That night, Mu Qiu and Zhao Yu lay in the same bed chatting.
"This President Song is pretty young, looks quite handsome too, and the key thing is he loves your stovetop chicken. The way he put on disposable gloves to eat the corn cakes was such a contrast-萌 moment."
Zhao Yu was really speechless, for the nth time: "I'm begging you, stop saying I cooked it. Keep this up and I'm going to get brainwashed into believing I made that dish and I'm some kitchen goddess."
Mu Qiu lay there with one leg crossed over the other, acting all serious: "Cut off the beginning and the end and only look at the middle—doesn't that mean you admit the beginning and the end? You admit President Song is indeed handsome, and you do think he's contrast-萌, totally your type, right?"
"..." Zhao Yu kicked her crossed leg away. "I do not!"
"If you don't, you don't. Why kick me? Feeling guilty, are we?"
Zhao Yu: "Why would I feel guilty?!"
