Aping went to cook.
Lin Shuyou went to help.
Li Zhuiyuan sat on the well cover with paper and brush, writing and sketching.
With a Li around, Zhao Yi didn’t bother exercising his brain.
He shrank back in his wheelchair, narrowed his eyes and basked in the sun.
From the kitchen came occasional laughter between Aping and Lin Shuyou.
Actually, after being around her a while, it wasn’t surprising that Ah You still hadn’t noticed Aping’s mental state.
A lot of people, when they get old, turn into big children.
At Aping’s age, being willing to joke with the young and dressing neatly and smartly made it easy for people to think she was simply socially adaptable, clever in her ways.
The meal was ready: home-style dishes, not luxurious but fragrant and tasty.
They steamed extra rice.
Li Zhuiyuan sat down, picked up his bowl and chopsticks, and began to eat.
Zhao Yi turned his body toward the youth and asked, “Everything planned out?”
Li Zhuiyuan: “Planned what?”
Zhao Yi: “You were just sitting there, writing like it’s inspired. Shouldn’t be hard for you.”
Li Zhuiyuan: “Until I get the full, systematic method the Jin family used to suppress the black jiao skin, I can’t design anything in advance.”
Zhao Yi: “I don’t believe that.”
This task was indeed hard, but Zhao Yi thought he could handle it, so he didn’t accept that the boy couldn’t.