Chapter 149 I Want to Drink the Pork Rib Soup for Calcium—Why Won’t You Let Me?

Yin Siyao’s gaze calmly swept over the deliberately vacant seat beside Zhao Jingshu and the momentary dimming of Leng Keyan’s eyes, filled with disappointment.

As if completely naturally, he sat down in that empty seat next to Zhao Jingshu.

He didn’t sit too close, keeping at least half a person’s polite distance from her.

But to Leng Keyan, this choice was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head.

Yin Siyao seemed utterly unaware of Leng Keyan’s emotional reaction. After sitting, he picked up the menu on the table.

He browsed it attentively, his profile under the soft light giving off a slightly distant, detached impression.

On Zhao Jingshu’s face, an unrestrained look of triumph instantly bloomed. She slightly tilted her head toward Leng Keyan across the table, raising an eyebrow.

Her eyes were filled with the superiority and contempt of a victor, clearly saying: This immature brat, and he dares to compete with me?

Leng Keyan felt a heavy ache in his chest, almost suffocating, and he silently lowered his head, sipping water in small mouthfuls, trying to suppress the sour sting in his throat.

“Siyao, what do you feel like eating?”

Zhao Jingshu’s voice was gentle enough to drip water. Her body leaned slightly toward Yin Siyao as she pointed to the menu. “I heard the steamed sea bass here is really fresh. Want to try it?”

“And let’s have some lotus root and pork rib soup for digestion. How about boiled shrimp—light? Stir-fried pork liver for blood, Dongpo ribs are their specialty, and finally a simple stir-fried radish leaves to balance the richness.”

Zhao Jingshu listed several dishes, balancing meat and vegetables for nutrition.

She carried herself with the poise of a hostess: “That should be enough for the three of us. What do you think, Siyao?”

Yin Siyao nodded: “Sounds good.”

Then his gaze turned to Leng Keyan, who had been quietly drinking water with his head down: “And you, do you want to add anything?”

The resentment and anger in Leng Keyan’s heart bubbled like boiling water.

Why?

Why was Yin Siyao sitting with Zhao Jingshu?

Why did he only ask his about the dishes?

And only now remembered to ask me?

Pouting, Leng Keyan’s voice was harsh and sharp: “Whatever. I’ll eat anything. I’m just extra anyway.”

Yin Siyao’s brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

Zhao Jingshu tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing a stretch of fair neck, and smiled with a mixture of indulgence and helplessness.

Her voice was soft as she spoke to Yin Siyao: “Don’t mind him. He’s still young, naturally a little childish and stubborn.”

Then, in a tone like someone who had experience, she added: “My little brother is the same at home. When things don’t go his way, he throws a tantrum—so hard to handle.”

On the surface, it sounded like soothing advice. But each word implied that Leng Keyan was immature, spoiled, and needed to be disciplined.

Leng Keyan felt a surge of rage, about to explode, only to see Yin Siyao give Zhao Jingshu a faint glance and say nothing in response.

This silence, to Leng Keyan, felt like tacit approval.

Even Yin Siyao thinks I’m being unreasonable?

Fine.

Leng Keyan grabbed the menu and, with a defiant tone to the waiting waiter, said loudly: “Add a spicy rabbit head, dry pot chili crab, sour and spicy chicken feet, and chopped chili fish head.”

All four dishes were heavy, oily, and extremely spicy—bright red.

Just looking at them made one’s stomach burn, forming a sharp contrast with Zhao Jingshu’s light, healthy choices.

After ordering, Leng Keyan provocatively glanced at Yin Siyao.

You asked me what I wanted? Fine. I’ll order the most expensive, spiciest dishes—make you bleed!

Yin Siyao frowned tightly at these four dishes.

“These are too spicy, very harsh on the stomach. You also have injuries on your face. Spicy food won’t help your recovery. Change them to something lighter,” he said disapprovingly.

Leng Keyan stiffened his neck and retorted: “I love spicy food. My stomach is fine. If you’re not going to give me what I want, don’t pretend to ask!”

Yin Siyao was silent for a few seconds, then told the waiter: “Serve the previous dishes as ordered. Also, add a West Lake tofu and a lean meatball with mushroom soup.”

Zhao Jingshu’s eyes darkened slightly. The last two dishes were clearly for Leng Keyan.

Yin Siyao’s attentiveness toward Leng Keyan carried an unusual level of care.

This dampened Zhao Jingshu’s sense of triumph, replaced with heightened caution and jealousy.

The dishes arrived quickly.

Zhao Jingshu’s dishes were placed in the center—aromatic, visually appealing, healthy.

Leng Keyan’s four spicy dishes glowed bright red like erupting mini volcanoes, exuding bold, aggressive fragrance.

Zhao Jingshu picked up a soup ladle, her face resuming a gentle and gracious smile.

She first served a bowl of lotus root pork rib soup to Yin Siyao: “Siyao, you work hard—drink some soup for nourishment.”

Then she picked up another empty bowl and filled it with pork rib soup.

She passed it toward Leng Keyan, her tone caring and tolerant: “Drink some too. This soup is good for calcium and helps with your facial injury.”

However, just as the bowl reached Leng Keyan, a strong hand suddenly stretched out and steadily took it.

Zhao Jingshu froze.

Yin Siyao placed the bowl of pork rib soup in front of himself and said to Zhao Jingshu: “You keep yours. No need to worry about him.”

In the stunned silence, Yin Siyao took another small bowl and scooped a few meatballs, some mushrooms, and clear soup, placing it in front of Leng Keyan.

“Drink this.”

Yin Siyao’s gaze fell on Leng Keyan’s pouting face: “Pork rib soup is greasy. You have injuries on your face and ate so much spicy food. This light mushroom soup will help you recover.”

To Leng Keyan, still angry, this sounded completely different.

He looked at the meatball and mushroom soup, then at the pork rib soup that Yin Siyao had taken away, his eyes clouded.

A ridiculous and bitter thought suddenly sprang to mind:

Yin Siyao didn’t take the soup out of concern for his injury… he was jealous.

Because Zhao Jingshu served him soup, he was unhappy and deliberately swapped it.

This mushroom soup was just perfunctory.

Leng Keyan’s already aggrieved heart sank further. Anger and bitterness overrode the last bit of reason.

He raised her head, pouting: “I don’t want this. I want the pork rib soup for calcium! Why won’t you let me drink it?”

Yin Siyao looked at his stubborn tantrum, frowning again, a trace of helplessness in his eyes.

Zhao Jingshu watched from the side, secretly delighted, softly advising: “Siyao is also looking out for you…”

“No need for your fake kindness,” Leng Keyan snapped back, still in the heat of anger.