Ci finally didn't have to crane her neck. The spoon was brought steadily to her lips. She took it in and swallowed. The warm porridge slid down her throat, bringing a wave of warmth to her stomach. It wasn't that she couldn't taste the complex, awful flavor, but she simply didn't care. She had been starving for too long; anything would taste good right now.
“That's fine,” she said.
Lu Yan scooped another spoonful and brought it over. This time the positioning was perfect, and she didn't need to guide him. She opened her mouth and swallowed. Another spoonful, and then another. He gradually found his rhythm, feeding her at a steady pace, and she no longer had to reach for it every time.
Jiang Ci felt a bit awkward. Mostly, it was because the man in front of her kept spacing out while holding the spoon, and she felt too embarrassed to rush him, so she could only prompt him in subtle ways. Besides, craning her neck really was exhausting...
She could no longer make out any specific taste, only that it was delicious. The constant, gnawing pain in her stomach slowly eased, and the chill in her body gradually dissipated, replaced by a cozy warmth. A hot stream flowed from her throat into her stomach, dispersing much of her physical exhaustion. She even felt her eyelids growing heavy, but she didn't want to sleep yet. She wanted another bowl.
The only sound left in the room was the quiet slurping of porridge. Lu Yan fed her spoonful by spoonful, and Jiang Ci drank it spoonful by spoonful. One bowl, two bowls—
By the third bowl, Lu Yan went to scoop from the pot, and the spoon scraped against the bottom with a harsh screech. He paused, dipping the spoon in to feel around—the bottom of the pot was already bare. She had eaten more than half of the entire pot of porridge by herself.
Lu Yan scraped the bottom of the pot with a numb expression, questioning his reality. Is this stuff really that good?
She had eaten almost a whole pot by herself. A whole pot. Could her stomach really handle that? He felt a bit of a headache coming on. Why did he feel like he wouldn't be able to afford to feed her? It seemed he had brought home a gluttonous Taotie.
He carried the bowl back to the bedside and sat down, holding the spoon before her—but after waiting for a long while, there was no response.
“Done eating?” he asked tentatively.
There was no reply.
The sound of even breathing came from the bed. Jiang Ci had fallen asleep. She had already been running a mild fever, and after surviving such a misunderstanding, the moment she filled her stomach and relaxed, sleepiness washed over her. The blanket was warm, the rain was pattering outside, and in the brief moment Lu Yan had gone to the kitchen to fetch more porridge, she had drifted off.
Her head was tilted to one side, her lips slightly parted, her breathing light and slow. A lingering flush still stained her cheeks, stretching from her cheekbones all the way to her ears. Her long eyelashes fluttered slightly, as if she were dreaming.
Lu Yan stood frozen, holding the spoon.
He couldn't see. But he could hear her breathing change, from tense and hurried to steady and deep. He had heard many people's breathing before they died—gasping, intermittent, wheezing like a broken bellows. Hers was nothing like that. She was truly asleep.
He gently placed the spoon back into the bowl, careful not to wake her. He set the bowl on the bedside nightstand, making as little noise as possible.
Asleep? he asked himself.
She certainly wasn't on guard anymore. Recalling how she had just been throwing a life-and-death fit, thinking he had used her as a cultivation vessel, he shook his head. She really was thick-skinned. One moment she was crying for death, and the next she was sleeping like nothing had happened. He remembered how she had looked curled up in the corner of the ruined temple, soaked through, shivering, and crying that she was cold. Now, she was covered in his cultivator's robe, lying in his bed, having drunk the porridge he made, fast asleep.
Half a bowl of porridge remained. Lu Yan figured that since she could drink a whole pot, he should be able to manage half a bowl, right? Maybe he just hadn't adjusted to the taste earlier? He picked up the bowl and took a sip as if it were poison.
The sourness of the stale rice hit him first, followed by the astringency of the Meridian-Connecting Orchid root, which he couldn't even chew properly, getting it stuck in his throat. The bitterness of the elixir followed, numbing the back of his tongue. Finally, the burnt taste from the bottom of the pot lingered on his tongue long after the other flavors had faded, refusing to leave.
He tried his best to convince himself that he was tasting a heavenly delicacy, but he simply couldn't muster the courage to take a second sip.
Yet even that single small sip did not spare him.
“Blegh—”
He covered his mouth, forcing the sound back down. He couldn't spit it out, and he couldn't make a sound; she was sleeping. He swallowed it down, the mixture of sour, astringent, bitter, and burnt flavors sliding down his throat like a wad of wet rags. His stomach churned once, then twice. He squatted by the stove, supporting himself with his hand on the edge, resting his forehead against the back of his hand as he waited for the wave of nausea to pass.
The rain continued to fall. Water dripped from the eaves. The room was very quiet.
After squatting for a while, he stood up, placed the bowl in the pot, and filled it with water, knowing it would be incredibly difficult to scrub the next day otherwise.
He walked over to the bed and reached out to feel the corner of the quilt—she was well-covered and hadn't kicked it off. He stood by the edge of the bed for a while, at a loss for what to do. With another person in the room, he didn't even know which side of the floor to walk on.
He turned, took two steps toward the stove, and stopped. He walked back, and stopped again. Finally, he leaned against the wall and slid down onto the floor. The ground was cold, but he couldn't be bothered to get up. Leaning against the wall, he listened to her breathing. It was very light, very slow.
He closed his eyes. This time, there were no nightmares.
Rate on N.U.
