The serenity of the living room was increasingly palpable second by second. Jiang Muwan sat on the sofa, her spine that was initially slightly erect gradually became rigid. The old man's gaze fell on Jiang Muwan with a hint of subtle oppression, and although his smiling face gave nothing away, Jiang Muwan knew that this was all just a facade.
The sound of the water boiling in the pottery jug slowly ceased. As the saying goes, water that makes noise doesn't boil, and boiling water is noiseless.
The water in the pot before her was indeed about to boil.
Song Sizhi's gaze rested on Jiang Muwan, seemingly noticing something. Picking up the pottery jug in front of her and leaning forward slightly, her words carried a hint of wanting to rescue Jiang Muwan, as she spoke with a pleasing smile, "The water's boiled, I'll make tea for Grandpa."
She had thought that this phrase would have an effect,
