Tying on his apron, washing and chopping vegetables—cooking was neither a chore nor distasteful to Han Qian. Though his knife skills were far from exquisite, they sufficed for home-cooked meals. The flavors might not rival those of a professional chef, yet the dishes were pleasing to both eye and palate.
As Han Qian busied himself at the sink, Wen Nuan slipped quietly into the kitchen, hands clasped behind her back, peering curiously at the ingredients in the basin, murmuring softly,
"Hey? These are all my favorites! Aren't you worried I might never leave the kitchen today?"
Without glancing up, Han Qian continued scrubbing the vegetables with earnest focus, replying in a low voice,
"You don't like the smells in the kitchen—why sneak in then? I'm not picky; if you don't come back, I'll eat anyway."
"Oh, Han Qian, you've changed! Men really are fickle. Just a few days since the divorce, and you're already so cold to me. Don't forget—you're still in my debt. Repay what you owe! If you're not picky, why haven't you bought any crab..."
Crabs had always been Wen Nuan's prerogative; she bought them ready-cooked. In their three years of marriage, they had only quarreled once—over Wen Nuan purchasing live crabs and insisting Han Qian cook them. Unable to bring himself to kill them, Han Qian kept them in the fish tank. The next day, he found Wen Nuan plunging each lively crab into boiling water. That night, his face darkened; he neither prepared dinner nor cleaned the kitchen.
Wen Nuan realized she had overstepped, but Han Qian bore no grudge. Turning away from the kitchen, just as Wen Nuan feared he might boycott the evening's chores, he returned—this time holding a box of yogurt.
"Go, take it to the sofa and drink it there. Don't bother me here."
Post-divorce, Han Qian no longer treated Wen Nuan with reverence. Deep down, he no longer felt compelled to appease her. People were equals, none superior to another, even if she was now his creditor. Yet Wen Nuan stayed. Unbeknownst to her, as she lamented Han Qian's change, she herself had transformed. Perhaps it was the shift in their relationship.
They were no longer husband and wife.
"Hm? The intestine stew needs more chili to taste right."
"Forgot about nearly dying in pain at two in the morning and being rushed to the hospital?"
That had been the second winter after their marriage. Wen Nuan had insisted on the spiciest boiled fish, only to be taken to the emergency room that night. Diagnosed with intestinal spasms, none of the medication helped. In the end, Han Qian could only urge her to drink water.
He stayed by her bedside all night while Wen Nuan whimpered incessantly, disturbing the other patients' rest and nearly causing Han Qian to come to blows in the hospital.
Recalling this, Wen Nuan once thought his care was a given; now, she considered it a fragment of small happiness in their contractual marriage.
"Then use less chili, cook it longer. Do we have soup?"
"Egg drop soup, milady! If you're free, could you help me bring the dishes upstairs?"
"Of course, Master Han."
As Wen Nuan left the kitchen, Han Qian couldn't help but smile. Suddenly, his phone rang. Flustered, he fumbled to answer an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Sir, would you like a home service? We are the nation's premier..."
Han Qian promptly hung up. Scammers were far too common these days.
Dinner consisted of three dishes and one soup. Were it not for Wen Nuan's presence, Han Qian might never have cooked at all. At the table, neither spoke, quietly eating as if transported back to their three years together. Afterwards, Han Qian began tidying the dishes; Wen Nuan volunteered to help, but accidentally stubbed her little toe on the table leg. Han Qian had to look for a band-aid, but the house had none.
After washing up, Han Qian returned to the sofa and pulled out his laptop to study. Wen Nuan appeared, dressed casually.
"Master Han, want to go for a walk? This princess offers you the honor of guarding her."
"No."
"Han Qian!"
"No! I want to read."
Wen Nuan huffed, took a deep breath, then smiled radiantly, coaxing in a coquettish tone,
"Brother Qian, I'm hu..."
"I'm going downstairs, shut up."
"Such a narrow-minded man."
Unable to withstand Wen Nuan's half-playful, half-magical verbal assault, Han Qian raised his hands in surrender and headed downstairs.
Barefaced and beautiful, with her statuesque height and slender legs, Wen Nuan was a vision wherever she went. Beside her, the handsome Han Qian complemented her perfectly.
Together, the striking couple instantly became the neighborhood's center of attention, drawing numerous glances. Upon reaching the basketball court, Wen Nuan exclaimed she was too tired to walk further and wanted to buy water from the supermarket, asking what Han Qian wanted to drink. Han Qian glanced at the store, then at their home, shaking his head to decline.
"Stingy," Wen Nuan muttered, then trotted off toward the market, betraying no sign of fatigue. Left alone, Han Qian lingered by the court, tempted to play.
Just then, a young man around twenty twisted his ankle. With one fewer player, all eyes turned to Han Qian. Someone asked if he could fill in briefly, promising another would take over soon.
Unpracticed in basketball, Han Qian fumbled two passes and was met with disdain. Proud, he refused to leave in shame, shrugged off his jacket, and rejoined the game, cautiously seeking his rhythm.
As sweat poured, his touch improved—layups, three-pointers, steals, assists. Except for rebounds, Han Qian reached peak form. But just as he grew confident, the mood on the court shifted; the other players, fueled as if injected with adrenaline, sped up and began dunking spectacularly.
Amid his confusion, Han Qian noticed the injured player staring intently off-court. Following the gaze, Han Qian saw Wen Nuan had returned, seated with her phone, engrossed in a call.
"My husband doesn't need home service; he doesn't eat snacks."
Wen Nuan's face was a picture of innocent seriousness. On the other end, a sultry voice purred,
"Oh, sister, you're mistaken—every man strays. The home flower can never compare to the wild one."
"He doesn't eat those either. Wild flowers are dirty."
Silence followed, then heavy breathing, as the caller collected herself.
"Don't be afraid, sister, I'll win him over."
"Are you confident, aunty? My husband only likes tall girls—luckily, I'm one seventy-two. What about you? Over one seventy yet?"
"Outrageous!"
The call ended. The game finished with Han Qian soundly defeated. Under the gaze of all present, he approached the rare beauty, accepted a bottle of water, and drank deeply.
Hmm?
Taken already?
Han Qian dismissed the whispers, eyeing Wen Nuan's phone with curiosity.
"My phone? Someone was calling for me?"
Wen Nuan shook her head with a smile.
"Spam call. They heard you getting beaten so badly and couldn't bear to watch. I answered to pass the time. So, how do you feel? Getting old and out of stamina?"
Han Qian shrugged.
"Having a goddess nearby beats any energy drink. Let's go before those guys start seeing me as a rival."
As his words faded, the sound of a volleyball echoed behind him. The dunking player approached, proposing a one-on-one match. Han Qian agreed, only to be utterly trounced. The young man beamed, expecting favor from the goddess, but Wen Nuan only covered her mouth to laugh quietly, her eyes icy when they met his.
Han Qian and Wen Nuan left.
The court lost its spirit. One by one, the players sat down like withered eggplants. The dunking youth sighed,
"Why play basketball? Wouldn't it be better to find a girlfriend with this time?"
Everyone nodded in agreement.
In a luxurious city apartment, a woman stood fuming before a mirror, grinding her teeth.
"One seventy-two and proud? I'm one eighty—does that make me short? D*mn ruler's broken. How did I end up at one sixty-six?"