Shen Jing picked up a small spoon and stirred the glutinous rice balls in the pot. "He's too picky. If it's not delicious, he won't eat it. No matter how much effort I put in, he doesn't care. He only does what he feels like."
The ones she saved for Zhou Luchen were handmade. She'd tried her best to make them look appealing, experimenting multiple times with the filling until the flavor was just right for him—he was, after all, incredibly picky.
At 10 p.m., Zhou Luchen hadn't returned.
He must have gone home to dine with his family elders, so I shouldn't disturb him, she thought.
Shen Jing looked at the glutinous rice balls on the bar counter and sent him a message.
The Winter Solstice was almost over.
The clock struck twelve.
Shen Jing picked up her phone, found the number, and dialed. After a long wait, the call finally connected.
