Chapter Nine: Let Go of the Entanglement

When Qin Lingling returned, Su Mian was half leaning against the island counter, waiting for her. She glanced at Qin Lingling’s empty hands and arched an eyebrow with a smile.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, just making a phone call.” Su Mian turned to enter the room but was stopped by Qin Lingling.

“Hey, aren’t you curious at all?”

“Curious about what?” Su Mian’s smile deepened, teasing her.

“I went to borrow some ingredients but came back empty-handed. Aren’t you curious why?”

Su Mian shook her phone. “I really have to make an important call. Once Shang Jiuxu comes up, I won’t be able to.”

“What, you don’t want him to hear?” Qin Lingling’s excitement grew, but before Su Mian could answer, she realized something. “Wait, how do you know Master Shang is coming up? Did he message you?”

Su Mian’s smile grew even more mysterious. “Actually, I wasn’t sure before, but now I know. Is he coming up to cook? If you have time, you could help by pre-steaming the rice.”

“Su Xiaomian!” Before Qin Lingling could respond, Su Mian read the answer in her expression. Calmly, she shut the bedroom door, muffling her friend’s shout, then peeked out. “Steam extra. I’m afraid you won’t have enough to eat later.”

Shang Jiuxu was an excellent cook, and Su Mian learned her culinary skills from him. Qin Lingling would soon feast and wouldn’t blame her; she had more important matters to attend to now.

After closing the master bedroom door, Su Mian still felt uneasy and slipped into the bathroom, locking it behind her. She unplugged the smart toilet, sat fully clothed on it, searched a name in her contacts, hesitated for a moment, then dialed.

After more than ten seconds, the call was answered by a warm, mature female voice: “Hello, Qingqing.”

Xu Wanjun possessed a contradictory beauty—bright and elegant features paired with a delicate, fragile frame, her voice surprisingly soft and gentle, unlike her appearance.

She had given Su Mian irreplaceable warmth in her life, serving as her only sister figure and one of the few role models in her heart.

Though last night had confirmed Shang Jiuxu was single, whenever Su Mian thought of Xu Wanjun, she felt a vague sadness—both for herself and for Sister Wanjun.

Xu Wanjun, noticing her silence, glanced at the ongoing call screen and softly inquired with subtle concern, “What’s wrong, Qingqing? Did something happen, or are you feeling unwell?”

Her Mandarin was excellent, but her tone carried an even gentler Wu dialect softness, shaped by her family background. To Su Mian, it sounded familiar and comforting, like a return to childhood.

Back in Xishan, feeling shy to ask her gentle sister out to play, she had to cling to Shang Jiuxu to accompany her.

Whether Xu Wanjun saw through her shy hesitance or not, she smiled warmly and motioned for her to drink the freshly brewed Dahongpao tea.

She remembered Shang Jiuxu mentioning that Su Mian loved Dahongpao tea the most.

“Sister Wanjun,” Su Mian’s voice cracked slightly, her nostrils tingling with emotion, but she held back tears and smoothed her tone, adding a touch of coquettishness at the end. “I miss you. When will you come see me?”

“I miss you too, Qingqing.” Xu Wanjun paused, as if gathering courage to admit something rarely expressed. Knowing Su Mian was in Port City, she smiled faintly, “You’re still acting spoiled at this age? I still have nearly a week of filming left in LA. Once it’s done, I’ll fly right over to see you, okay?”

“Then after you finish filming, you must come to see me immediately—no delays, no stops.”

Having exhausted her patience in childhood pretending to be well-behaved and mischievously coaxing Shang Jiuxu to tease Xu Wanjun, Su Mian now took advantage of the moment and added quickly.

“Alright, immediately, no delays, no stops,” Xu Wanjun laughed.

Both Xu Wanjun and Su Mian needed a thorough reckoning, and the judge was none other than themselves. Su Mian no longer wanted to be torn between Sister Wanjun and Shang Jiuxu. If this time she could truly understand Shang Jiuxu’s feelings—good or bad—she hoped she wouldn’t be entangled anymore.

After hanging up, Shang Jiuxu was already in the kitchen, his hands clasped behind his back as he tied the apron strings into a neat bow.

The apron was light orange with a small cat-shaped pocket on the front, looking almost new—probably brought from downstairs.

Compared to the apron stained with oil smoke in Xishan, this one looked less everyday and more like a devoted husband or caring father.

He passed by the steaming rice cooker and glanced faintly at her as she emerged from the bedroom. “There are washed bayberries on the coffee table.”

Su Mian was used to seeing Shang Jiuxu cook at home.

Back in Xishan, when he cooked, he could cater perfectly to the family’s tastes. During festivals, Su Mian and Shang Biehan often begged him into the kitchen.

He just hummed in acknowledgment, then called out to the voice assistant, “Xiao Shang, turn on the TV.” He sat on the sofa, beckoning Qin Lingling over. “Is there any variety show you want to watch?”

Qin Lingling covered her heart, still overwhelmed by the sight of the formidable master chef cooking and wearing such an adorable apron.

Seeing Su Mian’s calm and unbothered expression, she whispered into her ear, “Wow, you boss him around without mercy!”

Last night showed no mercy either—her softness toward Shang Jiuxu was cruelty toward herself!

“Need mercy?” Su Mian selected the channel, popped a bayberry from the coffee table into her mouth—it was very sweet—and grabbed a handful for Qin Lingling. “I washed my hands.”

That’s true. Qin Lingling bit into the sweet bayberries and thought, if Su Mian had to be polite to Master Shang, she couldn’t imagine anyone else making him look so down-to-earth.

It was deep autumn now; lantern fruits were mostly out of season in most places. These had been air-shipped from Malaysia.

That thought flashed through her mind, and Su Mian bit into the fruit with a hint of bitterness—the more shared memories with Shang Jiuxu at this moment, the more poignant they felt.

She still remembered the private orchard Shang Jiuxu had arranged for her in Malaysia during middle school, where they didn’t sell the fruit but gave away any surplus.

Shang Jiuxu cooked efficiently; in less than half an hour, a table full of colorful, aromatic, and flavorful home-cooked dishes was laid out.

There was stir-fried pork belly with green peppers, minced meat tofu, sautéed shrimp, salt and pepper king oyster mushrooms, and a plate of boiled romaine lettuce—meaty but not greasy, appetizing at first glance.

Qin Lingling felt shy watching the master chef busy in the kitchen, so the two leisurely dragged Su Mian to serve rice.

Su Mian and Shang Jiuxu sat across from each other. Calmly, she picked up a shrimp with her chopsticks—it was fresh and fragrant. His cooking seemed to have improved again.

She also offered one to Qin Lingling, who was nervous and hesitant. “Delicious, try some.”

Before she became famous, she waited on set under the scorching thirty-seven or thirty-eight-degree sun, sometimes all day. Bottled water was shared by whoever had it, no one cared about separate chopsticks.

Qin Lingling looked at her gratefully; Su Mian’s homely words eased her tension considerably.

Su Mian secretly chuckled—this fierce girl had even brought along a hermit crab. After tasting a few bites, each dish was so delicious it made the girl’s eyes sparkle, and they ate happily together.

Shang Jiuxu barely touched his chopsticks, eating only some shrimp and vegetables. After finishing a bowl of rice, he cleared his plate and put it in the dishwasher, thoughtfully adding a dishwashing pod and telling them to eat slowly.

“Why are you eating so little?”

Qin Lingling wondered if the master’s figure control was stricter than that of a male celebrity. Su Mian asked first, eyeing the newly opened pod Shang Jiuxu had brought downstairs, feeling as if they were about to settle into a slow, steady life.

“How much do you think I should eat?”

Looking into Shang Jiuxu’s black eyes, Su Mian immediately regretted speaking so quickly, as if she cared about him.

“I ate downstairs this afternoon,” he said slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his custom black shirt, glancing at Su Mian, who was bundled up from head to toe, and said with ambiguous meaning, “But honestly, I’m still not full.”