My sister, whom I raised, has turned evil after faking her death for three years.

The evening light slanted in through the kitchen window, dividing the countertop into two halves of light and shadow.

Su Qing, wearing a light gray apron, stood in the bright half, her phone next to the spice rack, the screen displaying a recipe page brought up by the system.

In front of her were three small bowls: chopped tomatoes, beaten eggs, and chopped scallions, all neatly arranged like soldiers awaiting inspection.

This time she learned her lesson and followed the recipe strictly.

I checked the data on my phone for every step, from oil temperature and heat control to the order of adding ingredients. I even measured the salt with a measuring spoon before adding it.

The oil in the pan was hot enough to just begin to smoke. She picked up the bowl of egg mixture, tilted her wrist, and the golden liquid slid down the edge of the pan, making a soft sizzling sound.

The egg mixture quickly expanded into a golden cloud in the hot oil, with a thin, caramelized edge around the perimeter.

She picked up the spatula and stirred it a few times. Once the egg pieces were set, she took them out and set them aside. Then she poured the tomatoes back in.

The tomato chunks sizzled in the hot pan, releasing their juices. The sweet and sour aroma rose with the white steam, mingling with the fragrance of the eggs and filling the entire kitchen.

Finally, pour the egg pieces back into the pan, sprinkle with salt and a little sugar, stir-fry evenly, and remove from the pan.

She ladled the food into a white porcelain plate and examined it for a moment.

The tomatoes were red, the eggs were yellow, and the scallions were green. The colors were right, and the smell was right too. This time, there was no charred remains, no eerie dark brown sauce, and no scene that would make you want to call an ambulance.

Su Qing carried the plate to the dining table and placed it in front of Jiang Ran.

The little guy was already sitting there waiting, with a napkin on his lap, chopsticks in his hand, and his neck stretched out.

Su Qing wiped her hands on her apron, looked at the dish, and felt unsure.

  

She might have overcooked it a little, and she wasn't quite sure about the salt ratio; she think she accidentally added half a spoonful of sugar.

She mentally called out to the system.

The system began its announcement in its usual calm tone: [Egg piece integrity score: 73 points; slight scorch marks on the edges, but no benzo[a]pyrene produced.]

[The tomatoes have a moderate juice yield and blend well with the egg pieces.]

[Regarding seasoning, the salt content is 0.8 grams per 100 grams, within the range suitable for children. The sugar content is slightly high, exceeding the optimal taste value by 12%. Overall rating – barely passing.]

Su Qing paused for a second: "What do you mean by 'barely passing'?"

[It's a passing grade, but barely.]

"...Could you learn the art of speaking?"

[Host, I'm just providing objective data. Packaging the data into phrases like "You did a pretty good job!" is essentially embellishing the facts and doesn't help you accurately assess your cooking skills.]

Su Qing took a deep breath and decided not to bother with a string of code.

She took off her apron and draped it over the back of the chair, sat down opposite Jiang Ran, and picked up her chopsticks.

Then she saw Jiang Ran's expression. The little guy was staring at the plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes, his eyes shining as if he had seen some incredible treasure.

Su Qing felt a little embarrassed by her gaze, so she raised her hand to touch her nose, coughed lightly, and gave her a heads-up: "Um... I tried it, and it wasn't very good. It's just ordinary scrambled eggs with tomatoes, maybe a little too sweet. Don't get your hopes up too high."

Jiang Ran looked up at her, then looked down at the plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and shook her head.

She picked up her chopsticks, took a piece of egg, put it in her mouth, and slowly chewed it, puffing out one side of her face.

After chewing twice, she paused for a moment, then chewed quickly, reaching for the second piece with her chopsticks.

She looked up at Su Qing, her eyes sparkling, with an egg still in her mouth. She mumbled something, which Su Qing couldn't hear, but her expression said it all.

As Su Qing watched Jiang Ran stuffing food into her mouth one chopstick after another, she suddenly felt something was off.

This way of eating is different from when I ate xiaolongbao in the hospital last time.

That time it was because "it tasted good, so I ate a lot," but this time it's more like... she can't tell the difference between good and bad? No, she can tell.

When the little guy picked up the egg and took his first bite, his eyes lit up and he quickened his pace, which was a reaction after confirming that the taste was pretty good.

However, she was well aware of her own cooking skills; this plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes was at best "edible," far from being "delicious."

What Su Qing didn't know was that in Jiang Ran's world, the standard for "delicious" was different from that of ordinary people.

During her time at her adoptive parents' home, she ate thin porridge made from leftover rice and water, cold vegetable soup with a layer of oil on it, and half a steamed bun that her adoptive mother would only give her when she was in a good mood.

No one cooked a meal specifically for her.

No one would stand in the kitchen, agonizing over how much salt to add, and then nervously tell her after the food is cooked, "It might not taste very good."

When her adoptive mother cooked, she could only stand at the kitchen door and watch from afar, and could only clean up the leftovers after the adults had finished eating.

So it's not that she can't tell good from bad.

She simply felt that the very act of having someone cook for her was more delicious than any delicacy.

At that moment, she lowered her head, carefully picked up a piece of egg dipped in tomato sauce with her chopsticks, and slowly chewed it in her mouth.

The sweet and sour tomato sauce coated the soft egg pieces, the saltiness was just right, and there was a little too much sugar, so it was slightly sweet, but when that sweetness melted on her tongue, she felt warm all over.

My sister said, "It might not taste very good," but little did she know that it was the best plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes she had ever eaten in her life.

It's not because it's really that good, but because the person who made it is my sister.

She looked up and secretly glanced at Su Qing across from her.

At this moment, Su Qing was putting a piece of egg into her mouth with her chopsticks, her brows slightly furrowed, and she was discussing the issues of sodium content and juice yield with the system in her mind.

Jiang Ran put down her chopsticks, picked up the bowl with both hands, and took a sip of water. The rim of the bowl covered most of her face, revealing only her curved eyes.

She felt she was being greedy.

Mingming's older sister brought her out of that place, bought her a new dress, let her live in such a big room, sang to her every night to lull her to sleep, and even took a photo with her today. She has so many things that she can hardly count them all.

But she was still not satisfied.

She wanted to eat her sister's cooking, not just today, but every meal from now on.

She longed to see her sister standing in the kitchen every day with an apron, to hear her sister say "It might not taste very good," and then she could shake her head earnestly and say "It's delicious," and see her sister's slightly embarrassed yet helpless smile.

She wanted to hear her sister's voice every day, whether it was speaking or singing, whether it was calling her "Xiao Ran" or the muffled tone when she yawned.

She longed to smell her sister's lovely scent every day, to hold her sister's hand and take a walk downstairs every day, and to hear her sister ask "What do you want to eat tomorrow morning?" every night before bed.

She didn't want her sister to send her somewhere else one day, she didn't want her sister to leave quietly before she woke up, and she didn't want someone to tell her, "You can't live here anymore."

She knew these worries were probably unfounded.

My sister once said, "You came home with your sister." My sister put her drawing on the refrigerator and put the photo of them together in her phone case.

But she just couldn't help thinking about it.

Because there have been moments like this before.

The caregivers at the orphanage were kind to her for a couple of days, but they eventually sent her away.

When her adoptive mother first arrived, she smiled at her, but later that smile turned into a look of annoyance.

So she was afraid.

She was afraid that all of this would disappear suddenly in a moment when she was least expecting it, just like all those fleeting moments of beauty before.

She didn't want to be abandoned again; she wanted to stay with her sister forever.

Su Qing swallowed the food in her mouth, looked up and saw Jiang Ran holding a water glass in a daze, her cheeks flushed red all the way to her ears.

She thought the scrambled eggs with tomatoes were too hot, so she poured her a glass of cold water and pushed it towards her, saying, "Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

Jiang Ran peeked out from behind the rim of the bowl with her dark, bright eyes, glanced at her, and then gave a soft, earnest "hmm."

She hid her face even further behind the bowl, the rim of the bowl obscuring the tip of her nose, revealing only her crescent-shaped eyes and flushed forehead.

She carefully covered the budding idea in her mind with soil, watered it, and placed it in a sunny spot.