Beg Me to Remarry

Chapter 29: 029 has become a neighbor Chapter 29: 029 has become a neighbor Villa area in Clearwater.

The lavish living room is decorated in a European palace style, with a crystal chandelier occupying almost half of the ceiling, making the room as bright as day; the valuable calligraphy and paintings dilute the nouveau riche vibe of the place.

However, with countless paintings hung in the living room that is as large as half a basketball court, the excess seemingly detracts, adding a somewhat incongruous feel to the luxurious space.

Xia Cheng, clad in a deep blue silk pajama set, lounges on the sofa, legs propped up on the coffee table, eyes glued unblinkingly to his phone, watching videos of curvaceous beauties dancing.

The sound of slippers approaches from behind him, and he reflexively stuffs the phone under a cushion.

Xia Ning, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter, teases, “Brother, you’re all grown up and yet still so afraid of Dad? It’s just watching pretty girls, what’s the harm? If you want to watch, just watch.”

Relieved to see it’s her, Xia Cheng exhales and replies irritably, “Why aren’t you applying your face mask? What brings you here?”

“What do you think?” retorted Xia Ning with a glare, adjusting her rice-white lace-trimmed gown, her collarbone visible just below the neckline.

“Without you saying so, I wouldn’t let her off either,” Xia Cheng scoffs coldly, a proud smile spreading across his face. “That wretch dared to ruin our charity gala, to not seek revenge would not befit a gentleman.”

“Brother, you are the best,” Xia Ning says with a sweet smile, affectionately linking her arm with Xia Cheng’s. “This time we must make sure she loses face and can no longer stay in the country.”

The siblings’ laughter echoes far across the spacious living room, its reverberations lingering, sending chills down the spines of the servants listening in.

…

Fu Han finally sees the end of her workday. She declines Su Cheng’s invitation to dinner and his offer to drive her home.

She’d just inserted her key into the lock, and before she could turn it, the door creaked open from the inside.

Nan Qing’s face, brimming with a smile, appears. “Fu Han, you’re finally back, I’m starving.”

“?” Fu Han tilts her head, her expression one of confusion.

Nan Qing drags her to the kitchen, where the counter is piled with bowls and dishes filled with neatly chopped vegetables.

The slices of cucumber are uneven, resembling chunks rather than slices; the tree-like roots on the wood ear mushrooms have not been removed; the fish has not been scored; and the chicken is butchered into weird shapes, almost looking like pulled chicken on first glance.

In the face of Fu Han’s bewildered look, Nan Qing scratches her head as though presenting a treasure. “Fu Han, my chopping is not bad, right? I washed these veggies all afternoon; I’ve done my best…”
“Don’t you even know what your own kitchen looks like?” Fu Han asks, patting her head, then ushers Nan Qing out, “I’ll take care of this; you go and rest outside.”

During the day, Nan Qing had called her several times to praise the egg noodles she made that morning and said they would dine at home that evening, with Nan Qing promising to go grocery shopping in advance.

Fu Han doesn’t understand how her clearly oversalted noodles could have brought Nan Qing such joy, as Nan Qing did not seem like someone who preferred strong flavors.

But she didn’t plan to delve into it any deeper. Her relationship with Nan Qing had grown from a chance meeting to one of close friendship, intersecting their lives for only three years.

Besides, during those three years, she grew accustomed to her freedom, disliking discussions about the past and never probing into others’ histories.

Donning an apron, she picks up a kitchen knife and starts to make proper cuts, scoring the fish and re-marinating it with spring onions, ginger, garlic, and cooking wine.

The cucumber slices are too thick; she carefully re-slices them thinner.

And then there is the chicken, wood ear mushrooms, leafy greens, and more.

It’s strange, but she feels a sense of calm while chopping and cooking, as if the troubles that had been on her mind all day had faded away.

Years ago, her father was the chauffeur for the elder Master He, and her mother was a servant with exceptional culinary skills, cooking specifically for the elderly master and He Xing.

In her memory, after school, her mother would set up two chairs in the kitchen—one taller, one shorter—for her to do her homework; when the elder master came home, her father would join them in the kitchen to help or to tutor her.

Back then she didn’t think much of it, but in retrospect, she considers those times the happiest of her 25 years of life.

Even though she was the daughter of a servant and a chauffeur, she was also the cherished darling of her parents and never had to cook; after their passing, the elder Master He was very kind to her and she still stayed out of the kitchen.

But from watching and learning, she could make simple dishes, and during her three years living abroad, she often cooked home-style meals to alleviate her homesickness.

The braised carp is topped with a thick sauce and sprinkled with vibrant green spring onions, looking rather appetizing.

The chicken soup is clear, with the fragrance of the chicken and the aroma of shiitake mushrooms intermingling.

And not to mention the cucumber, ham, and egg dish, displaying the enticing colors of red, yellow, and green.

Nan Qing, stuffing her mouth with food, speaks unclearly: “Fu Han, why don’t I give you the rent back, and you can just cook me a meal when you have time? Your food is too delicious.”

Fu Han puts down her chopsticks and says incredulously, “Nan Qing, do you perhaps have a unique taste? The food I make is very ordinary, yet you sing its praises.”

“The food you cook reminds me of my grandmother’s cooking,” says Nan Qing, with tears rolling down her cheeks, falling into the chicken soup, and disappearing in an instant.

Fu Han isn’t sure how to console her and can only say stiffly, “Then you should eat more. I will still give you the rent as usual. Cooking is something I enjoy, so I’ll do it when I have the time.”

“Then I’ll do the dishes, chop the vegetables,” Nan Qing’s face turns red and she coughs awkwardly, adding, “Although I’m not good at chopping, I’ll work hard at it.”

…

At the same time, He Xing stands beneath their building, his gaze slightly lifted toward their floor, where a faint light shines from the balcony—a warm orange glow that stands out in the night sky.

The streetlight elongates his already tall form, distorting his shadow as though it stretches directly to Fu Han’s balcony.

He closes his eyes slightly, his long eyelashes casting a large shadow on his face, the depths of his dark pupils veiled by his lashes, obscuring the light within.

Occasional passersby take a second look at him, sensing the chill that emanates from his entire being, and hurry away.

He Xing exudes an aura that says, “Keep away.”

It is unclear how much time has passed when a tall and muscular figure rushes toward him, stopping a meter away, his voice low and respectful, “Young Master, everything has been arranged.”

He Xing nods slowly and strides ahead, heading straight for the building where Fu Han lives.

As the elevator doors open, Liang Tao follows behind He Xing and points left, saying, “Young Master, Miss Fu Han lives in 2501, and you will be in 2502; there are two apartments per floor.”

He Xing surveys the area, noting the clean and well-ventilated corridor free of any unpleasant odors—it’s barely suitable for residents.

He eventually nods, “Alright, from today on, I will live here. Call Grandpa and let him know.”

“Yes, Young Master,” Liang Tao hands over the keys and promptly departs.

He Xing stands in front of the elevator, his gaze resting on apartment 2501, hesitating if he should go over and knock on the door directly.