Can't afford to pay for the takeout? Stunning CEO: Then pay with your body!

Zhang Yan gripped the chef's knife, his wrist slightly heavy.

That feeling was wonderful.

One second he was a deliveryman who couldn't even chop scallions evenly, the next second his muscle memory was forcibly rewritten.

A thousand ways to interpret noodles are etched into my bones.

My gaze swept over the refrigerator.

M9 Wagyu beef, black truffle, 5J ham.

Too expensive, too heavy.

He felt he couldn't repay the debt of gratitude he owed others, and he just wanted to settle things evenly.

Zhang Yan closed the refrigerator and rummaged through the corner to find a bag of high-gluten flour and two free-range eggs.

enough.

He rolled up his soaked sleeves, revealing a section of firm forearm.

Add flour, beat eggs, add salt, and pour in water.

The moment his fingertips touched the flour, his eyes changed.

No longer that timid, poor student.

At this moment, he is the king of this tiny stove.

……

living room.

Nie Qingcheng sank barefoot into the long-haired carpet, the light from her phone screen illuminating her delicate yet tired face.

Quarterly reports, deficits, and difficulties imposed by the board of directors.

bother.

She rubbed her temples, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen.

I thought it would be a chaotic symphony of pots and pans.

As a result, the sound was very soft.

"Knock knock knock—"

That was the crisp sound of a knife blade hitting a cutting board.

Extremely fast, extremely dense.

Like rain pattering on banana leaves, every note is precisely timed to the same frequency.

Nie Qingcheng's finger, which was swiping the screen, stopped.

This rhythm is off.

As if possessed, she put down her phone, walked barefoot on the cold floor, and silently walked to the kitchen door.

Leaning against the door frame, I looked inside.

The boy had his back to her.

The soaked T-shirt clung to his back, and with the movement of his arms, the lines of his shoulder blades rose and fell, exuding a tension unique to young men.

He was chopping scallions.

With a flick of the wrist, the flash of the blade almost became a continuous afterimage.

On the cutting board, the scallion shreds were as green as hair, dazzlingly bright.

Knead the dough, let it rest, and stretch it.

The lifeless dough seemed to come alive in his hands, being stretched, reshaped, and finally transformed into countless silver threads that drew graceful arcs in the air.

Nie Qingcheng was somewhat lost in thought.

She's seen too many men.

In this circle, men are either money-grubbing businessmen or good-for-nothings who only know how to spend money.

No one has ever been able to make cooking sound like playing the piano.

A focused man can be quite dangerous.

Zhang Yan was unaware of the gazes behind him.

Heat oil in a wok.

A spoonful of snow-white lard is slid into the hot pan and melts instantly.

Add the scallion segments to the pot.

"Sizzle—"

The sound seemed to be some kind of signal.

The overpowering aroma of meat, combined with the smoky fragrance of scallions, forcefully broke through the air, instantly filling the desolate atmosphere of the entire villa.

This taste is illogical.

It lacks the elaborate preparations of fine French cuisine; it's simply the most raw and direct enticement.

It strikes straight to the soul.

Nie Qingcheng's throat moved slightly.

She hasn't eaten all day.

The cravings in my stomach were wildly aroused by this aroma and began to rebel.

"Gurgle..."

A discordant rumble from the stomach rang out in the quiet air.

Nie Qingcheng froze, her ears turning bright red instantly.

Damn.

She, the dignified president of Qingcheng Group and the famous "Bamboo Leaf Green" of Jinghai, was actually starving while looking at a pot of scallion oil noodles?

Fortunately, Zhang Yan was busy scooping noodles and didn't turn around.

Water vapor evaporates.

Once the noodles are cooked, place them in a white porcelain bowl.

Pour over clear broth and drizzle with a spoonful of piping hot scallion oil.

Finally, sprinkle with a pinch of bright green chopped scallions.

Live together.

Zhang Yan turned around with the bowl in his hand, and bumped right into a pair of fox-like eyes at the door who hadn't yet withdrawn their greedy gaze.

Eyes facing each other.

Nie Qingcheng quickly adjusted her expression, slightly raising her chin, trying to regain some of her queenly composure.

But those eyes were honestly glued to the surface of the bowl.

It's impossible to tear it off.

So delicious.

The heat seemed to have grown hands, desperately trying to get into her nose.

"Only plain noodles are available."

Zhang Yan placed the noodles on the six-figure rosewood dining table, speaking calmly.

"Hopefully, this will make up for that bowl of rice noodles."

After saying that, he stepped aside and stood with his hands hanging down.

Task completed, awaiting inspection, time to go.

Nie Qingcheng sat down.

She had intended to elegantly pick one to try and give it a barely passing grade.

But when the chopsticks stirred the noodles and the aroma burst forth at close range, reason snapped.

To hell with elegance.

She picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth.

boom!

The taste buds exploded.

The noodles are chewy and springy, with a unique sweet aftertaste characteristic of wheat.

The seemingly bland broth is actually rich and delicious, the essence of the ingredients simmered to perfection.

The most amazing part is that layer of scallion oil.

It locks in the heat and the umami flavor, allowing it to run rampant in your mouth.

The warmth slid down her esophagus into her stomach, dispelling the chill of the stormy night and soothing her anxiety from the entire day.

This is... the taste of home.

Since my mother passed away, this empty mansion has never had such a lively atmosphere again.

"Slurp—"

Nie Qingcheng no longer cared about her image.

He took a big gulp, his red lips glistening with oil.

She was so engrossed in eating that a few drops of soup splashed onto her collarbone without her even noticing.

Zhang Yan stood to the side, dumbfounded.

Is this still the same powerful female CEO with an aura of 2.8 meters?

Why do you look like a starving ghost?

three minutes.

The noodles and soup were completely devoured, not a drop was left.

Nie Qingcheng put down her chopsticks and looked at the spotless bottom of the bowl, even feeling an urge to lick the plate clean.

The meaning is still unfinished.

My body feels warm and cozy, and every pore feels relaxed.

She leaned back in her chair, let out a long breath, and looked somewhat dazed.

This skill is absolutely amazing.

If only I could eat this every day from now on...

and many more.

Nie Qingcheng snapped back to reality and noticed Zhang Yan's strange gaze.

She quickly pulled out a tissue and wiped the oil stains from the corner of her lips.

The satisfaction and languor on his face vanished instantly, and he put on that unapproachable mask again.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his fingertips tapped lightly on the table.

"The noodles are so-so."

Her voice was cold and clear, revealing no trace of her earlier ravenous eating.

Zhang Yan breathed a sigh of relief: "Can I go now?"

"Walk?"

Nie Qingcheng's red lips curved slightly, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of calculation and mockery.

"The noodles offset the rice noodles."

"But you dirtied my carpet, scared me, and made me wait so long..."

She leaned forward, staring at Zhang Yan with an overwhelming sense of pressure.

"This score hasn't been settled yet."