There were no celestial flowers raining down, but pots and pans made their grand entrance, and ladles and basins took center stage.

The stove refused to be outdone and joined the fun as well.

The refrigerator, afraid of being left behind, hurriedly squeezed itself onto the scene.

The floor looked up at the ceiling—and right into the roaring wind whistling overhead.

In an instant, everything in the world went haywire!

Cooking…

Forget about it altogether.

Even repairing the kitchen is no easy task.

Ming Yue cast a sidelong glance, thoroughly pleased with her handiwork.

Yet she pretended to be shocked, her little face turning slightly pale, her tiny hand covering her lips as she muttered in panic, “Oh… oh my goodness, how… how could it have exploded? I’m so scared! Luckily I ran fast—I wasn’t caught in the blast.”

She huddled deeper into the sofa, looking utterly terrified.

Old Madam Ma Fengying of the Ming family never could have imagined things would spiral to this point.

She had no idea what exactly Ming Yue had done, but her first instinct was that Ming Yue had done it on purpose—absolutely on purpose. There was no way this could be an accident.

But she had no proof.

So Ma Fengying didn’t dare rush to accuse Ming Yue outright.

Still, watching her “luxurious kitchen”—the one she’d worked so hard to acquire after a lifetime of poverty—reduced to such a disastrous state in the blink of an eye, Ma Fengying was heartbroken. She couldn’t even begin to count the tears that must have streamed down her face, and she cursed Ming Yue countless times in her heart.

Even so, Ma Fengying still felt unsatisfied.

After some thought, she steeled herself and stepped forward to confront the gloomy figure cowering on the sofa, the “unlucky star”: “Unlucky star, what on earth did you do?”

“Grandmother, didn’t you see it already? Why are you still asking me?” Ming Yue shot back, blew on her fingers, then sprang off the sofa, clutching her ears and bouncing toward the stairs, occasionally patting her chest.

But before she even reached the top of the stairs, a familiar figure stood at the door of the Ming residence.

Ming Yue hadn’t noticed.

But everyone else in the Ming household had.

It was Fu Qiancheng, the eldest son of the Fu family, who in recent years had hardly ever set foot in the Ming home—yet yesterday he’d come twice.

Fu Qiancheng looked just as thin as ever, like a bamboo pole.

But the way he looked at Ming Yue was filled with a tender warmth.

When he looked at anyone else, though, there was an indescribable chill.

Old Madam Ma Fengying and Ming Xia both had trouble reading Fu Qiancheng’s temper; they’d only heard bits and pieces about him from others.

They said it was true that this young master was ambitious and accomplished—but it was also true that he wasn’t easy to get along with.

When he was easygoing, problems weren’t too big; but once he got difficult, even the smallest trifles could turn into major headaches.

At that moment, Fu Qiancheng stood at the door, his expression somber and his mood unclear, his furrowed brow fixed on the carefree-looking figure walking away.

Ma Fengying and Ming Xia exchanged a glance, deciding not to provoke him—and certainly not to question their clueless Housekeeper in front of him about why she’d let someone in without their permission.

Liu Jia was the first to spot Fu Qiancheng. As soon as he walked into the Ming home, her face lit up with a radiant smile, and she almost dashed over to greet him.

But when she saw that his gaze never left Ming Yue, that urge to run over was instantly suppressed.

Looking at the man’s complex, burning eyes, at his emaciated frame, Liu Jia felt a swirl of emotions.

She just couldn’t understand.

What on earth was so great about this rude, overbearing Ming Yue?

Why couldn’t he ever forget her?

They’d been apart for so many years—so why was he still so obsessed, so infatuated?

What exactly did he like about that crazy girl?

Did he like her shamelessness? Did he like that she’d drive people mad? Or did he like her rough, uncouth ways—like the fact that she’d turn on her own father without a second thought?

Why could he never see her at all?

She’d given so much for this man—she’d gone to great lengths to find out what he liked, done everything she could to get close to him, poured all her energy into winning his favor—so why could he still not see her at all? Why was he still fixated solely on that crazy Ming Yue?

End of Chapter 12: The Kitchen Explodes