"Having dinner." She seemed not to notice the thermos in his hand, or perhaps she misunderstood it was an empty thermos, saying, "Right, you haven't eaten yet? Come on in. It's my fault for missing your mealtime."
Oh boy! Here he is, foolishly assuming she even doesn't know how to order takeout.
The funny thing is, he stubbornly continues to ask her: "You ordered takeout? The roadside stalls use gutter oil."
"No, there happened to be noodles and meat in the fridge, so I cooked noodles myself."
Yao Zibao was dumbfounded for several seconds. Aren't hothouse flowers supposed to be unable to cook?
Is the noodle she cooked comparable to the toxic noodles his big brother makes?
Song Binbin smiled at him, her dimple at the corner of her mouth filled with spring water, looking charmingly rich and beautiful: "If you don't mind, you can come in and have a taste."
