The significance of a midnight feast extends far beyond the taste of food; it lies in the precious friendships it contains. This emotion is the richest and most delicious seasoning in cooking.
The last time she felt such profound satisfaction was the previous time.
Therefore, when a phone call from her father interrupted the midnight snack, Feng Yuhuai felt a bit guilty about it.
She crouched down, aligning her gaze with Xiaojuan's, and sincerely apologized:
"I'm sorry, Xiaojuan. My father really has no sense of timing when it comes to calling. If I don't answer, he'll keep calling. That's how old men are—no sense of boundaries with their children. It's suffocating."
Xiaojuan looked at Feng Yuhuai with teary eyes. Her tone was still gentle, even more so than usual, and her face was still sweet, even more radiant under some kind of glow.
Yet, Xiaojuan only felt like she was in an ice cave, with not a hint of warmth in her heart.
