December 27th on the lunar calendar.
When Jiang Chen woke up, the world outside the window was a blanket of silvery white.
Clearly,
snow had fallen all night.
"Bro, you're awake. I was about to call you."
Stepping out of the bedroom, Hong Xiaoyu was busy in the kitchen.
"What are you doing?"
"Making noodles, the snow outside is too thick, and I was too lazy to go out."
"Since when did you learn to cook?"
Jiang Chen was slightly surprised.
"You're underestimating me, bro. Hurry up and wash your face; the noodles are almost ready."
By the time Jiang Chen had finished washing up, the noodles were on the table—a very ordinary bowl of hanging noodles with an egg beaten in.
"When did you learn this?"
Jiang Chen sat down and asked with a smile.
"Do I need to learn this? My mom has been cooking for decades, and I've learned just by watching. Bro, try it."
Hong Xiaoyu handed over the chopsticks.
Jiang Chen picked up a chopstickful.
"How is it?"
