Starting from a Bankrupt Sichuan Cuisine Restaurant

"Brother, I’ll feed you!"

"Is it yummy, Brother? Is it delicious?"

Zhou Yan was up front stir-frying, listening to the little one amusing herself. He felt that even the flames of the wok seemed a bit gentler today.

The firelight illuminated her slightly chubby face, her smile so pure and adorable.

’No wonder villains have a change of heart when they see flashbacks to their childhood. It’d be a miracle if this sight *wasn’t* healing.’

’Oh, what the heck. Even if she went on strike, I’d still pay her for today’s work.’

’Emotional value is a type of value, after all.’

"Last order of Stir-fried Cabbage with Cracklings, we’re out," Zhao Hong said, carrying the final dish out and giving Zhou Yan a heads-up.

"Look! The letter!" Zhou Momo immediately bounced up from her little stool, holding the letter high with both hands and offering it to him.

Zhou Yan wiped his freshly washed hands on his apron. Once he was sure they were dry, he took the envelope and carefully tore it open.

"Is there a drawing?" Zhou Momo asked, her eyes filled with anticipation.

"There is." Zhou Yan pulled the pages from the envelope. As always, the last sheet was a drawing. This time, he didn’t rush to read the letter. Instead, he squatted down next to Zhou Momo and carefully unfolded the drawing.

On a campus path blanketed in ginkgo leaves, a young woman in a long dress strolled along, holding a book. She looked back over her shoulder with a sweet smile as the wind lifted her long hair. Golden ginkgo leaves danced all around her, a scene so beautiful it seemed to glow.

"Wow! It’s Yaoyao! She’s so pwetty!" Zhou Momo exclaimed.

Zhou Yan stared, completely captivated. The drawing was stunning. The person in it was Xia Yao, and her youthful energy and artistic aura practically leaped off the page.

The face that had begun to fade in his memory was now vivid once more.

Zhou Yan genuinely hadn’t expected Xia Yao to send back a self-portrait.

’This must be... the reply to the drawing Momo made of me in the kitchen that I sent to her.’

’That explains it, then.’

"Here, go ahead and admire it," Zhou Yan said with a smile, handing the drawing to Zhou Momo. ’The art buddies are having a long-distance exchange.’

"My hands are a little dirty." But Zhou Momo pulled her hands back. She looked at him and said, "Brother, you should put Yaoyao in a frame and hang it by your bed."

Zhou Yan looked at the little one’s hands, smudged with charcoal, and nodded with a smile. "Alright. Once it’s in the frame, you can look at it all you want."

"Okay!" The little one nodded obediently.

Zhou Yan left the kitchen, first placing the drawing under a flat wooden board to press it, and only then did he unfold the letter to read:

"Zhou Yan: I hope this letter finds you well..."

Her handwriting was as graceful as ever, and her words flowed with the refreshing comfort of a clear spring.

She said she had received the puffed rice candy and peanut brittle he sent and that they were delicious. She also passed along thanks on behalf of Deng Hong and Zhu Yuyu.

She went on to share some amusing stories from school and her new thoughts on her major and future career.

Compared to her last letter, Zhou Yan felt her uncertainty had vanished. Her goals were now clear, and she had regained her confidence.

She had decided to become a top-tier advertising designer and build a career in both advertising design and illustration.

Through her words, Zhou Yan could almost see the brilliant smile on her face and feel her determination, as scorching as the sun.

Just like in the drawing she sent.

"Autumn has arrived in Mountain City. The ginkgo trees at the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute have turned to gold. When the wind blows, golden leaves drift down and cover the ground. It’s so beautiful.

Deng Hong borrowed a camera and took some pictures of us, capturing a perfect autumn moment.

I loved Momo’s drawing, so I drew one for her. I hope she likes it..."

Zhou Yan looked down at the little one, who was gazing up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"Brother, did Yaoyao mention me?" the little one asked, her eyes full of hope.

"She said she drew the picture for you," Zhou Yan said with a smile.

"Really? But I think it’s for you," Zhou Momo said with a sly grin. "Don’t worry, I won’t fight you for her."

Zhou Yan was speechless.

He didn’t believe her, but that line of text did look different from the rest. The style of her handwriting had changed, as if her mood had fluctuated as she wrote.

At the end of the letter, she also asked after Mrs. Zhao and Comrade Zhou.

’Thoughtful as always.’

Although Mrs. Zhao was the picture of gossip, she managed to restrain herself from asking any questions.

However, after she saw Xia Yao’s drawing, her smile was wider and happier than anyone’s.

"Frame it properly. Don’t get it dirty or damaged," Mrs. Zhao urged with a serious look on her face.

After flattening the drawing, Zhou Yan placed it in a picture frame. It was a perfect fit.

The artwork was truly exquisite; both the person and the scenery were incredibly lifelike.

Zhou Yan didn’t know much about art, but he figured a painting that everyone found beautiful had to be a good one.

All five people at Zhou Yan Restaurant unanimously agreed that the painting was gorgeous.

"The painting is gorgeous, and the girl is just lovely," Zhao Hong said, her face full of admiration. "Zhou Yan, you’d better step up your game. Life would be perfect if you could marry her."

Zhou Yan took the painting upstairs. He had planned to put it away in a trunk, but after a moment’s thought, he propped it up on the trunk next to his bed instead.

His humble room was instantly brightened by its presence.

’It looks pretty good as a decorative piece.’

"So pretty!" Zhou Momo had trotted up the stairs after him and was now leaning over the trunk to look. "Why can Yaoyao draw so beautifully? My drawings just look a little funny, don’t they?"

"Your drawings are beautiful too. Xia Yao said she really liked yours," Zhou Yan said with a smile.

Zhou Momo turned back to him, blinked, and asked, "Brother, the picture I drew was of you. So... does Yaoyao like my drawing, or does she like *you*?"

The little one’s eyes were sparkling, clear and pure, and in them, Zhou Yan could almost see his own reflection.

"It’s time for you to go practice your drawing," Zhou Yan said with a smile, glancing at his watch.