Inside the CEO’s office.
Fu Tingchuan watched himself enter the company on the surveillance screen, his brow furrowed even deeper.
The document that was supposed to be signed yesterday already bore his name, even down to the exact same handwriting.
And his assistant had reported something about the content from today—to his surprise, he couldn’t remember a single thing, as if all the events from yesterday had been him to nothing.
Reality keeps reminding him that this all really happened, and it was all his own doing.
Waiting in the morning sun. Various nearby rest zones in sight.
Fu Tingchuan turned on his computer. His long-fingered hands rested on the keyboard as he slowly typed out “short-term memory loss.”
After reading through the web page, Fu Tingchuan deleted his search history and called his personal doctor.
By the time he left the doctor’s office at noon, Fu Tingchuan looked a little less gray than he had that morning.
The midday sun shone down on Huijin Tower. The metal nameplate, six meters tall, gleamed in the light.
Walking into the stuffy main hall, he was greeted by the receptionist, who had been waiting for him. “Mr. Fu, someone’s here to see you.”
“Husband~”
Fu Tingchuan turned toward the voice.
Dressed in light blue casual clothes and carrying a box of food, Jiang Luoluo rushed over to him like a small, bouncy ball.
Almost instinctively, Fu Tingchuan reached out and caught him. The little ball of fluff looked up, eyes sparkling, “I made your favorite dishes~”
The meal box spread out on the table as Jiang Luoluo took out each item and arranged it neatly:
Small, heart-shaped palm-size cakes lay on milky-white paper, with colorful side dishes; a portion of cured meat congee with a heart-shaped fried egg on top, and a few small star-shaped carrot pieces scattered around; a seafood dumpling soup; shrimp and abalone arranged neatly in another small box; a stir-fried greens dish, and finally, a portion of sauteed bamboo shoots. 1 
Meat and vegetables balanced, clearly prepared with care.
A slightly soft feeling rose in Fu Tingchuan’s heart as he watched Jiang Luoluo unwrap the chopsticks and spoon for him.
His fair-skinned profile showed long eyelashes drooping, a hint of a sweet smile at the corner of his mouth. As if sensing his gaze, he suddenly tilted his head a bit to look at Fu Tingchuan.
So obedient and gentle.
Fu Tingchuan’s heart stirred. He took Jiang Luoluo by the hand, pulling him over and letting him sit on his lap. “What made you think of cooking for me?”
The other’s eyelashes fluttered lightly, bright eyes filled with anticipation, “Do you not like it?”
Fu Tingchuan kissed his face and rasped out, “I do.”
No one would hate feeling like someone cared so much about them.
Jiang Luoluo handed him the chopsticks. “Then hurry up and try it—try both.”
Fu Tingchuan picked up a piece of stir-fried bamboo shoot and put it in his mouth. The smile on his face froze for a moment, and he suddenly started coughing hard.
Jiang Luoluo quickly passed over the seafood dumpling soup. Fu Tingchuan took a sip, but he wanted to spit it right back out. Seeing the hope still on Jiang Luoluo’s face, he forced himself to swallow it down, wincing in pain.
Jiang Luoluo hesitated. “Is it really that bad?” He looked pitifully at Fu Tingchuan, a bit anxious and wronged.
Fu Tingchuan gulped down three big mouthfuls of water to wash away the strange, gross taste in his mouth. He tried to savor it briefly but almost spit it out again. He grabbed his cup and drank another large mouthful.
Jiang Luoluo moved closer, his expression slightly hurt and offended.
Fu Tingchuan glanced at him and stopped drinking. His hand reached around to stroke Jiang Luoluo’s hair at the back of his head. Fu Tingchuan leaned down and kissed him, forceful and dominant, like a wild storm sweeping over everything in its path.
Jiang Luoluo’s kisses left him breathless, his red lips glistening as he collapsed weakly into Fu Tingchuan’s arms.
When he finally let go, Fu Tingchuan couldn’t resist one last kiss at the corner of Jiang Luoluo’s lips. His voice was light and teasing: “The meal was good.”
“Don’t do it again,” he added. 2 -_-
“Looks like Fu Tingchuan’s stomach isn’t the only thing that needs some support—my writing does too! If you want more updates, feed me some caffeine on Ko-fi.
Poor loulou, he can’t cook😆