Twenty four, the master can cook.
Penerjemah: 549690339
By the time she woke up, she realized she was in Shen Yanqing's room, and the injury on her calf had been carefully wrapped in gauze.
Shen Yanqing hadn't slept all night and was sitting on a small couch by the window, reading a military book.
Dawn was breaking, yet the room was still dark.
Sangmo looked around and greeted Shen Yanqing.
Shen Yanqing pointed to the small bowl of porridge on the table, "While it's still hot."
Sangmo walked over and sat down at the table, "Didn't the innkeeper say the kitchen doesn't start the fire until the Chen hour? How come the porridge is ready so quickly?"
"And these small dishes." Sangmo picked up a spring onion with her chopsticks, somewhat disdainfully, noting the grains of salt still clinging to it.
"The cook must have been in a hurry. This won't do; I have to have a word with him. No matter how rushed he is, he shouldn't waste ingredients, should he?!"