A single chip to stave off hunger – would that even make a dent in the left or right side of his stomach? Wang Zhiyuan, with a hint of amusement, returned the potato chip and nonchalantly placed it on the dining table. He then leaned against the doorframe, watching Lin Moran scurry around the kitchen.
Lin Moran's hand was inches away from grabbing instant noodles in the cupboard when he noticed Wang Zhiyuan's silhouette at the kitchen entrance. Swiftly, his fingers veered, and he grabbed a bottle of ketchup instead. With a mischievous grin, he asked, "Master, are you a fan of Italian pasta?"
Wang Zhiyuan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, "Do you know how to make it?"
Lin Moran responded with a smirk, "I've had my fair share of it."
"…"
Lin Moran then opened another cupboard, whipped out a bag of spaghetti, and began to don an apron. He set a pot on the stove and started rummaging for seasonings. "Master, how about you make yourself comfortable outside?" he suggested.