Wang Siyu picked up a plate of small dishes, preparing to heat them up, but found that they were still warm.
Wang Siyu was slightly puzzled; even if Ye Qingfeng had left, he should have departed in the morning. It's now evening, so how could the dishes still be warm?
Moreover, the dishes looked fresh, as if they had just been cooked.
Without overthinking, Wang Siyu served herself a bowl of rice and started eating.
She took a bite of green vegetables and froze. Could this really have been made by Ye Qingfeng?
She had never tasted such delicious food before. Was it really made by Ye Qingfeng?
Immediately, she understood why Ye Qingfeng said her porridge was average. Compared to Ye Qingfeng's cooking, her porridge was garbage, impossible to swallow.
Wang Siyu felt a slight twinge in her heart; she knew this was probably the only time Ye Qingfeng would cook for her, and it would never happen again.
Because with Ye Qingfeng's personality, he would never casually cook for someone.
