After dying once, Wen Song’en finally came to her senses: love was worthless; making money came first. Transmigrated into an ancient woman awaiting marriage, she kicked open the woodshed and, hungry, answered a recruitment notice. Her goal was clear: earn enough money and leave. The young master of the household, who used a wheelchair, was so thin it hurt to look at him, but he was incredibly picky about food. Wen Song’en rolled up her sleeves and won over his taste buds, one dish at a time. From then on, she secured her place with hearty Northeastern cuisine and swept the household’s demons and monsters away with her sharp tongue. Shan Runqian had never met a woman like her: she cursed with abandon, filled the kitchen with warmth and smoke as she cooked, and yet her eyes reflected only the gleam of copper coins. He relied on her and indulged her, gradually growing greedy enough to want to keep her in the household forever. But she patted his shoulder and laughed. “Be a good boy, little brother. Once I’ve earned enough, I’m going to open my own shop!” He lowered his lashes, hiding the deep obsession in his eyes., She taught him to savor every flavor of life, so how could he let her go off alone to face that vast jianghu?
