In the past, when Old Master Ji was still alive, he would always make a bowl of fragrant noodles for the Ji siblings to taste.
Thinking of her grandfather who had passed away from illness, Ji Zhao felt a little nostalgic.
"Sister, the fire is lit." Ji Chen poked half of his face out of the stove and smiled faintly.
"Alright." Ji Zhao returned a smile after coming back to her senses. Then, she grabbed the dough that had already risen and kneaded it evenly again. Then, she picked up the scissors and began to cut the dough into thin strips, like small fish.
She placed the cut noodle fish into the boiling soup along the side of the pot.
Ji Zhao couldn't help but smile when she saw the soup in the pot bubbling non-stop.
