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墨書 Inktalez
Goodness, the bed and the floor were covered in his vomit, scattered everywhere.
There was last night's food, along with the ingredients from the hangover soup. The large pieces of kelp that hadn't been chewed properly were particularly disgusting, filling the entire room with the smell of alcohol and foul odor.
I even threw up last night's skewers before I managed to lean against the wall to stand up. I rushed back to my room to grab a mask to wear, then returned to open the windows in his room and started cleaning up the mess.
Exhausted from tidying up, I had completely lost my appetite, and Xiao Minxing had already left at some point without me noticing.
I slumped on the couch in the living room, too lazy to move a muscle. Plus, having slept so little last night, I was starting to feel drowsy.
When I woke up, sunlight was shining on me, but it didn't feel hot inside; I was even covered with a thin blanket.
The sleepiness vanished instantly as I sprang up from the couch and looked around. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single person in sight. However, the air conditioning in the living room was on at just the right temperature.
It was nearly noon. I hadn't forgotten his instructions but hesitated about whether to make him lunch or not.
If I didn't cook, I worried he might suddenly appear wanting to eat. If I did cook and it turned out like yesterday, I'd get scolded again. After thinking it over, I decided to call him first.
After a few rings, he finally picked up. His voice was as cold as ever; I had gotten used to it: "Speak."
"Are you coming back for lunch?"
"I'm coming back," he replied, then his tone shifted as he lowered his voice: "Don't call me with such stupid questions in the future."
If I don't call, how would I know whether you're eating or not? Is this question lacking common sense? You're the one lacking common sense, not only that but also lacking empathy and warmth, like an emotionless iceberg.
However, what my stomach says is none of my hands' business; I still honestly made lunch.
When I came out of the kitchen, I unexpectedly saw Xiao Minxing sitting in a corner of the living room, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at the kitchen door.
He really appears and disappears mysteriously; I have no idea where he popped up from this time. Luckily, I didn't say anything rude earlier; otherwise, I would definitely be caught red-handed and wouldn't know how to deal with it now.
But my mind suddenly recalled that scene from this morning, and my face instantly flushed. To cover it up, I hurriedly turned around to bring the dishes from the kitchen and then invited him to eat.
He sat at the dining table while I quietly retreated, wanting to sneak back upstairs and come down after he finished eating.
"What's wrong? Did I ruin your appetite?" he asked.
My feet froze in mid-air, unsure where to put them. After being married for so long, I've never shared a meal with him at this table—oh no, we had breakfast once, but I can't even remember how it felt.
We've both gotten used to this way of interacting—seeing each other less and getting angry less—but what did his words just mean?
If I leave like this, will he really think I dislike him?
Maybe it's better to just go back. Even though I might dislike him, he doesn't care, but I don't want to complicate things. The most important thing I've learned from interacting with Xiao Minxing is to hide my little emotions and make myself invisible.
I retreated, sitting as far away from him as possible, only picking at the food in front of me, lowering my eyes and avoiding his gaze.
But a pair of chopsticks reached over, and not only that, they picked up some food and directly tossed it into my bowl.
His voice followed: "Are you trying to starve me with this terrible food you make every day, so you can conveniently inherit my fortune?"
I hurriedly looked up, but all I saw was a cold, indifferent face.
He was really becoming more and more twisted, increasingly difficult to deal with.
I really wanted to throw the chopsticks right at his face.
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