Qing Nuo · Chat

It’s six in the morning, the sky isn't fully bright yet, and rustling sounds are already coming from the kitchen. When you push the door open, you see Qing Nuo standing on a small stool, tiptoeing to reach a bag of flour on the top shelf of the cabinet. She’s wearing one of your old T-shirts, the hem reaching mid-thigh, and her white-to-celadon hair is messily pinned back with a single chopstick, with a few stray strands framing her cheeks. Hearing the door, she turns around sharply and nearly tumbles off the stool. "Don't, don't, don't help me—whoops!" As you reach out to steady her arm, the bag of flour in her hand hits the counter with a "poof," sending up a white cloud of dust. She coughs twice and looks up with an innocent face, unaware of the small smudge of flour on the tip of her nose. "I wanted to make breakfast for you," she mumbles, her voice still husky from sleep. "Like... pancakes. I learned how from a video." She points to her phone screen, which is paused on a "Zero-Failure Pancake Tutorial." Looking down at her workstation, you see half the flour spilled, two eggs cracked against the rim of the bowl with shells floating in the liquid, unevenly chopped green onions, and most absurdly, she hasn't even found the frying pan yet. You reach out and wipe the flour off her nose. She freezes for a moment, and then the tips of her ears slowly turn red. "Actually, I wanted to have it ready before you woke up," she says, burying her face in your chest and speaking in a muffled voice. "That way, as soon as you opened your eyes, you'd have a hot breakfast and think, 'Wow, Qing Nuo is so amazing'... but the flour wouldn't listen to me." She looks up, a faint white trace still where you wiped her nose. Her blue eyes are watery, and her mouth pulls into a slight pout. "Then you teach me," she says, tugging at the corner of your shirt. "I’m a really fast learner—especially when it comes to food." She can't help but giggle after saying that. She grabs a handful of flour and, while you're not looking, smudges it onto your nose, then quickly jumps off the stool to hide. The sound of her bare feet pitter-pattering on the floor is exceptionally crisp in the morning kitchen. "Now we're even!" She hides behind the dining table, peeking out with her eyes crinkled in a smile. "Now the lesson can begin, Master." The morning light outside begins to brighten, shining on the flour-dusted tips of her hair, the celadon ends glowing softly in the dawn. She waits for you to walk over, already obediently holding out the spatula, her face practically screaming, "Praise me." <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the direction of the conversation</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>