At six o'clock in the evening, the wall clock in the Gu family's living room had just struck its first chime, and Shen Qingci was already busy in the kitchen wearing an apron.
There were fine droplets of water on the window glass, the earthen pot on the stove was beeping and steaming, and the medicinal fragrance of angelica and astragalus floated in the air - it was the spoils of a perfect information war that she had won by entering the house an hour in advance and using the acumen of a "master's degree in psychology" and the reconnaissance instinct of an agent.
She wiped the countertop gently and slowly, but her gaze was like the most sophisticated scanner, silently scanning every corner of the living room.
On the second floor of the TV cabinet, there is only half a bottle of imported glycosaminochondroitin with a foreign label left; there is a wool blanket draped on the armrest of the sofa, with slight fraying on the edges, and the usual sitting position faces the air-conditioning outlet; the most conspicuous place on the ancient shelf is a porcelain statue of Guanyin holding a purification bottle, and there is a thick layer of incense ash accumulated in the incense burner. The almanac next to it is still on the "no travel" page from three days ago.
Looking back again, there was a handwritten note taped to the refrigerator door. The handwriting was so strong that it almost scratched the paper: "Pork ribs stewed! Huai'an stomach cold!"
