Chapter 937: Chapter 917: Really Craving Hot Pot
"Forget it, let’s go," Jiayi said softly.
"They’re in a hurry? Well, I’m in a hurry to console my wife."
"If they’re in such a rush, let them take a detour. If there’s any loss, they can come to Haodu Building tomorrow for compensation. Or they can sue me for obstructing traffic anytime—they’re more than welcome."
He pressed the car window button, isolating the commotion of the traffic police and the outside noise.
Sue Huo Zhenyang? Who would dare go up against the Huo Family’s legal team?
The traffic police were helpless but had no choice but to go back and make arrangements.
"Why are you like this?" Jiayi said, half-laughing, half-crying.
His eyes arched slightly with an amused air as he adjusted the rearview mirror lower and gently turned her little face, making her see the scene behind them.
It was utter chaos.
With the traffic police directing, cars started detouring and turning around.
Though the drivers were cursing and complaining, they had no choice but to reluctantly twist their steering wheels and leave in frustration.
"Look at the world. There are people worse off than you. Feeling better now?" He leaned close to her soft, delicate ear as he teased.
Speechless, Jiayi thought to herself, this man—he really does find joy in other people’s misery.
And yet, for some reason, the dark cloud over her heart did seem to lift a little.
What nonsense. No way was she going to become as selfish and domineering as him, using money and power to pressure others.
If this man had lived in ancient times, he’d definitely be the kind of tyrant like King Zhou You, burning beacon towers just to make a beauty smile!
"Still not happy?" He knew what she was silently thinking about him and was already used to it.
Afraid he might do something even more outrageous, she quickly said, "It’s nothing. I’m just hungry. Why don’t we go eat something?"
Lingering here any longer, she might really end up cursed to death by the drivers behind them.
At that, he dropped the subject, started the car, and drove off.
...
As they passed by a newly opened self-serve hotpot restaurant in the downtown area, it happened to be lunchtime, and the place was packed with diners.
The traffic on that stretch of road was slightly congested, slowing down the car. At just the right moment, tantalizing, rich aromas wafted from the hotpot restaurant, making mouths water.
In the car, there came two low gurgles. She touched her disobedient stomach.
Huo Zhenyang glanced at her and chuckled softly, "We’ll be there soon."
She knew he planned to take her to a French restaurant he frequented. But suddenly, she said, "Why don’t we eat here instead?"
She’d never been particularly fond of hotpot, but today, for some reason, the moment she smelled it, her fingers began to itch, and her cravings hit hard.
The crowd outside the restaurant bustled noisily, filled with the warmth of everyday life. It was lively, chaotic even, but it could make people forget their unhappiness—far better than those refined, quiet, yet coldly detached upscale French restaurants.
But then again, a man like Huo Zhenyang, who had probably never set foot in such a place in his entire life, might not agree.
Sure enough, he glanced at the modest hotpot eatery and frowned. "Here? No way."
On any normal day, she wouldn’t have bothered to argue with him.
But today, for some inexplicable reason, she just had to have hotpot.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it—her mouth was practically watering at this point.
"Just this once, okay?" She pressed herself against the window of the absurdly pricey Bentley, casting one last forlorn look at the hotpot restaurant, her eyes resembling a starving stray kitten who hadn’t eaten for ten days.
At last, he furrowed his brows tightly. "There’s a high-end yakiniku place next to the French restaurant I planned to take you to. It’s quiet and elegant. If you want hotpot, we can go there."
Before he could even finish speaking, the little woman’s stomach let out another gurgling protest, as if automatically answering on her behalf:
NO, I want this place. Not Japanese-style hotpot. Chinese-style only.
After a few seconds of silence, the car finally screeched to a halt.
She knew he had relented and was overjoyed. She unbuckled her seatbelt and followed him inside.
Huo Zhenyang was evidently unfamiliar with the layout of such a hotpot restaurant and seemed extremely out of place. As soon as they entered and he saw the noisy, almost riotous atmosphere, with every table shrouded in swirling steam, his thick eyebrows furrowed even tighter. The overworked staff, darting around without a moment to spare, added to his displeasure. His expression darkened further.
Back when Jiayi had first moved to Yunling to attend Yun University for her fashion design major, the area near campus boasted many similar hotpot spots: cheap, cheerful, and affordable. She had gone to plenty of them with classmates before and was quite familiar with how they worked. She tugged at him and said, "This kind of self-serve hotpot joint isn’t some high-class French restaurant. Don’t expect a waiter to show up, bow, and greet you as ’Mr. Huo.’ You grab what you want and find a seat to eat."
Huo Zhenyang’s expression grew even more displeased. The place was dirty and cramped enough as it was, but now they were expected to serve themselves? Starting to regret his decision, he said, "Even the most affordable of the Huo Group’s restaurants is a hundred times more upscale than this. Why don’t we—"
Before he could finish, she eagerly dragged him to sit at a slightly quieter corner table.
She was here to eat, not to listen to him wax lyrical about the glories of the Huo Group.
He instinctively shot up from his seat and barked, "Wait!" just as she was about to sit down.
Jiayi froze, only to watch him pull out a tissue, bend his tall frame, and meticulously wipe down her chair before proceeding to do the same for his own.
What a mistake it had been to drag him along for hotpot.
How could she expect a man who only dined at the highest-end establishments—always attended by a team of professional waitstaff—to cope with a modest little restaurant like this?
This was a man with the palate of an emperor and the digestion of fine crystal!
Jiayi couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. "Satisfied now? Can I sit?"
He nodded begrudgingly, granting her permission.
Judging by the way he was acting all high and mighty, there was no way he’d go fetch food himself.
"I’ll grab what we need. Wait here for a moment," she said before darting off toward the buffet lines of ingredients. Before long, she returned with a large assortment of hotpot fixings piled on plates and trays.
At the same time, a server carried over their hotpot and lit the burner.
As the broth began to bubble and steam, filling the air with its rich aroma, Jiayi tossed in enoki mushrooms and sliced beef, eagerly wiping at her mouth. "Give it three or four minutes, and it’ll be ready to eat."
"Chu Jiayi, aren’t you worried you might get food poisoning eating all this?"
Across from her, the man fixed his gaze on her tossing ingredients into the pot, his sharp brows furrowing. Clearly, he did not view any of this as edible food, and his sudden comment made that abundantly clear.
"You’re ruining the mood, talking about food poisoning while someone’s trying to eat!" Jiayi exclaimed, noticing that he hadn’t even unwrapped his chopsticks. "You really aren’t going to eat anything?"
"I’m not," he said disdainfully.
Hah, no sense of enjoyment whatsoever!
Jiayi didn’t bother sparing him another thought and fished out the now-ready ingredients, happily digging in.
She had never thought much of hotpot before.
But today, for some reason—maybe she was just overly exhausted from attending court—she found hotpot to be the most incredible cuisine on earth!
As the steam from the hotpot swirled around them, she noticed that he, true to his word, simply sat there watching her eat, not touching his chopsticks even once. Smiling mischievously, she picked up a shrimp ball and extended it towards him. "Come on, try a bite. It’s really good."
His dashing brows drew even closer together, his thin lips pressed into a stiff line as he made no move.
She purposefully wiggled the shrimp ball near his lips. "It smells amazing... just one bite..."
