First, then, love.

Cats have a simple survival rule.

Whoever provides the milk is the mother.

The princess stood up, stretched, and her tail twitched in the air.

It strode along the edge of the sofa and walked directly to He Zheng's hand.

She lowered her head and first smelled He Zheng's fingers with her pink nose.

My fingers had a faint earthy smell.

Ignoring all that, the princess proactively brought her round head closer and rubbed it vigorously against the back of He Zheng's hand.

"Meow..." The sound was horribly sweet and coquettish.

He Zheng lowered his eyes, looking at the fat cat that had no principles.

He twitched the corner of his mouth.

My gaze swept over the pink silicone pet grooming brush on the black coffee table.

He Zheng reached out and took the comb.

His large hand pressed directly onto the princess's back.

He's never brushed a cat before; he has no idea how to be gentle.

Holding a comb, he scraped along the princess's spine, from the top of her head all the way to the base of her tail, with stiff force.

The princess didn't run away; instead, she was thoroughly enjoying the rough force.

A loud, tractor-like "gurgling" sound immediately came from its throat.

It simply lay down on the sofa, turned its snow-white belly up, paws in the air, and let the tall man scratch its body.

He Zheng's fingertips and the area between his thumb and forefinger were covered with calluses from years of shooting and fighting, as hard as stone.

It makes a soft rustling sound when scraped on a cat's soft, smooth fur.

Clumsy and rough, yet it possesses a strange kind of meticulousness and patience.

In a corner not far away.

The God of War lay on its special dog mat.

Its large head rested on its front paws, its amber eyes fixed on the scene on the sofa.

It looked at the little bully who had slapped it yesterday, now lying in its owner's hands, acting all cute.

She let out a pitiful "woof".

It also wanted its owner to touch it, but it was too afraid to go over.

He Zheng turned his head and glanced at the God of War.

A sharp, warning look flashed across his face.

The God of War immediately shut up, burying his face in his claws, out of sight, out of mind.

The living room returned to calm.

Only the low hum of the cello and the sound of a cat purring mingled together.

He Zheng sat on the sofa, his hands moving mechanically and rhythmically.

His gaze returned to Shu Yao standing by the floor-to-ceiling window.

As time went by, it gradually got dark outside.

The evening sunset brings its most intense moment.

The fiery sunset painted the western sky with large swaths of orange and purplish-red.

The orange-red afterglow of the setting sun poured into the living room through the pink and white lace curtains. The intricate lace pattern sliced ​​the light into patches of dappled light and shadow.

The light and shadow fell on the carpet and on Shu Yao's white sweater.

As she played the violin, light and shadow constantly shifted and danced across her body.

She was completely absorbed in the music.

As the bow was pushed and pulled, her body leaned slightly forward and backward, and the collar of her white sweater slipped to one side unintentionally due to the large range of motion.

A small patch of fair, rounded shoulder and delicate collarbone was revealed.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a warm glow on that skin.

He Zheng's gaze lingered on the woman's shoulder for two seconds, and his Adam's apple bobbed slowly.

He forcibly looked away and took a deep breath.

The light of the setting sun also shone on He Zheng's face.

He had a high nose bridge, deep-set brow bones, and a face that always exuded a cold and stern aura.

At this moment, under the warm orange glow and amidst the melodious background music of the cello, it miraculously melted away.

His sharp jawline softened, and the majesty faded from his deep black eyes, replaced by a tenderness he himself was unaware of.

He sat there quietly, patiently grooming a calico cat the size of a palm.

The image is both rough and delicate.

The song ended.

The last low note lingered in the air until it faded away.

Shu Yao slightly raised her wrist, and the bow left the strings.

The deep, lingering sound still echoed in every corner of the living room.

She let out a long breath, her chest heaving violently twice.

Playing the cello is physically demanding, and this piece is particularly difficult.

A fine layer of sweat appeared on her forehead. She placed the bow on the cashmere carpet and rubbed her aching right wrist.

"This broken violin is getting harder and harder to play."

She casually complained.

She assumed she was home alone, since it was only 6:30. She figured He Zheng, being a workaholic, wouldn't be back until 8 or 9 pm.

The living room was very quiet.

No one responded.

But Shu Yao's intuition was accurate. She suddenly felt a gaze with scorching heat fixed on her from behind.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned around abruptly.

The last rays of the setting sun shone through the window screen.

She turned her head, her gaze passing over the black coffee table, and looked back to meet his deep eyes.

The afterglow of the setting sun shone through the window screen onto He Zheng's face.

The living room was quiet; the lingering sound of the cello had faded away.

He Zheng sat on the black leather sofa, one hand resting on the back of the calico cat, holding a pink grooming brush in his other hand.

His gaze was direct and undisguised; he simply stared straight at her.

Shu Yao felt a jolt from that gaze, and her heart skipped a beat.

She looked away and placed the bow on the cashmere carpet.

"When did you get back?" she asked, her voice a little dry.

He Zheng stood up and threw the brush on the table.

"Just got back."

He strode over, picked up the brown paper box from the entryway cabinet, and placed it in front of her.

"You ordered chestnut cake," he said in a low voice, "eat it while it's hot."

Shu Yao was stunned for a moment.

She just sent a casual WeChat message. She knew how difficult it was to queue at popular online stores, and she thought he would buy a perfunctory substitute or simply ignore her.

Reach out and open the cardboard box.

A rich aroma of chestnut puree wafted out, and the bottom of the cardboard box was still warm.

She picked up the small plastic spoon that came with the dish, scooped out a mouthful, and put it in her mouth.

The chestnut puree is smooth, creamy, and just the right amount of sweetness.

The fatigue and soreness from practicing the piano all day dissipated with this dessert.

He Zheng didn't linger and turned to go into the kitchen.

A short while later, the sound of chopping vegetables came from the kitchen.

"Knock knock knock".

The knife skills were fierce, the cuts were incredibly fast; it sounded more like chopping bones than cooking.

7:30 p.m.

The dining table is made of black slate, which is cold, hard, and large.

Two dishes and a soup were served.

Stir-fried beef with green peppers, stir-fried bok choy with minced garlic, and tomato and egg soup.

The presentation was rough and lacked any plating; the meat slices were thicker than a thumb, and the soy sauce was extremely dark.

Shu Yao sat at the dining table, chopsticks in hand, looking at the plate of stir-fried beef with green peppers.

She tentatively picked up a piece and put it in her mouth.

He chewed it twice.

It was too tough to chew; the shredded meat was rock hard and got stuck between my teeth.

Her brows furrowed deeply, she grabbed a tissue, and spat it out.