[Chapter 10] Constraints (3)

“By the way… how many days of vacation do you have left?”

Shi Minjun asked, one hand on the wheel, glancing at Tidal in the passenger seat.

“How about this—take a half-day off every afternoon and come train with me here?”

“…Why aren’t you answering? No leave left?”

Getting no response, she turned—and found Tidal curled up like a tired animal, softly snoring in the plush leather seat.

“She’s completely wiped out,” Shi Minjun muttered with a wry smile. She eased her foot off the accelerator, driving even more smoothly to avoid jostling her.

For the past two hours, they’d been training Boost Shot on that open field—a technique demanding constant magic output. By now, Tidal was utterly drained. The moment she hit the Bentley’s comfortable seat, she hadn’t even bothered to de-transform. She just collapsed into sleep.

It wasn’t until the car came to a gentle stop at the entrance of [Minjun Trading Co.] that she stirred, blinking herself awake.

She checked her phone. One unread message—from Chen Xi.

【Are you coming over today? I’m at my new place waiting for you. But if you’re busy, it’s fine~】

With nothing else planned for the evening, she typed back:
【Yeah. I’ll come over and cook for you tonight.】

She’d barely hit send when the reply popped up instantly.

After buying groceries from the supermarket, You Dong arrived at Chen Xi’s apartment building—but didn’t go up right away.

He paused, thought for a second, then returned to the car. From the cigarette box, he pulled out his soul gem.

The person she really wanted to see… wasn’t him.

Moments later, when the doorbell rang, Chen Xi opened it to find Tidal standing there—arms full of grocery bags, looking slightly strained under the weight.

“Hey! Why didn’t you call me to help carry these?”

Chen Xi rushed forward, immediately taking the bags from Tidal’s hands.

“We’ll cook these today. These can go in the fridge for next time.”

They moved through the living room into the kitchen of Chen Xi’s new home. After sorting the ingredients, Tidal opened the fridge.

Inside the double-door unit: scattered milk cartons, juice bottles, a half-eaten bag of toast, and a fruit platter wrapped in plastic.

That was it.

A massive fridge, less than ten percent used.

“She still lives on takeout, doesn’t she?”

Back when they were dating, whenever they didn’t eat out, You Dong always cooked. He used to tease Chen Xi for being lazy, and after a few rounds of that, she’d sworn to learn cooking—to prove him wrong.

But judging by this empty fridge… Tidal decided she’d be doing all the cooking tonight.

“You got a apron?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Chen Xi pulled out a neatly folded blue apron from a drawer and personally tied it around Tidal.

The hem dragged all the way to the floor—turning it into something resembling a surgeon’s full-body gown.

“Pffft—HAHAHAHAHA!”

Chen Xi burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight.

Tidal shot her a glare but said nothing, simply lifting the excess fabric and walking toward the stove.

Given Chen Xi’s lack of cooking habits, the kitchen looked brand new. Even the knives were untouched—complete set, including a boning knife most households wouldn’t own.

Tidal fetched a small four-legged stool from the side and stood on it.

“…Finally tall enough to reach the sink.”

She sighed in relief and began prep work—filling a basin with water, thawing and rinsing the pork ribs.

As Tidal focused on cleaning the meat, Chen Xi’s face suddenly peeked over her shoulder.

“Need any help?”

She spoke in an exaggerated, playful tone—like a foreigner trying out a new language.

And it wasn’t just the voice.

Tidal felt warm, moist breath gently brushing against the nape of her neck.

Chen Xi was blowing air onto her skin.

Huuu…

The ticklish sensation sent shivers down her spine. But with both hands busy, she couldn’t push her away—only endure in silence.

Huuu…

Even with zero reaction, Chen Xi kept going, giggling like a mischievous kid.

“You’re such a twenty-four-year-old elementary schooler,” Tidal muttered, exasperated.

“You’re so annoying. Go sit in the living room or something.”

Unable to focus, she finally snapped—trying to shoo Chen Xi out.

But as she turned to scold her—BAM!—their foreheads collided.

“Hehe… won’t bother you anymore,” Chen Xi said, feigning innocence as she tiptoed out of the kitchen.

Once the nuisance was gone, Tidal thought she could finally cook in peace.

But minutes later, as she chopped ginger on the cutting board, Chen Xi crept up again.

“I’ll help,” she declared.

“You even know how to cut vegetables?” Tidal gave her a skeptical look.

She knew Chen Xi was the type who never touched a kitchen.

“Of course I do.”

“Well… help me chop the leeks, then.”

Still doubtful, Tidal rinsed the knife and handed it to Chen Xi—handle first.

Chen Xi reached out solemnly, face dead serious—as if accepting not a kitchen tool, but the fate of a nation.

“How long should I cut them?” she asked.

“Hmm… about half a finger’s length.”

“Which finger?”

“The index finger.”

Tidal said it casually, then hopped off the stool, moved it closer to the stove, and climbed back up.

Over the boiling pot, she used a skimmer to carefully remove foam from the rib soup.

Is this girl okay?

Curious, she glanced over—and nearly choked on her own laugh.

There, at the cutting board, Chen Xi had placed her index finger beside a bundle of leeks, meticulously measuring what “half a finger” meant.

After a few seconds, apparently satisfied, she slowly raised the knife.

Her posture? Like a victim of years of abuse finally pinning down her abuser, ready to strike.

Tidal’s imagination wasn’t exaggerating. Chen Xi’s expression was that intense—borderline terrifying.

“Wait!”

Tidal called out, halting her. She realized her mistake—handing a blade to someone utterly unqualified.

“If you can’t do it, just say so! Knives are dangerous, you know?”

“I just wanted to help…” Chen Xi pouted, eyes wide and pitiful.

“Fine,” Tidal sighed.

Since the intention was good, she couldn’t stay mad.

“When cutting long things like leeks, keep the blade perpendicular to the board. And curl your left fingers like a cat’s paw to press down the food… like this.”

She demonstrated with smooth, practiced motions.

“Got it. Let me try.” Chen Xi nodded eagerly.

Tidal handed the knife back.

Chen Xi took a deep breath, then began muttering the instructions like a sacred chant:

“Blade perpendicular to the board… left hand like a cat’s paw…”

She raised the knife with trembling hands, squinting like she was using a level to check the angle.

“It’s just roughly 90 degrees…” Tidal couldn’t help but point out.

“Left hand like a cat’s paw…”

Chen Xi repeated, pressing her left hand onto the leeks.

After several failed attempts to get the “cat’s paw” feeling right, she froze in place, stuck.

“Like this,” Tidal said, placing her own hand on the leeks.

“Take it slow. Don’t rush.”

She guided Chen Xi gently, while the latter tensed up, trembling as she slowly brought the knife down.

“—Ah!”

Predictably.

Among the green leeks lay a streak of red.

Chen Xi screamed, dropping the knife. Meanwhile, Tidal—already prepared—didn’t even flinch.

“Just in case… do you have a band-aid?”

Tidal stared at her sliced index finger, deadpan, asking Chen Xi.

“B-blood…!”

Chen Xi gasped, face turning pale.

Panicked, recalling a movie scene, she grabbed Tidal’s wrist and shoved the injured finger into her mouth.

The wound wasn’t deep, but blood still trickled out steadily.

The moment it hit her tongue, a strong metallic taste spread—like rust.

Disgusting.

Guess even the blood of someone you love… is still gross if it tastes bad. How do those vampire heartthrobs enjoy this? So weird.

As she thought this, Chen Xi carefully sucked on Tidal’s finger, making soft click-click sounds.

“Spit it out—it’s unhygienic…” Tidal frowned, trying to pull her hand back. But Chen Xi held her wrist tightly—no escape.

The iron taste lingered.

Chen Xi extended her tongue, tracing the shape of the wound. Strangely, the sweetness of blood grew stronger.

“Should be stopped by now,” Tidal said, wanting to end this.

“…Click… click…”

Chen Xi swallowed the last drop, then pressed her tongue firmly against the wound. Tidal winced, annoyed.

“Had enough yet?”

Only after repeated urging did Chen Xi reluctantly release the finger.

She could feel Tidal’s bodily fluid sliding down her throat, merging into her.

It felt like corruption. Like defilement.

All twisted thoughts—yet, inexplicably, Chen Xi felt a deep, perverse satisfaction.

“…I heard drinking blood boosts iron,” she said, meeting Tidal’s stare—the kind reserved for perverts—with a straight face.

“Modern people don’t have iron deficiency, dummy,” Tidal snapped, rolling her eyes.

Thanks to a magical girl’s accelerated healing, when she checked her finger again, the wound was already gone—no trace left.

At that moment, Chen Xi proudly proclaimed: “How was my licking, huh?”

Tidal bent her index finger and tapped it lightly against Chen Xi’s forehead.

As night fell, the aroma from the kitchen reached its peak. Chen Xi put down her game console and carried the three dishes—leek omelet, corn and shrimp stir-fry, mushroom rib soup—into the living room.

Simple, light, perfect for dinner.

“Hehe… I’ve eaten takeout for weeks. Finally, real food!” Chen Xi grinned, staring at the fresh meal with childlike excitement.

“If you can’t even cook, why move out?” Tidal said, placing a rib into Chen Xi’s bowl.

Something about that comment triggered her. Chen Xi shot Tidal a glare.

“You have the nerve to say that…?”

“It’s because of you! You always said you were scared of my dad. You avoided my house, made excuses…”

“So I moved out… just so we could be together…”

Her voice trailed off, cheeks flushing pink.

Hearing that, Tidal felt touched—and guilty. For a moment, words failed her.

So she said instead:

“Let’s eat, Qianqian.”

They ate, chatting idly.

The sound of chewing. Chopsticks tapping bowls. Even the shared air between them felt familiar.

Despite how much she’d changed, some things remained. Being with Chen Xi reminded her of that.

“…Wait? You came straight here after training?” Chen Xi asked.

“Mm. Dead tired. I passed out in the car, only woke up when we got back into the city,” Tidal laughed.

“Then why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“You should be resting properly,” Chen Xi said,concern in her voice.

“It’s fine. I slept in the car. If I don’t burn off energy, I’ll just lie awake tonight. Haha.”

Probably just saying that to make me feel better, Chen Xi thought.

“…Do you… think I’m annoying?” she suddenly asked.

“Can I be honest?”

“No!” Chen Xi snapped, eyes wide with mock anger.

“Haha, kidding,” Tidal smiled—an unusually warm one.

“So you do think I’m annoying?” Chen Xi pouted, disappointed.

“No, I don’t.”

“Hmph.”

Even denied, she gave a little humph, then continued:

“Don’t worry. There are eight more things on my list. Once you finish them, you can dump me and be free. Feel relieved yet?”

“Huh?”

Tidal blinked, confused.

“Eight? Excluding the chocolate thing, shouldn’t there be nine left?”

“Cooking for me tonight counts as one,” Chen Xi said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, that doesn’t count.” Tidal shook her head.

“Doesn’t count?”

“Nope. Doesn’t count.”

Tidal put down her chopsticks, turning to Chen Xi with a serious gaze.

“Qianqian… actually…”

“I’m really happy… that I can still share dinners like this with you. Really.”

Clack.

Chen Xi’s chopsticks dropped to the floor, echoing sharply.

“Huh? Qianqian, did you faint…?”