Jiang Ruoqi suddenly wrapped her arms around his, tilting her head to examine him: "Come, let Dr. Jiang take a look too." She studied his face. "Hmm... this gentleman does look very resentful and stressed. Dr. Jiang prescribes a remedy: have a small drink when you get home. You'll wake up stress-free!"
"Practicing without a license?" Meng Shang played along but didn't get it. "I think the penalty for illegal practice is three years in prison."
He played along? Not even close! He was threatening her!
Jiang Ruoqi had wanted to role-play with him, but Dr. Meng just didn't get it. He even tried to explain the serious consequences of illegal medical practice. She stiffened her neck in defeat: "Then go report me!"
"Mm." Meng Shang actually agreed.
They reached the entrance of their building. The motion-sensor light came on as they approached. Meng Shang had Jiang Ruoqi hanging off his left arm. With his right hand, he reached through the handle of her handbag, pulled out the access card from his pocket, swiped it, and opened the door. He gestured for her to enter. "Go on in. Considering this is your first offense, I'll deduct two slices of luncheon meat."
Jiang Ruoqi turned to glare at him. Did she care about that?
Instant noodles were junk food if eaten straight. But if you soaked them, boiled them, added luncheon meat and a poached egg, and drizzled a bit of sesame oil, you could pass it off as a restaurant-style noodle dish.
Jiang Ruoqi's eyes were bigger than her stomach. When he served the two bowls, she first picked a few strands from her bowl into his. His bowlful visibly increased, piled high like a small mountain. He started to wonder if he'd only cooked one and a half packs. Of course, he couldn't resist mildly questioning the hungry one: "So who exactly hasn't eaten?"
Jiang Ruoqi was holding the porcelain bowl and drinking the soup, her eyes wide: "I'm not really hungry. I just have a craving."
No wonder she insisted he join her. Meng Shang understood: "Like feeding a cat."
"Not the same," Jiang Ruoqi corrected. "Meng Yuanbao might eat too much."
That was true.
The soup was just flavored with seasoning packets; not particularly good. Jiang Ruoqi didn't like the taste of sesame oil, having suffered through it in Hong Kong. She stood by while Meng Shang cooked, making sure he didn't add any. At least she saved her soup from being ruined.
She sipped the soup absentmindedly while stealing glances at the handsome face across from her. Meng Shang had impeccable table manners. When not talking, he focused on eating, moving unhurriedly. He didn't even slurp his noodles. Elegant and efficient—by the time she'd had a couple sips of soup, he was already halfway done.
Meng Yuanbao, hearing his name from the living room, meowed and padded over to the dining table. He tried to jump onto a chair a few times but was stopped by his dad's look, so he turned and went to the balcony. Probably sulking, he faced them with his round bottom pressed against the glass, making strange clicking noises at something outside.
Meng Shang was used to it. He explained that if it wasn't a bird, it was a bug. The little fatty would click for a while and then get over it.
After dinner, Jiang Ruoqi started to feel sleepy. Meng Shang had distracted her with conversation, making her forget her troubles. But now, in the quiet of drowsiness, all the unresolved issues came flooding back.
Jiang Ruoqi really liked to replay things. Work meetings, even arguments. Now, with the source of her distress right in front of her, she said nothing, only replaying in her mind how she could have handled the confrontation with her emotionally charged friend better.
She wondered how Sophia was doing now. Ada was a spoiled rich girl who didn't know how to take care of people. If they were drinking, they should have something to eat first, to protect their stomachs. When emotions were high, you shouldn't try to be the neutral party. Just go along with Sophia, even if it meant joining in to curse her out.
Jiang Ruoqi didn't notice what Meng Shang was doing. So when he walked up to her with a bottle and glasses, her expression was as if she'd seen a ghost.
"The prescription Dr. Jiang wrote." He set them on the table. "Care for a drink?"
One glance and Jiang Ruoqi knew it was Macallan 25. The kind you buy but hesitate to open and drink. Meng Shang didn't know about alcohol—he shouldn't know how much this cost. Treating whiskey like local rice wine, she jumped up in distress, snatched the bottle, and hugged it protectively.
"What's wrong?" Meng Shang was rarely this bewildered.
Jiang Ruoqi checked the bottle neck, sighed in relief, and silently congratulated herself for saving twenty thousand yuan. She put the bottle down on the table, then moved it farther away from him, just to be safe.
Once she'd calmed down, Jiang Ruoqi finally realized what was happening. She motioned for him to sit down and explain.
They sat across from each other at the dining table. Jiang Ruoqi tapped her nails on the black walnut surface, the rhythm gradually matching the second hand ticking toward midnight.
Meng Shang knew she'd figured it out.
"Meng Shang, you came out to meet me. That wasn't just a coincidence, was it?"