Yingqu Liuzi was pampered by her wealthy daddy.

Xize poured the rice into the pot and added water. He did these actions with a kind of clumsy seriousness, strictly following the recipe step by step. When washing the rice, the water flow was too strong, splashing some onto the table. He frowned and wiped it clean with kitchen paper.

Turn on the heat and cover the pot with the lid.

Then he stood there waiting for the water to boil, his back very straight, in the same posture as when he attended the board meeting.

Shen Yu'an couldn't help but smile.

The water boiled, and Xize lifted the lid and stirred it with a spoon. He stirred it a little too vigorously, and some porridge splashed onto the stove.

His brow furrowed even more as he looked down at his phone, seemingly confirming the correct mixing method.

Shen Yu'an looked at this man who wielded great influence in London's high society, frantically trying to cook him a bowl of porridge while looking at a recipe on his phone, and her nose suddenly stung with tears.

He remembered that when he had a fever last night, he vaguely felt a hand holding his. He wasn't sure if it was a dream or real, but now, looking at Xize in the kitchen, he was sure it was real.

This person really stayed by his bedside all night.

This person is actually cooking porridge for him.

Shen Yu'an's eyes reddened, hot, as if something was swirling inside.

Afraid of being seen, he quietly returned to his bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

About twenty minutes later, Xize came in carrying a bowl of porridge.

The porridge was served in the white bowl that Shen Yu'an usually used, with a porcelain spoon placed beside it. The bowl was a little hot, and Xize held the bottom of the bowl, his fingers slightly red from the steam, but he remained expressionless.

He placed the bowl on the bedside table and pulled over a chair to sit down.

"It might not be very good." Xize looked at the bowl of porridge, his tone unusually uncertain. "This is my first time cooking."

Shen Yu'an looked down at the bowl of porridge.

The porridge was white and very thick, with the rice grains all split open, looking very soft and sticky. It contained small pieces of chicken and shiitake mushrooms, the shapes of which weren't perfectly uniform, some large and some small, but you could tell they were cut with care. It was also sprinkled with chopped green onions, which looked very pretty.

It's not perfect, but it doesn't look like it was the first time I cooked it.

Shen Yu'an picked up the bowl, scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and put it in his mouth.

The porridge was at the perfect temperature, not too hot to scald, and slid smoothly down my throat, warming me all the way to my stomach. The rice had a rich aroma, the chicken was fresh, and the shiitake mushrooms were perfectly softened from soaking. There wasn't much salt, just a light touch, which was perfect for my appetite after a fever.

Xize looked at him, a hint of tension barely perceptible in his gray-blue eyes.

"How is it?"

Shen Yu'an chewed twice and swallowed.

Then he scooped up another spoonful and ate it.

I scooped up another spoonful.

Xize didn't ask any more questions and sat quietly beside him, watching him drink the porridge spoonful by spoonful.

By the fifth bite, Shen Yu'an's eyes had reddened.

It's not the kind of red that makes you "about to cry," but the kind of red that slowly turns from eye sockets to nose to pink, and lips to tremble slightly.

Xize saw it and his brow twitched slightly: "Not tasty?"

Shen Yu'an shook his head, shaking it forcefully.

He put down the bowl, lowered his head, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It's not that it doesn't taste good." The voice was muffled and nasal. "It's just too delicious."

Xize didn't say anything.

"I've been here for two years," Shen Yu'an said softly, as if she were talking to herself, "and no one has ever cooked porridge for me."

When he was sick in London, he endured it all on his own. He took fever reducers when he had a fever and cough syrup when he coughed. No one poured him water, no one changed his towels, no one stayed by his bedside all night, and no one cooked porridge for him.

He thought he was used to it.

But it wasn't there before.

It wasn't that he was used to being independent; it was just that there was no one he could rely on. And when this person appeared, he realized how much he longed to be cared for.

Xize looked at the boy in front of him with his head down, at his red nose, at the water droplets hanging on his eyelashes, and at his slender white fingers holding the bowl of porridge.

He wanted to reach out and touch his head.

He held back.

"Eat up," Xize said softly, as if afraid of disturbing something. "Eat and then sleep for a while."

Shen Yu'an nodded, picked up the bowl again, and drank all the porridge, mouthful by mouthful.

The bottom of the bowl was completely clean; not a single grain of rice was left.

He placed the empty bowl on the bedside table, looked up, and gazed at Xize.

Morning light streamed through the gap in the curtains, falling between the two people. Shen Yu'an's eyes were wet, dark and shiny, like obsidian washed by rain.

He spoke, his voice soft and gentle, tinged with a hint of embarrassment from having just cried.

"Thank you, sir."

These four words are different from the "thank you" that I've said many times before.

This time, there is no "you" (formal); it's "sir" (gentleman).

This isn't just polite thanks; it's a warm, sincere, and heartfelt expression of gratitude.

Xize looked at him, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"You're welcome," he said. "Don't suffer alone if you get sick in the future. Call me anytime."

Shen Yu'an nodded, then shook his head: "I don't want to trouble you all the time."

Xize looked at him.

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then he said something that made Shen Yu'an's heart stop beating.

"You're not a problem."

"You've never been a problem."

Shen Yu'an was stunned.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his mind went blank, and he couldn't utter a single word. His heart was pounding so fast that he was sure Xize could hear that voice.

He lowered his head, pulled the blanket over half his face, leaving only his bright eyes showing.

"……Um."

Xize looked at the boy's eyes peeking out from under the blanket, a very slight smile playing on his lips. He stood up and took the empty bowl away.

He stopped at the door without turning around, his voice calm.

"Sleep a little longer. I'll stay with you today."

The door was gently closed.

Shen Yu'an shrank himself into the blanket, covering his head completely.

The quilt smelled entirely of cedar.

His heart was pounding like a drum, and his face was burning hot as if he had a fever again.

I'll stay with you today.

He rolled those words on his tongue several times, then buried his face in the pillow, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

The pillow was wet; I didn't know if it was from tears I'd just shed or something else.

But Shen Yu'an knew that from today onwards, he was no longer all alone.

Someone will come when he is sick, stay up all night, cook him a bowl of porridge, and then whisper to him—

You are not a problem.

Never has been.