Fu Yanlin's tone and expression were as ice-cold as if someone had desecrated his ancestor's grave, making him come across as cold and distant.
Wen Sheng bit her lip, meeting his gaze, herself in a huff. "I have hands, I can drink on my own."
"Either open your mouth or stop eating altogether. Like I said, I'm serving you because you were injured due to me."
"..."
After a prolonged standoff, Fu Yanlin persistently held on, leading Wen Sheng to finally give in and obediently let him feed her the porridge.
It was a sweet porridge, heavily laden with sugar.
The sugar blended imperfectly with the soft glutinous rice porridge, its sweetness spreading between her lips and teeth. The porridge, freshly cooked and stored in a thermal food container, was slightly scalding to the mouth, just how Wen Sheng liked it.
