The dinner was sumptuous, with fish split into two pots, plus a few stir-fried dishes and some smashed cucumber, filling up the table.
He Fang and Zhao Qing washed the bowls and chopsticks and served rice for everyone, then called everyone to take their seats.
"My brother is especially good at cooking fish. Eat up."
"I can tell."
Qin Guanglin was no longer as reserved as he was at lunch and had relaxed quite a bit. He took the chopsticks from He Fang, glanced at the dishes on the table, and couldn't help but take another look at He Fang.
The bowl of boiled fish was covered with a layer of finely chopped red chili peppers, densely packed, with red oil floating on the surface, clearly a Sichuan-Chongqing style dish.
"Eat up," He Fang said with a smile, meeting Qin Guanglin's gentle gaze, and helped him pick up a piece of the dish with her chopsticks.
The three men, each with their own thoughts, ate in silence.