Chop, chop, chop.
A steady and rhythmic sound could be heard inside the kitchen, like a melodious song.
The knife confidently sliced through the vegetables. Dull thuds followed as the cabbage and bok chai split apart into several similarly small-sized cuts. It was so precise that even a cutting machine would hide in embarrassment.
The owner of the delicate hand holding the knife, though, seemed a little bit absentminded.
Her head bowed down toward the cutting board, but her eyes looked blank, didn't seem to pay attention to whatever her hands were currently doing.
And like magic, no matter how fast the movement of the knife, it seemed like it wouldn't be able to catch on to Ling Luo's other hand, which made a cat paw holding the vegetables firmly on the chopping board. There was only a hair's breadth distance between them, but it seemed even farther than the distance between the earth and the sun.
