Slow to mature after marriage

Mu Siwan quickly raised her head, stepped back, and created some distance between herself and him.

Old Zhao came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of pasta. He glanced at the glass of mixed cocktail on her table and paused.

A hint of surprise flickered in his eyes as he asked Mu Siwan, "Did this kid arrange it himself?"

Mu Siwan took the plate and nodded.

Old Zhao placed another plate in front of Bo Yan, leaned against the table, and shook his head with a tsk-tsk sound. "He's different with his wife, huh? I want to drink the cocktail this kid makes, but even begging and pleading might not be enough."

He glanced down at the glass of wine, then at Bo Yan, the lines around his eyes furrowing. "So free today? Make me a glass too."

Bo Yan leaned back in his chair, not even lifting his eyelids. "Get lost. Don't you have hands or feet?"

Old Zhao, with an "I knew it" expression, pointed at the reckless person towards Mu Siwan.

"Look at this guy—he's been such a jerk since he was a kid. I thought he'd tone it down after getting married, but he's still the same." He sighed, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. "I don't know who he takes after. Maybe that jerk Bo Hanzhang, but definitely not my sister."

Mu Siwan paused for a moment while holding her fork.

My sister?

Are Lao Zhao and Bo Yan's mother siblings?

But the two people have different surnames.

Before Mu Siwan could even recover from her surprise, Bo Yan had already spoken without any mercy.

"Old Zhao is a child my mother secretly sponsors; he's not my mother's biological brother. Don't listen to his nonsense about being related."

Old Zhao clutched his chest, glared at him, and said, "You brat, don't mess with me. I'm forty years old this year."

"He's forty-five," Bo Yan added calmly.

Old Zhao: "...I'm going to kill you."

The two of them bickered back and forth, neither willing to give in.

Jazz music swirled overhead, a woman's voice rasped, singing in French, which I couldn't understand, but the melody was languid, like the night itself humming a tune.

Mu Siwan lowered her head, twirling the pasta with her fork, and smiled slightly, feeling an unparalleled sense of relaxation.

She thought that it was fortunate that Bo Yan had a handsome face; otherwise, with that ruthless mouth, he would easily be dismembered if he went out into the world.

She'd eaten most of the pasta, but the wine was still beside her. She picked up the Bloody Mary and took a sip. The spiciness burned from the tip of her tongue to her throat, then the sweet and sour taste of the tomato rose up, suppressing the intensity, leaving a slightly spicy aftertaste.

Bo Yan leaned back in his chair, giving her a meaningful look. "How does it taste?"

Mu Siwan tilted her head slightly, meeting his deep and enigmatic gaze in the dim light. A thought struck her, and she whispered, "Pretty...exciting."

It gives the same feeling as a thin inkstone.

"Exciting?" Bo Yan found the description intriguing. "How so?"

Mu Siwan replied, "I feel like after drinking this, I can go back to the identification center and carry ten buckets of corpses."

"A corpse?" Old Zhao laughed heartily from the side. He had just drunk a large glass of whiskey and thought he was very drunk. "Sister-in-law, you're really joking."

He then noticed the seriousness on the woman's face and his smile faded.

Wait... this doesn't seem like a joke?

Bo Yan was already used to her unconventional way of speaking.

He sighed and flicked her forehead. "Mu Siwan, do you dare talk to me about something unrelated to corpses?"

Mu Siwan took another sip of wine, and as the alcohol took effect, she slumped onto the table, tilted her head in confusion, and said helplessly, "Besides this, I don't know what else to talk to you about."

She's boring.

Mu Siwan was very self-aware about this.

"We can talk about a lot of things." Bo Yan stared at her flushed cheeks, then suddenly raised his hand and poked her. It was soft, and he poked a small hole in her skin. He smiled. "For example, things I haven't told you yet, have I?"

"What?"

"You are cute."

The moment those words were spoken, the entire bar fell silent.

Old Zhao's hand, holding the cloth used to wipe the cups, froze in mid-air as he stared at Bo Yan with a look of horror. "Wait, bro, are you drunk? When did this smooth talker become so good at flirting?"

Mu Siwan's face burned even more, the red spreading from her cheekbones to her ears and even her neck. She opened her mouth, her voice slightly unsteady. "Bo Yan, how much did you drink?"

"A Johnnie Walker," Bo Yan replied patiently.

"The alcohol level must be very high, right?" Mu Siwan looked bewildered. "You seem to be drunk again, Bo Yan."

Bo Yan sighed helplessly, "I wasn't drunk, actually I wasn't last time either."

The man stared at her, repeating earnestly and deliberately, "You're really cute."

After saying that, he raised his hand and poked Mu Siwan's cheek.

Mu Siwan shrank back, sinking into the back of the chair, and finally buried her face in her arms, lying face down on the table, with only her bright red ears showing.

Old Zhao, feigning nausea, slung the cloth used to wipe the cups over his shoulder. "Please, get out of here, leave this old single dog alone."

As dusk settled, several tables of customers gradually filled the bar. Some sat by the window chatting quietly, while others huddled in corners scrolling through their phones. The smell of alcohol grew stronger, creating a quiet and relaxed atmosphere.

The folk singer on stage was already in place, holding his guitar, tuning it, strumming a few notes, and the melody flowed out, softly, blending with the vocals, filling the entire space.

Old Zhao was busy greeting the new guests and didn't have time to deal with them.

Mu Siwan remained lying down, her face buried in her elbows, refusing to come out.

Bo Yan found it amusing.

How come she's so easily teased?

So cute!

He raised his hand and touched the fluffy little head. The hair was soft and tickled his palm. "Hey, Mu Siwan."

Mu Siwan's voice was muffled, leaking from between her arms, "Mmm."

"Are you still going to drink?"

She shook her head.

Bo Yan reached out, took the Bloody Mary, and drank it all in one gulp.

The bar lights shone from the side, and the man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. A drop of red liquor slid from the corner of his lips across the raised curve, trickled down his chin, and landed on his shirt collar, spreading a small patch of dark color.

Mu Siwan looked up and saw this scene.

She paused for a moment, then silently buried her face back.

Beauty can lead people astray.

Bo Yan finished his drink and saw that she was still huddled up like a quail, so he realized that this was not a solution.

He stood up, his suit jacket draped over his elbow, reached out and cupped her head, gently shaking it, and grinned wickedly, "Did you shake the alcohol out of your head? Let's go home."

Mu Siwan: "..."

She suddenly stood up like a firecracker, didn't even look at him, and turned to walk out of the bar.

Bo Yan smiled, then casually picked up the camel-colored coat the woman had forgotten to take, and slowly followed behind her.

Seeing them about to leave, Old Zhao called out enthusiastically from behind, "Next time you want to show off your love, don't come over! Uncle Zhao is too old for that!"

Mu Siwan quickened her pace, almost running as she pushed open the door.

The night wind blew in, blowing the stray hairs on her forehead. She lowered her head, her ears so red they looked like they could bleed.

Behind him, Old Zhao smiled with satisfaction and muttered to himself, "This kid, after all these years, has finally found someone he likes."

"Ayan, you should be happy for him too."