Chapter Forty-Five: Delicious

Very few people knew where Zhuo Qinglian lived; perhaps only a handful of core members within the Qinglian Society were aware of her residence. It wasn’t that Zhuo Qinglian’s dwelling was particularly hidden, but rather that it was so utterly unexpected. Contrary to what one might imagine—her living in some grand villa—she actually resided in the Jade Buddha Zen Temple on the northern side of Huhai City.

As for why she chose to live there, Zhuo Qinglian herself would explain, “If your grandaunt is a Bodhisattva, where else should she live but in a temple?”

Back then, Xiao Cheng had teased her about this, insisting she was more like a demon than a Bodhisattva, and that no Bodhisattva would ever go without wearing underwear.

But Zhuo Qinglian had shut him up with a single retort: “Have you ever seen the Goddess of Mercy, who sits on her lotus throne every day, wear any underwear?” Xiao Cheng had been left scratching his head, ultimately conceding to her logic.

After taking care of Xiao Guowei and destroying the surveillance footage, Xiao Cheng headed straight for the Jade Buddha Zen Temple.

He was wounded by a gunshot. If he went home in this state, his sister-in-law would certainly question him, which would inevitably lead to a lot of trouble. He didn’t want her to see him injured, so he chose to recuperate at Zhuo Qinglian’s place instead.

A wound like this would take at least three or four days to heal. If only he had reached the Innate Realm by now and could use Water Evasion, healing would take only a few minutes. Ultimately, it was because his cultivation was still too weak.

Zhuo Qinglian lived in a northern wing of the temple, a room built almost especially for her. Every year she donated a generous amount of incense money, and the abbot treated her with great reverence, practically worshipping her as a living Bodhisattva.

Xiao Cheng drove straight to the back wall of the northern wing, parked his car, formed a hand seal, and passed through the wall.

The layout inside was extremely simple—apart from some necessary furniture, there was nothing else in the way of decoration. It was so austere as to be almost shocking. Only someone as obsessively minimalistic as Zhuo Qinglian could find such a bare room to be perfectly fitting, making no effort to adorn it.

As Xiao Cheng entered the room, he caught the enticing aroma of food, enough to make his mouth water. He smiled, surprised to have arrived just in time for a meal, and quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he found Zhuo Qinglian chopping vegetables with focused pleasure.

Watching her cook, Xiao Cheng was momentarily stunned. Was this the “correct way to wear an apron” that Zhuo Qinglian had once described to him?

At that moment, Zhuo Qinglian wore nothing but a kitchen apron. The apron just covered her chest in front, but the back was completely bare, revealing an exaggerated blue lotus blossom tattoo and, below it, the lovely curves of her hips and legs, all gleaming white and dazzling to the eye.

The sight left Xiao Cheng’s mind wandering.

Only Zhuo Qinglian would dare to turn an apron into such a provocative garment.

She hadn’t noticed Xiao Cheng yet, still focused on slicing a carrot. Her knife moved rapidly, transforming the vegetable into a pile of fine shreds in an instant—an act that sent a slight chill down Xiao Cheng’s spine.

He ignored the pain from his back, simply watching Zhuo Qinglian cook. The scene was so warm and domestic that, just for a moment, he found himself longing for marriage and children—though it was only a fleeting thought.

After a few minutes, Zhuo Qinglian sensed something was off. She glanced back instinctively and saw Xiao Cheng standing in the doorway, arms folded, grinning at her. She was startled—how had this rascal gotten in without making a sound, and how had he managed to get so close without her noticing?

“Tell me, how long have you been standing there peeping?” Zhuo Qinglian teased, her smile radiant. She was genuinely happy to see Xiao Cheng, unconcerned about how he’d arrived so silently.

“Is there any need for me to peek?” Xiao Cheng chuckled, crossing the room and wrapping Zhuo Qinglian naturally in his arms. Burying his face in her fragrant hair, he inhaled deeply, savoring her subtle scent of lilac.

With a coquettish roll of her eyes, Zhuo Qinglian noticed Xiao Cheng’s pallor, his face ashen. She sniffed and caught the metallic scent of blood.

“You’re hurt?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes, just a scratch—only a bullet wound,” Xiao Cheng replied with a smile, treating the injury as nothing serious. It wasn’t fatal; he could force out the bullet soon enough.

Only a bullet wound? Who calls being shot a scratch? Zhuo Qinglian was startled, wriggled out of his embrace, and said anxiously, “Let me see!”

Xiao Cheng smiled helplessly, wanting to reassure her, but seeing her genuine concern, he softened, turning around to let her examine his back.

Even someone as ruthless as Zhuo Qinglian felt her heart tremble at the sight of his blood-soaked back. Carefully, she tore away the fabric around the wound, exposing the injury.

It was a gruesome wound—the bullet hole only about a centimeter across, but the surrounding flesh was shredded and ragged, making for a grisly sight. As she gently touched the wound, her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

Such a wound was meant to leave no survivors. Zhuo Qinglian didn’t know what had happened, but the fact that someone had dared to do this to her man sent her into a hysterical rage. Xiao Cheng was the only person in the world she truly cared about.

“They actually dared to shoot my man? I don’t care if it’s the King of Heaven himself—I’ll kill him with my own hands!” Zhuo Qinglian growled, her teeth clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Xiao Cheng had expected this reaction. He laughed, “I’m afraid you won’t get the chance.”

“What do you mean? Did he escape? Or do you not know who did it?” Zhuo Qinglian was already blinded by anger, her chest heaving, the tips of her breasts barely concealed.

“I already killed him. Don’t worry, it’s just a minor wound. I’ll be fine in a few days,” Xiao Cheng reassured her.

“He’s really dead? Who would do such a thing?” Zhuo Qinglian was still unconvinced.

“It was my Fourth Uncle,” Xiao Cheng explained, briefly recounting the events.

Only then did Zhuo Qinglian nod, accepting his story. Power struggles within wealthy families were nothing new to her, so she wasn’t particularly surprised. Still, she felt a twinge of jealousy toward Fang Yujia, realizing Xiao Cheng had risked his life for her.

“You killed your Fourth Uncle. What if your family finds out?” Zhuo Qinglian had known Xiao Cheng for years and was familiar with the Xiao family’s affairs, so she was concerned.

“I destroyed the surveillance footage. Hopefully, they won’t trace it back to me. Even if they do, so be it. What can the old man do to me?” Xiao Cheng couldn’t be bothered to worry about the consequences; he wasn’t afraid of the family patriarch. Turning the conversation, he pulled Zhuo Qinglian into his arms again and said, “Let’s do something more meaningful.”

With that, he undid the only garment Zhuo Qinglian was wearing—the apron—and gently caressed her bare skin. Zhuo Qinglian was at the peak of her desires and could hardly resist such provocation. But she wouldn’t give in so easily; like a snake, she slipped out of his arms.

“Let’s take care of your wound first,” she blushed, feigning annoyance.

Seeing Zhuo Qinglian resist, Xiao Cheng shook his head. Since she was unwilling, he wouldn’t force her—nor could he. Zhuo Qinglian’s agility was unmatched, as slippery as an eel.

“Let’s eat first. I am pretty hungry—I haven’t tasted your cooking in ages,” Xiao Cheng smiled.

Zhuo Qinglian shot him a reproachful look. “It’s your own fault for not coming more often.”

In the end, Zhuo Qinglian relented, agreeing to eat before tending to his wound.

The table was laden with more than a dozen dishes, each exquisite in color and aroma. Aside from her talent for killing, Zhuo Qinglian’s greatest skill was cooking.

She had no other hobbies; cooking was her sole passion, to the point of obsession. It was a rare quirk, difficult to understand. Even when alone, she would prepare at least ten dishes.

Zhuo Qinglian’s food was truly delicious, but that night, Xiao Cheng couldn’t taste a thing. Faced with such a stunning, unclothed enchantress, who could possibly focus on the food?