Chapter 22: The Taste of My Wife

“Relax, my job’s done. I’m out.” Tang Yan waved a hand, stepping away from the Song residence with a mix of satisfaction and something heavier—like a weight just barely lifted.

Tonight was different. He couldn’t go home to change again. No choice but to duck into some random public restroom to shed the disguise. After finally wrapping it all up, Tang Yan felt completely drained—and strangely free. He decided right then: tonight, he deserved a little reward. A real one.

The moment he stepped through his front door, he froze.

No servants. No voices. No movement. The house was silent, empty.

He wandered through the living room, sniffing the air. Then—there it was. A scent. Warm. Rich. Familiar. Drifting from the kitchen.

Without thinking, he followed the aroma like a compass. The kitchen glowed in soft golden light. And there she was—the silhouette he knew by heart—bent over the stove, focused, gentle.

Li Chuzhe wore a black apron. His eyes were lowered, tender and intent as he stirred a pot of carp stew.

“You… can cook?” Tang Yan stood at the doorway, hesitant, afraid to step too close.

Li Chuzhe’s lips twitched upward, soft as moonlight. “So? Am I not allowed to feed my wife?”

“Who said you’re my husband? Stop calling me that!” Tang Yan turned sharply, ready to bolt.

But before he could take two steps, Li Chuzhe closed the distance in three long strides. One arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him hard into a chest. Then came the worst part—Li Chuzhe rested his chin on Tang Yan’s shoulder, voice low and teasing.

“Mmm… haven’t seen me in days, and already forgot your husband? Want to deepen our relationship tonight, *wife*?”

His breath brushed against Tang Yan’s earlobe—hot, insistent. A flush spread across Tang Yan’s face like wildfire.

“Let go. I’m not feeling well.”

“Hmm?” Li Chuzhe tilted him gently, turning Tang Yan’s body to face him. Their foreheads touched. Tang Yan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears—so loud, so fast, it felt like it might burst through his ribs.

“You’re not feverish,” Li Chuzhe murmured, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “So what’s this? Shyness?”

His dark eyes gleamed—deep, knowing, dangerously charming.

Then—Tang Yan suddenly grinned, sharp and dangerous. In his heels, he stomped down hard on Li Chuzhe’s shoe. Not just once. Twice. With purpose.

Li Chuzhe winced. Then, wisely, let go.

“Since when did you learn to wear high heels?” he asked, amused.

“Mind your own business,” Tang Yan shot back, barely glancing at him.

Li Chuzhe knelt, hands cupping Tang Yan’s waist, lifting him effortlessly onto the counter. Then, gently, he removed the shoes from Tang Yan’s feet.

“These aren’t for you. Don’t force yourself. Just be you. That’s enough.”

Tang Yan didn’t argue. Didn’t speak. Just stared ahead, quiet.

Li Chuzhe looked up, eyes full of warmth, slowly leaning in. Their lips drew closer. Closer. The air between them crackled.

Tang Yan’s pulse roared in the kitchen. This had never happened before. He didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to run? Fight? Surrender?

Just as he braced himself for another forced kiss—Li Chuzhe leaned in and whispered, voice dripping with mischief, “What are you waiting for, *wife*?”

Tang Yan’s face burned. He shoved him hard.

“Get lost!”

Li Chuzhe laughed, catching Tang Yan’s wrist like a cat taming a wild thing. “Okay, okay. No more teasing. What do you want to eat? I’ll make it.”

“Hot pot. If it’s bad, I’m making you redo it.” Tang Yan turned away, pouting—like a tiny, wounded rabbit.

Li Chuzhe reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind Tang Yan’s ear. “Alright. I promise—your favorite.”

As Li Chuzhe called him “wife” again and again, each word deeper, smoother, Tang Yan began to lose himself. Then, arms wrapped around him from behind. A warm embrace.

“Since you love it so much,” Li Chuzhe murmured, “let me show you a new way to enjoy it.”

Before Tang Yan could react, Li Chuzhe stole a quick, playful kiss on his cheek.

Tang Yan raised a fist—ready to punch.

But then—Li Chuzhe went still. Serious. Gently, carefully, he picked up a knife and started chopping vegetables. Calm. Focused. So tender.

Tang Yan couldn’t bring himself to ruin the moment. He turned back, pretending to be serious too.

“Fine. I’ll forgive you this time.” He muttered under his breath, still annoyed.

Two hours passed. The table was piled high with food—colorful, fragrant, perfect.

Tang Yan sat at the dining table, eyes wide, heart full. “Wow… smells amazing. I feel… happy. Like floating.”

“Still just a little glutton,” Li Chuzhe teased, smiling softly. He pulled out a drink from the fridge and walked toward him.

“Can I have one?” he asked, holding out a beer.

Tang Yan snorted. “Oh wow. The rich boy’s drinking commoners’ beer now?”

Li Chuzhe sat across from him, lips curling. “Because my little glutton likes it.”

Tang Yan’s breath caught. “You’re such a dork.”

Li Chuzhe had served everything—just one portion of each dish. But his eyes never left Tang Yan’s face. Every time Tang Yan picked up a piece of meat, Li Chuzhe silently noted it. Remembered it.

Seeing Tang Yan eat so happily, Li Chuzhe casually asked, “This good? Let me try some.”

Tang Yan, caught in the moment, didn’t think twice. He grabbed a piece of meat with his chopsticks and held it out—right to Li Chuzhe’s mouth.

Li Chuzhe opened his lips slightly. Took it. Chewed.

“Mmm. Tastes great. And… has your flavor.”

Tang Yan blinked. He hadn’t meant to do that. And Li Chuzhe had actually *taken* it. Swallowed it.

Heat flooded his face—from cheeks to ears. “You bastard! You did that on purpose!”

Li Chuzhe leaned back, smirking, one hand propped on his chin, eyes locked on Tang Yan with affectionate amusement.

Tang Yan realized he couldn’t win. He slammed his chopsticks down, stood up, and stormed off toward the stairs.

“Not eating anymore?”

“Not hungry. Full!” Tang Yan snapped, stomping upstairs louder than usual.

Li Chuzhe sighed, smiling faintly. He picked up the half-empty beer Tang Yan had left behind—and took a sip.

“Hmm. Not bad.”

Upstairs, Tang Yan threw himself onto the bed, clutching a pillow to his head, whispering to himself, “Idiot. Idiot. You idiot, Tang Yan. Where’s your cool composure?”

Meanwhile, Li Chuzhe began clearing the table. Halfway through, his body froze.

His chest tightened. A violent spasm tore through his heart—like a sudden stroke. For a second, the world blurred. He clutched the edge of the counter, breathing shallowly.

It felt exactly like a heart attack.