Since “either’s fine,” Jiang Fuyue placed half the cilantro meatballs into the spicy broth and the other half into the clear broth.
“Once they float, they’re ready to eat.”
Xie Dingyuan nodded. “Okay.”
Both of them liked cilantro, and the meatballs were kneaded with just the right firmness—tender, juicy, and incredibly flavorful. They were gone in no time.
Xie Dingyuan scooped up the last one with a slotted spoon, intending to give it to Jiang Fuyue.
She blinked in mild surprise and looked up at him. “I can get it myself.”
But Xie Dingyuan just shook his head without saying a word, firmly placing the meatball into her bowl.
“…Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, lips curled into a small smile.
Uh-oh.
Jiang Fuyue: “Actually… we can just order another portion.”
Xie Dingyuan: “?”
He suddenly understood why, during their previous conversations, Jiang Fuyue would suddenly fall silent halfway through—now it was his turn to go quiet.
In the end, the two of them ordered another round.
Knock knock knock—
“Come in.”
The door was pushed open from the outside. The person who entered had a big belly, short stature, and wore a chef’s hat like a blooming white mushroom. He was carrying a plate of cilantro meatballs.
He walked straight over to Xie Dingyuan’s side, grinning: “Old Xie! What a rare guest. I remember you never step into hotpot restaurants—what wind blew you in today?”
Xie Dingyuan’s eyelid twitched, and he greeted stiffly, “Old Xing.”
Jiang Fuyue raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between the two before settling on Xie Dingyuan, who was trying hard to remain calm, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
Doesn’t go into hotpot restaurants… huh?
“Tsk, judging from your tone, you don’t sound too happy to see me?” Old Xing dropped the meatballs into the pot with practiced ease—half into the clear broth, half into the spicy one.
He even gave it a quick stir.
Very considerate.
But Xie Dingyuan didn’t show much of a reaction.
Old Xing didn’t take offense. Sticking to the philosophy of “if I’m not embarrassed, then it’s others who are,” he turned to Jiang Fuyue with a cheerful smile: “And this is?”
Xie Dingyuan didn’t respond.
Old Xing answered his own question with an “Ohhh”: “One of your nieces? What a pretty girl—college student, right?”
The moment he said “niece,” someone’s face turned black like the bottom of a pot.
“Huh? Not a niece?” Old Xing’s eyes rolled, “Then could it be your—”
Xie Dingyuan quickly cut him off before he could guess further. “Let me introduce—you, this is… my friend.”
He could have said “colleague,” but for some reason, he didn’t. Even though he knew full well it might cause unnecessary misunderstanding.
Sure enough—
“Oooh~~” Old Xing dragged out the sound, “A friend, huh? That’s good. Every relationship starts from being friends, nothing wrong with that.”
A flicker of guilt flashed through Xie Dingyuan’s eyes, but he composed himself quickly. By the time Jiang Fuyue glanced at him suspiciously, the man already looked calm and collected, upright and unbothered.
“Hello!” Old Xing extended his chubby hand toward Jiang Fuyue.
The next second, it was yanked back by Xie Dingyuan: “Aren’t you busy in the kitchen?”
“Busy, of course! But no matter how busy, it’s not as important as seeing an old classmate.”
“……”
Only then did Jiang Fuyue realize the two of them were classmates.
But—
Xie Dingyuan’s classmate runs a hotpot restaurant?
Probably from elementary or middle school…
“Nope,” Old Xing seemed to read her mind, smiling brightly. “Grad school classmates, for real.”
Jiang Fuyue nodded. “Oh.”
“Huh? You’re not surprised at all? Did Old Xie tell you before?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you curious? A national treasure-level scientist’s grad school classmate running a hotpot place?”
Jiang Fuyue replied, “Everyone has their own path.”
Even B University graduates have ended up selling pork. Education can relate to your job, or it can be totally unrelated. It’s a personal choice.
Only then did Old Xing seriously size up this overly calm but overly charming girl.
Red lips and white teeth—she really was beautiful.
Full of youthful energy—she really was young.
Suddenly, he got a bit more serious: “Hello, I’m Xing Wanxiang, but you can call me Old Xing. I’m the owner of this hotpot restaurant. It’s been great chatting with you.”
Jiang Fuyue looked at this hearty, cheerful man and smiled slightly. “Hello, I’m Jiang Fuyue.”
“What university are you in?”
“…I’m in my final year of high school.”
“For real? Just senior high?! Then you’re at least ten years younger than me. I was gonna ask you to call me ‘brother,’ but now I guess ‘uncle’ works too.”
Xie Dingyuan: Absolutely not.
Jiang Fuyue: “Titles don’t matter.”
“Right, right—what matters is the person! I, Old Xing, consider you a friend now! So, what do you think of these cilantro meatballs?”
Jiang Fuyue evaluated earnestly: “Fresh ingredients, good texture—tasty.”
Old Xing broke into a huge grin: “Of course! Let me tell you, this pork is from the freshest leg meat. I went to the market early this morning to hand-pick it, chopped it all by hand, mixed it with balabla…”
Jiang Fuyue listened intently, nodding from time to time.
Every person who takes their craft seriously deserves to be listened to and appreciated.
People like Jiang Da, and now—Old Xing.
From them, you could always see the purest form of passion and dedication.
As for Old Xing?
Seeing the girl listening so attentively, he started going on and on—from seasonings to methods, how to plate it, how to garnish. His mouth just wouldn’t stop.
Meanwhile, Xie Dingyuan, completely sidelined, was like: “?”
What do I have to do to get her attention back on me?
Asking for a friend. Kind of urgent.
Old Xie: Am I really being outshone by a chubby guy with a dad bod?! ╭(╯^╰)╮
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