Chapter 72: Today’s Tomatoes Aren’t Very Sweet
Lin’s father felt a pang of disappointment. Why had one daughter been so excellent, while this one seemed less capable?
The front door opened, and Lin Yimo returned from outside. Lin Qi was slightly surprised when he saw him. “I thought you were on a business trip. Why are you back so soon?”
“Hm, there wasn’t much work this time.”
“I see. Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want to eat? I’ll have the kitchen make something.”
Lin Yimo was silent for a moment. “I want noodles.”
“Noodles?” Lin Qi was puzzled. “What kind of noodles? I thought you didn’t usually eat noodles.”
“Just feel like it now.”
“Alright, what kind of noodles?”
“Tomato and egg noodles.”
“Okay.” Lin Qi went to the kitchen to instruct the staff.
“Brother, welcome back from your trip,” Lin Rumeng said, holding a cup of tea and smiling at him.
Lin Yimo showed no unusual expression and took the cup. “What is it?”
“Brother, if I score over 600 on this exam, could you buy me a new violin?”
“Why should I buy it for you? You should have enough allowance to get one yourself.”
“It’s not an ordinary violin. I saw a new model I really want, but I don’t have enough allowance.”
“What violin?”
Lin Rumeng showed him a photo. He glanced at it briefly before looking away, his tone calm. “Why are you asking me to buy it? You usually stick more with Mom and Dad.”
“Daddy lost his chess match today, so I didn’t want to bother him. I asked Mom before, but she said it was too expensive. So that leaves only you, brother.” Lin Rumeng gently held Lin Yimo’s wrist and smiled obediently.
In his mind, a voice from his youth echoed: “Obedient? That word doesn’t suit her at all.”
He looked down at her pretending to be obedient, and his eyelids twitched. “Alright.”
Since she wanted it, he would give it to her. No matter the price, in her hands, the violin would never be used exactly as intended.
Lin Rumeng immediately beamed. “Thank you, brother! You’re the best. I’ll go do my homework now.”
“Mm.”
She skipped upstairs lightly. She had been wanting a new violin for a long time. Lin Yuejiu had used the old one before, but it was so worn she had never wanted to replace it. What Lin Rumeng didn’t know was that Lin Yuejiu had never wanted to change it because that violin had been bought for her by Lin Yimo.
On the first-floor living room, after Lin Qi brought him his noodles, she went to her room to continue her skincare routine.
Lin’s father, lost in thought about the chess match and the past, went up to bed. The living room was left with only Lin Yimo.
He picked up his chopsticks and looked down at the steaming bowl of tomato and egg noodles. Red chunks of tomato rested among white noodles, and the yellow egg blended into the broth, slightly obscuring the view.
His face was partially hidden by the rising steam, blurring his features. In the mist, he vaguely saw the past.
Long ago, there had been a night he returned home very late, just after taking over Lin Corporation. He was still unfamiliar with all the business matters and often came home late. That night, it was already 10:30 p.m. He hadn’t turned on the lights and lay on the sofa, covering his face with both hands to hide his exhaustion.
Suddenly, he heard light footsteps on the stairs. He turned. “Who’s there?”
Lin Yuejiu, in her pajamas, came down the stairs. His expression softened. “Jiu Jiu, it’s so late. Even if it’s Saturday, you shouldn’t be staying up this late.”
“I was thirsty, so I came down to drink some water.”
Lin Yimo raised an eyebrow and quietly watched her.
Lin Yuejiu pouted. “Fine… it’s because I knew you hadn’t come back yet, so I couldn’t sleep.”
Lin Yimo knelt in front of her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “I’m glad Jiu Jiu noticed I wasn’t back. But next time, don’t wait for me anymore, okay? Kids should go to bed early.”
“Brother, you shouldn’t come back so late either. It’s dangerous being out alone.”
Lin Yimo smiled, and some of his fatigue seemed to lift. “Alright. I promise, Jiu Jiu. From now on, I’ll be home before twelve.”
“Brother, have you eaten dinner?”
“Not yet. That’s fine—I’ve been hungrier before. I can wait and eat breakfast tomorrow morning instead.”
“Brother, dinner and breakfast aren’t the same thing.”
She corrected him with a serious expression. He laughed. “Alright, you’re right—they’re not the same.”
“Brother, I can make it for you.”
“Hm? You, this little one, can cook?”
By then, Lin Yuejiu was already twelve. She placed her hands on her hips and scolded him. “Who are you looking down on?!”
Lin Yimo laughed so hard his stomach hurt.
Lin Yuejiu went to the fridge to get ingredients. Lin Yimo stood behind her, watching her climb onto a chair to reach them, his hands lightly resting on her waist. “You really don’t need any help?”
“Nope. You just wait,” she said.
Once she had the ingredients, she let him step aside and busied herself in the kitchen.
Before long, Lin Yuejiu brought the bowl over and placed it in front of him. “Here you go, Brother. It’s ready. Eat quickly.”
“What kind of noodles are these?”
“Tomato and egg noodles.”
“How do you know how to make this?”
“One time, the kitchen lady made it, and I watched.”
“So you watched the whole process secretly?”
“No! I watched completely openly!”
“Alright, alright, openly then.”
“Brother, try it!”
“Okay.”
Lin Yimo picked up some noodles, blew on them, and tasted them. Across from him, Lin Yuejiu’s eyes never left him, and she nervously swallowed. “Brother, how is it? Is it good?”
Lin Yimo smiled. “It’s delicious. You like tomato and egg noodles too?”
“Yes! I’ve always liked them. The tomatoes are a little sour and sweet, which gives the noodles another flavor.”
She placed her hands together on the table and knelt on the soft leather chair, smiling happily at him through the rising white steam.
Lin Yimo felt a brief daze. When he came back to himself, most of the steam had faded. He lowered his head and ate carefully, chewing slowly.
Everything he had just seen felt like a dream, dissipating into the air.
The tomatoes he bit into weren’t very sweet today—slightly sour.
Finally, he silently finished the noodles and drank every drop of soup.
Looking at the empty bowl, nothing remained—just like the fleeting, dreamlike scene moments ago. It had vanished completely, as if even the air held no trace that it had ever existed.
