Clear stewed lion's head, boiled dry threads, white fish in chicken broth, Wen Si tofu, and a pot of clear soup with baby cabbage. Were it not for Jiang Wenyuan knowing he was still at Shan Bing's house, he might have thought he was invited to some restaurant—especially since these dishes looked like something only a master chef could make, particularly the finely sliced Wen Si tofu, with delicate tofu threads practically flaunting the chef's superb knife skills.
Jiang Wenyuan looked at the tofu, then at Shan Bing, feeling as if his brain wasn't working properly.
The rough and burly Shan Bing might be good at chopping people, but slicing tofu… When did he even learn to do this?
Before Jiang Wenyuan left the city, Shan Bing was someone who couldn't even cook basic congee properly, and usually had to eat with him at the canteen. But now…
"What, surprised?"
Facing Jiang Wenyuan's increasingly puzzled expression, Shan Bing chuckled.
"Have I become more skilled?"
"… Yes."
