It was almost dark by the time the group got home.
The three of them weren't the least bit surprised to see Chen Song in the small courtyard.
Now that Mr. Cheng had left, Chen Song was no longer on official business and had moved in with them directly.
But he seemed distracted. The rice in the pot had burned, yet he didn't seem to have even smelled it. He just kept holding the fire poker, listlessly prodding the firewood.
De'an started chirping, "Dad, are you trying to murder us? The rice is burnt! I can't eat this."
Chen Wanqing, however, hurried forward and took a jar of white sugar from the cabinet. She scooped out three spoonfuls, dissolved it in water, and was about to pour the sugar water evenly into the pot.
But when she lifted the lid, Chen Wanqing couldn't help but laugh. "Dad, were you trying to make porridge or steamed rice?"
