Against the Algorithm

Chapter 36: Crayfish and Favoritism

And Sicheng?

He hung up, sat down, and sipped his water like nothing happened. "She wanted crayfish."

No one had a damn thing to say after that. Because if the man who denied every food suggestion for the past two hours folded in less than five seconds for one soft-spoken request? Well, there really was no question who owned his attention.

The living room was filled with the crackling of shells being peeled, the occasional clink of chopsticks against plates, and the low hum of background conversation as the team dug into the mountain of crayfish that had arrived—steaming hot and fragrant in every variation imaginable. Between Pang gleefully devouring the garlic-spiced ones and Lao Mao guarding the spicy pile like a dragon with treasure, it was a full feast.

Yao, settled cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, had already accumulated a neat little mountain of peeled crayfish on her plate—her delicate fingers working with practiced ease, while Da Bing lay sprawled behind her, his fluffy tail swishing in contentment as if he too had claimed credit for the meal being secured.

Sicheng, however, sat just to her right, leaning lazily back against the arm of the couch with a glass of lemon tea and an untouched plate in front of him.

Yao blinked at him, glancing at his plate, then back up with a soft tilt of her head.

"You're not eating?" she asked quietly, nudging her plate aside to better look at him.

Yue, sitting on the other side of the table and halfway through his third helping, didn't miss a beat.

"Our Princess doesn't like peeling his own," he muttered with a smirk, not even looking up. "Says even with gloves, it leaves a smell. Complains for hours. Has, like, a seafood grudge."

Sicheng gave his brother a cold glance that promised vengeance, but Yue only shrugged, tossing a peeled tail into his mouth.

Yao didn't respond at first. She just looked down at her own plate, thoughtfully. Then, quietly, she picked up her chopsticks, selected one of the largest, most perfectly peeled pieces from her plate, and turned toward him.

Without a word, she extended it.

Her eyes were calm. Steady. Still faintly pink from the warmth of the room, her braid brushing her shoulder as she tilted her head just enough to catch his gaze.

"I don't mind sharing," she said softly, almost shyly. "I don't like waste. And you need to eat."

There was no fluster. No drama. Just her quiet logic, like always—gentle, practical, but entirely hers.

Sicheng looked at the chopsticks, then at her. Something in his chest shifted. It wasn't just the gesture. It was her simplicity. Her instinct to give. And without a word, he leaned forward, took the bite she offered, and chewed slowly. Then, after swallowing, he muttered, "Tastes better when it's yours."

Yue groaned. "I'm gonna throw up."

Pang laughed. "That man didn't even blink."

And Yao?

Yao just reached for another tail to peel. Because she didn't need to say anything else. She just fed him again.

The room had grown dim as the horror film flickered across the wide screen, shadows dancing across the walls while the surround sound made every creak, every whisper, and every scream feel just a little too close. The boys were piled around the living room in various states of attention—some leaning forward, eyes wide, others pretending not to flinch, and a few, like Pang, chewing nervously while trying to act unaffected.