That year, he was always punished to fetch water from the mountain stream to cook for her. He gritted his teeth and swore that I would definitely marry you home and let you wash my hands and make soup for me day and night.
She picked up the whip and whipped it hard.
He carried the dishes he hadn't cooked for a long time and walked towards her with a sigh of relief. This was the sign of an unfilial disciple honoring his master.
She smiled and forced her entrance.
Eaters are short-tongued. If you eat the food I cook, you are mine.