That night, dinner at the Ying house had a subtle layer of awkwardness.
Ying Dad and Ying Mom had already eaten earlier.
Ying Zhiyan hadn’t eaten yet, but with her “idol” sitting directly across from her, she didn’t dare even lift her eyes, much less use her chopsticks.
Ying Zhiyu was the only one eating normally.
He first placed a piece of ginger-scallion chicken into his sister’s bowl, then picked up a fried shrimp for himself.
After taking a bite and swallowing, he turned to Li Xi and said, “My sister used to love this fried shrimp dish. Dad even went to a restaurant to learn it for her. When we were kids, I could never get more than a couple.”
His tone was light, as if he were just sharing a small childhood memory.
He smiled. “Today I get lucky because of you—they made a whole big plate.”
There was more to the story, but he didn’t say it.
His sister was ten years older. It made sense he couldn’t beat her to food when he was little. But as he got older, no Alpha should still be losing to an Omega.
Except that when he was twelve, she was twenty-two—and suffered acute liver failure from drug interaction. Even though their father donated part of his liver, from then on she could no longer eat high-fat fried foods.
Which meant this dish hadn’t appeared on their table in ten years.
Ying Mom, though still worried, noticed her son was only giving himself food and not the Omega he brought home, and immediately scolded him.
“You kid! Why aren’t you serving the guest?”
Li Xi watched her give her genius Alpha son a motherly smack on the back of the head.
The hit wasn’t hard—more like a familiar gesture—but he still lowered his gaze slightly and looked away.
Ying Zhiyu guessed Li Xi must be almost full by now.
He’d eaten at school, then the large beef bun at home.
Most importantly—Li Xi never ate anything with garlic, scallions, or ginger.
He had brought Li Xi home on short notice and hadn’t had time to warn his family.
Just as he was about to explain, a hand flashed in his peripheral vision—
Li Xi picked up a shrimp and ate it.
Ying Zhiyu: “…”
This dish was practically a lethal concentration of garlic for someone with a mild palate.
He stared as Li Xi calmly finished the shrimp.
When Li Xi swallowed, he lifted his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Ying Zhiyu: “…”
Ying Mom didn’t understand why her son had spaced out again. Seeing Li Xi’s bowl empty, she urged, “Give him some chicken! This is free-range chicken from the countryside—tender and delicious. Go on!”
But when Ying Zhiyu looked at the ginger-scallion chicken…
Once again: the holy trinity of garlic, ginger, and scallions.
He hesitated. Ying Mom was impatient and practically pushed the plate into his hands. “Hurry up!”
Instead, he quietly turned toward Li Xi.
They looked at each other, in complete silence, for several moments.
Finally, Li Xi spoke first. “Are you not going to serve me?”
“…You really want it?” Ying Zhiyu asked.
Li Xi didn’t answer out loud, but nodded.
Ying Zhiyu no longer understood what Li Xi was doing.
In their last life living together for more than ten years, he had never seen Li Xi touch garlic, ginger, or scallions—not even once.
He hated strong smells. Cigarette smoke, garlic, all of it.
Ying Zhiyu carefully picked up a piece of chicken, paused before placing it in Li Xi’s bowl, and asked, “We’re not using serving chopsticks. Is that okay?”
“Oh—right, right!” Ying Mom suddenly remembered. “Old Ying, go get a set—”
Before she finished, Li Xi had already lifted his bowl, taken the chicken directly from Ying Zhiyu’s chopsticks, and eaten it.
He didn’t even wait to swallow before saying, “It’s fine. No need for serving chopsticks.”
After that, the table finally quieted down.
Ying Zhiyu told his mom to stop fussing and sat back to eat a little more himself.
Seeing her “idol” so casual and normal seemed to relax Ying Zhiyan, who finally began eating too—though still too shy to look at him.
When everyone was nearly finished, Ying Zhiyu glanced at Li Xi, who wasn’t eating fast, but hadn’t stopped moving his chopsticks the entire meal.
He leaned in and murmured, “If you’re full, don’t force yourself. They won’t mind.”
Ying Zhiyu caught that one word—also.
Because when Li Xi ate that piece of ginger-and-scallion chicken earlier, something flashed through Zhiyu’s mind—another small detail he’d overlooked.
Li Xi had already eaten “onion, ginger, garlic” in front of him before they even sat at the table.
The beef buns sold at the Ying family’s shop were well-known. The filling had onions and minced ginger to cut the grease and bring out the flavor, making the beef tender and aromatic—very popular with locals.
But Zhiyu had been too busy explaining to his parents how he and Li Xi met. When he brought the buns out, he completely forgot that Li Xi never touched anything with onion, ginger, or garlic.
Yet Li Xi hadn’t said a word.
He’d even finished the palm-sized bun out of courtesy.
At that point, Zhiyu finally understood the reason behind all of Li Xi’s unusual behavior tonight.
He wanted to make a good impression on his parents.
He was trying—really trying—to win over his family.
Li Xi’s chopsticks paused.
Zhiyu turned to look at him, cheeks still puffed from food, the corners of his eyes curved as he smiled. “If you can’t finish that last bite, you can spit it out.”
Li Xi lifted his dark, steady eyes and met his gaze.
He ignored the suggestion and swallowed the last mouthful.
Leave a Reply