Watching the bubbles in the soup pot that kept rolling and bursting, steaming up mist, Jiao Yang was also confused: how could she, who could solve top scientific research problems, be reduced to cooking Saturday dinner for some gentle scum.
Jiang Mingyuan, who came to the kitchen to make coffee, noticed that she looked hopeless and reminded her: How about changing it to a sixteen-year contract?
Jiao Yang rolled his eyes at him, but decided to be a good nanny.
Intention: I just want to write a story in my heart.