Watching the boy's diminutive figure, Ou Lan, still somewhat groggy, stuck out her tongue and licked her lips, at a loss for words.
A five-year-old Zhan Lingtao can cook? Damn, she was nineteen and still couldn't.
Ou Lan quickly followed to check out the dining room.
Today, Zhan Lingtao was extremely well-behaved, a stark contrast to his usual antagonistic demeanor with Ou Lan, diligently setting up the bowls and chopsticks, and quietly waiting for her to join him for the meal.
Indeed, he looked like a pitiful child constantly trying to please a wicked stepmother.
It was still that luxurious five-meter-long dining table. Although the dishes on the table were not as lavish as those prepared by the servants, coming from a five-year-old child, it was already very impressive.
Ou Lan was moved to tears. The child she had always been harsh on had personally cooked her dinner?
