The entire room was filled with the smell of Moscow.
This soup was simply too ordinary, so ordinary that you would be able to drink it in the home of any poor family in Moscow, and it was not worth specially introducing to those unfamiliar "friends" who were with them.
But for Cheng Muyun, after ten years of being away from his homeland, being able, here in India, to drink this soup that this girl from Moscow had made with her own hands still caused his throat to tighten somewhat. Love—it gave him not only someone for his heart to constantly be thinking of and physical intimacy but also the dangers of homesickness.
"Is this a rosemary leaf?" He glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes.
Wen Han made a sound in response, feeling somewhat self-conscious as she looked at those deep green plant leaves on the surface of the soup.
In the kitchen earlier, when she was looking for spices to cook with, she had spotted these. Whenever she saw rosemary, she would always remember the feeling she had had about him in the beginning when they first met. Never had there been a man whose eyes could be so beautiful, like rosemary, the persistent, bewitching fragrance. He needed only to take one look at you and then your entire body would heat up.
And there were also the rosemary's symbolic meanings of loyalty and endless, lonely yearning.
These all made her unable to resist using that spice.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead
Wordlessly, Cheng Muyun took the stainless steel bowl that she had filled with borsh.
Those four people, the men and the woman who had all stayed quiet the entire time, now over and over declined Wen Han's kindness. Only one perfunctorily drank a small sip of soup, but after taking it into his mouth, he immediately apologetically spit it all back out, explaining in English that he really could not handle the taste of rosemary.
It was from this moment onwards that Wen Han had a strange feeling about these four people.
It was as if they did not fully trust Cheng Muyun, just like how... that day in the manor, when Cheng Muyun had placed the bag of mangoes in front of everyone, only she and Zhuang Yan had not hesitated at all and eaten some.
This was a type of trust.<>This UNAUTHORIZED copy was taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com
Wen Han tidied up the kitchen, meticulously making sure every detail, big and small, was taken care of. The tableware in this place was truly very basic, all of it stainless steel, so was also very easy to clean and tidy up. Before long, she had finished drying the water off of the last stainless steel bowl and shut the cupboard door. Her next action was to glance at the clock hanging on the wall of the living room.
There were still another twenty-two hours left.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead
"Do you have... any plans after this?" The voice she used to ask this question was very light, as if she was being a thief.
Narrowing his eyes, Cheng Muyun moved in close to her, pressing his tall body against her back, the backside of her thighs, and also her calves, until there was no gap between them at all. "How about going upstairs with your beloved?"<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.
Inside the living room, someone turned on the television.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com
Indian singing and dancing programs are very noisy and also very joyful.
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Life: A Black and White Film (一生一世，黑白影画)
General FictionWen Han has arrived in Nepal on vacation and, as a Buddhist believer, also a pilgrimage. But very shortly after entering the borders, she runs in again into someone she had had one encounter with six months ago, hundreds of miles away on the far-off...
