After a bowl of brown sugar black rice porridge, Xu Nianhua felt sweet and warm in her belly. She brought the bowl to the kitchen and asked, "Yicheng, have you eaten? What are you cooking in this pot?"
"Silkie chicken soup," Pei Yicheng's voice had barely fallen when he paused and said, "You lost a lot of blood this time, so you need to recover properly. The doctor said that Silkie chicken soup is very good, and I happened to stew one. You can have it on the train at noon as a meal."
Now, putting the stewed Silkie chicken soup in a thermos would be perfect for drinking at noon.
"Yicheng, you... got up so early just to make soup for me?" Xu Nianhua looked at him incredulously. The continuous aroma of the chicken soup from the pot puzzled her.
The fragrance felt familiar.
