Yuncheng, Qiao residence…
Yan Wangchuan had never cooked before, so half of the first pot of dumplings had gone mushy from overcooking. Song Fengwan watched him separate the good and bad dumplings, pour a small plate of vinegar, place it on a tray, and prepare to go upstairs.
"Uncle Yan, that plate is spoiled." The fillings were already overcooked.
"It's edible."
When Yan Wangchuan went upstairs, Qiao Aiyun was sitting on the bed in a daze, her eyes listless.
At this moment, her mind was spinning. She had drunk a lot of alcohol yesterday. After hearing Old Madam Yan's heartfelt words, coupled with the festive atmosphere, she had wanted to close the distance between the two of them. What happened afterward was unpredictable.
