Chapter 70 – Feeding the Senior by Hand
1146 Words
When Luo Ye came inside, he immediately set about boiling water.
The moment he entered, the rabbit‑ear hat that Su Baizhou had been drooping fell upright. She sat up from the sofa, at least maintaining her cool senior image.
When the water boiled, Luo Ye added brown sugar, red dates, and ginger, then let it simmer for a while.
He peeked out from the kitchen, eyes gleaming mischievously, and said, “Senior, it’ll be ready in a moment.”
He then returned to the stove.
Meanwhile his phone kept searching for the proper way to simmer black‑chicken soup. Black‑chicken broth needs several hours to stew, so Luo Ye started it early so he could serve it as dinner later that night.
He knew that such soups rarely work their magic instantly, but doing nothing was not an option.
When the brown‑sugar water was ready, Luo Ye took a sip. It tasted faint… He realized he’d used too little brown sugar; the ginger flavor dominated.
He added a bit more brown sugar, took another sip, and finally gave a satisfied nod.
He’d heard brown‑sugar water could be used to boil eggs, so he cracked an egg into the pot. He wasn’t sure what the resulting egg would taste like.
When the egg cooked, Luo Ye suddenly had an idea. He beat the egg into tiny pieces and stirred them into the broth, so they could be swallowed together with the sweet water.
He then poured the luxurious brown‑sugar concoction into a large bowl and carried it to the coffee table in front of the sofa.
“Senior, want a drink?”
Luo Ye looked at Su Baizhou expectantly.
She stayed silent, staring at the elaborate bowl, a slightly absent‑minded expression on her face.
“Ah, my brain—how can I drink this without a spoon?”
Luo Ye sprang up, raced to the kitchen, and returned promptly with an iron spoon.
The fairy senior seemed frozen, motionless.
Luo Ye was taken aback, then silently cursed himself. The broth was scalding—how could she possibly drink it?
He dashed back to the kitchen, grabbed a small cup, ladled some of the hot liquid into it, then took a small spoonful, gently blew on it.
He sat beside Su Baizhou, brought the spoon to her lips, and placed the cup underneath to catch any overflow.
At that moment Su Baizhou glanced at the spoon near her mouth; there was no time to refuse.
She had just been spacing out—what was she thinking?
Seeing Luo Ye’s hopeful eyes, she could not refuse. She slightly opened her mouth and took a sip.
To be honest, the broth was mediocre—too much brown sugar, making it overly sweet; the ginger was too faint, almost nonexistent, and the dates were mushy.
But the egg earned a positive remark.
Su Baizhou disliked drinks that contained solid food; she avoided bubble‑tea pearls or tapioca because they could cause choking.
In this broth, however, the egg was broken into tiny crumbs that dissolved, so she could swallow it without chewing.
Even so, the taste was still unpleasant—perhaps the worst brown‑sugar water she’d ever had.
The fact that a tiny bowl of brown‑sugar water could turn out like this suggested Luo Ye might be a genius in some other area.
Without giving her time to ponder, Luo Ye extended his arm and fed her a second spoonful.
She hesitated briefly, then opened her mouth again and drank.
It was indeed unpalatable, yet she felt a compulsion to keep drinking.
Even though it was the most disgusting drink, it became a flavor she could remember, a taste that lingered, prompting her to sip repeatedly.
Luo Ye kept feeding the senior spoonful after spoonful until the bowl was empty.
“Senior, are you feeling better?” he asked, worried.
Su Baizhou nodded lightly.
Honestly, she had already forgotten the stomachache; her attention was now fixed on the brown‑sugar water.
“Want more?” Luo Ye asked.
She said nothing, but took the small cup from his hand, poured herself a fresh portion, and kept drinking.
Luo Ye had prepared roughly three small bowls; Su Baizhou finished them all.
She sat on the sofa with the rabbit‑ear hat, legs crossed, her pink toes occasionally wiggling—adorably cute.
Although her expression remained cool, her tiny movements were undeniably sweet.
Luo Ye’s focus, of course, wasn’t on her delicate feet—he wasn’t some jailer.
Seeing the senior appear fine, Luo Ye returned to the kitchen to start the black‑chicken soup.
He wasn’t confident about simmering a multi‑hour broth, especially one that took several hours.
But the senior was still in pain, and he felt compelled to succeed with this small soup.
He opened his phone, launched a cooking app, and studied the instructions with more concentration than during class.
He reread each step many times, even watching video tutorials.
The videos all looked the same, offering no real guidance, so he turned to his last resort: the reader community.
He’d never posted in the readers’ group using his author account—only lurking with a throwaway account and occasionally sparring with trolls.
Now, he posted a sincere request under his real author name:
Falling‑Leaves‑Return‑to‑Root: “Anyone know how to make black‑chicken soup?”
The usually silent group admin finally spoke, and the chat erupted.
A “big star” chimed in: “Whoa, the author himself?”
A “playboy” replied: “Seriously? The author is actually posting?”
A “cute‑girl‑Yixue” asked: “What soup? Is the author making it for his wife?”
The comments were wild and the usernames colorful.
Falling‑Leaves‑Return‑to‑Root: “I’m a college student, no wife… but I’m making soup for a girl. Help, please.”
Eventually a user named “Warm‑Guy‑Behind‑the‑Dog” private‑messaged Luo Ye, offering a step‑by‑step tutorial.
Indeed, the “warm guy” knew his stuff.
He covered the pot, set the timer for two and a half hours, and Luo Ye could wait for the broth to finish.
Luo Ye checked the clock. He’d arrived around noon, studied until about two, bought ingredients, boiled the brown‑sugar water, and now was learning to make soup. It was 3:20 p.m.
He had no class during the first afternoon period, but his second class started at 3:30 p.m., leaving ten minutes.
He emerged from the kitchen.
“Senior, the soup is simmering. I’ll be back soon.”
- Writer
