Jiang Jinghuai seemed a bit distracted on the way back.
He tilted his head to glance at her face, as flawless as jade, then looked ahead, his gaze turning cold. "Sangsang, how did you come up with braised beef noodles?" It wasn't that he wanted to be overly suspicious, but after years of carrying out missions, being suspicious had become second nature. His wife—there were just too many inconsistencies, too many mysteries about her. He was sure of one thing: she wasn't a spy. Because no spy would be so easily riddled with flaws like her. Then, what exactly was she?
