One Night, One Day, One Year, One Lifetime

Two

Everyone said that practice makes perfect. Fortunately, the Heavens did not disappoint someone as persistent as me. Although Gao Fei had never praised the noodles which I made, I was still able to discern from the little expressions he displayed that he was satisfied.

To make soy sauce noodles, there were two important points to note. First, the noodles must be chewy, and second, the soy sauce must retain its original flavour – they had to be fragrant but not oily. Although I used the best noodles, the duration I boiled them and the intensity of the flames were factors I had to learn. Cook them in excess and the noodles would become soft as flour, but undercook them and the noodles will become too hard.

As for the soy sauce, in order to maximise their freshness, I often made them myself. Using the middle heat as I heated up the pot, I would then add some oil and shelled peanuts, stir-frying them until most of the peanuts turned golden-brown. Together with sugar and sesame oil, I would mix them and continue to stir them until the sauce achieved a consistent texture.

Whenever I cooked, I did not feel like I was only making a bowl of noodles. Instead, it felt like a work of art to me, encapsulating in the simplest form my strong love for Gao Fei. Without the gift of the gab, other than telling Gao Fei I loved him over and over again, this was the only other thing I could do to express my feelings.

When it was time, the plate inlaid with golden flower trimmings was already warm with soy-sauce noodles, its fragrance wafting across the room. There was no garnish on the noodles, because Gao Fei did not like onion or garlic, and did not even take chopped green onions.

I placed the plate down and returned to the bedroom for a cup of water. When I returned, Gao Fei was already standing in the dining room, his left hand fixing the buttons of his right sleeve cuffs. He did not look at me, his eyes on the bowl of noodles. Then he pulled a chair over and sat down.

I placed the cup of water in front of him, hoping that he would say a word of praise. Within this entire city, he was the only person who I was willing to enter the kitchen and sacrifice my sleep for.

Actually, there was no need for me to do all these. From the day I married him, my father had spent a huge sum of money in hiring several domestic helpers. Within and around the house, they were there to attend to all our household chores. For the first time in my twenty years of life, I had left home, away from the sheltered comforts my father had provided for me, so how could he bear for me to do any chores?

But I had only shaken my head then, dismissing all the hired servants.

Gao Fei, you are the only person I want in this world, and I am willing to become a He Yujin that you will love.

Gao Fei, did you ever realise that I did all these only because I wanted a word of praise from you?

But Gao Fei never once said such words to me. As he saw me stare at him, he placed his chopsticks down and said in displeasure, 'Miss He, is there anything you needed from me in this early morning?'

In the recent days, the number of times he addressed me so formally had increased. Without reason, a flutter of anxiousness rose within my heart, and I furiously shook my head, fighting back my tears. I quickly sat down on the seat facing him, smiling before I lifted my head again.

'No, Gao Fei, did you taste anything different with today's noodles?'

He looked at me, before shaking his head in irritation. 'No!'

I murmured in assent.

Today, I had added vinegar instead of soy sauce, so how could you not taste anything different? Did living with me make your entire life so colourless to the extent that even the food you ate all tasted bland?