The old lady kept praising Jiang Lai's virtuous and considerate nature, but couldn't help frowning during the meal.
Having grown accustomed to delicacies and exquisite snacks, the plain tea and simple food before her were really hard to swallow.
Murong Dun had no appetite, and after a few bites, returned to his room.
The two were used to leaving immediately after putting down their chopsticks, and it wasn't until the next day when they sat at the table and found that yesterday's dishes hadn't been washed that they realized there was no one to do these tasks for them.
Jiang Lai was cooking, and Murong Dun had no choice but to prop himself with one hand on a crutch and carry the dishes out to clean with the other.
The water in early winter was bone-chillingly cold, and the coarse cloth and hemp clothes he wore let in the wind everywhere. Murong Dun coughed hard, and looking at the desolate and cold surroundings, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of desolation and despair.
