In the west wing, the Emperor had also caught a whiff of the aroma wafting from the kitchen.
This Emperor was not fussy about food, he ate whatever was served to him. He didn't have high expectations of Mao Zhen's cooking skills, thinking it would be enough if the food was cooked properly.
However, as he smelt the enticing aroma, he didn't believe it was Mao Zhen who was cooking and thus came out to take a look.
He saw a small figure busily cooking at the stove, sleeves rolled up, wearing a small apron, fluently chopping and stir-frying ingredients. It was a sight of practiced ease.
Hadn't he said he wouldn't serve him?
Hadn't he said it was inconvenient at his home?
It seemed like he was only holding a grudge against him, but in reality, he was very kind-hearted.
Initially, the Emperor felt Nan Feng was like a little hedgehog, prickling him wherever he went, but now he started to feel affectionate towards her.
He couldn't help but smile, and then returned to his room.
...
