The kitchen was in the side hall, Mu Wanwan carried a small handful of Lingmi, and after thinking about it, he cut a small ginseng whisker.
She thought about it, starting from today, she and Mr. Long will eat separately.
They have very little money and little Lingmi. If she eats this small bag of Lingmi with Mr. Long, it will be finished in less than a month, but if you just let Mr. Long eat alone, you can save a little. Can last for two months.
She also wanted to eat Lingmi, but there was nothing she could do. Poverty made people powerless and desperate qwq.
Mu Wanwan sighed and walked to the kitchen.
I don't know what material the stove in the kitchen is made of, the surface is very smooth, and the fuel used is not modern natural gas or rural rice ears, but a very special plant called burning grass.
After igniting this light green strip plant with flint, it will not only burn for a long time, there will be no smoke, a single burning grass can make a meal, and the taste will be better than those made with smoky coals Much better.
The price of this kind of burning grass is not cheap, and it can only be cultivated with wood-type spiritual power. One burning grass costs one silver coin. Basically, only some well-off people can afford it.
Mu Wanwan lit a burning grass, put Mr. Long's rice in first, then found another stove next to him, and put his own dinner in it. She stared at the dozens of burning grass piled in the corner of the kitchen for a while, and suddenly her eyes lit up—
She is really stupid, and her original body is also a first-order cultivator of the wood system. It may be difficult to cultivate other spiritual plants, but it is more than enough to cultivate a semi-spiritual plant with no rank, such as burning grass. She can buy some burning plants. The seeds of the grass are planted back, and then they are sold for money to raise dragons!
In the afternoon, the burden of Mu Wanwan's life was still like a mountain, and in front of this glimmer of hope, it seemed that it was not so heavy.
Mu Wanwan picked up a burning grass and put it in his hand, tried to guide a trace of wood-type spiritual energy from his dantian, and slowly penetrated into the slightly dry burning grass. Based on his previous memory, he pinched the A burning grass, like a hair, guides the spiritual energy all the way from the tip of the grass to the root of the grass.
I don't know if it was her illusion. She felt that the burning grass in her hand seemed to have a little more vitality than before, and it looked more...
More green =_=!
The porridge in the pot was about to open, but Mu Wanwan didn't continue to cook the burning grass. He cut the thin ginseng whiskers into pieces, threw them into the pot, and stirred them again. The different porridges were placed in the food box and carried back to the room.
It was getting late, Mu Wanwan put the food box away, checked whether the door was locked again, then put away the clothes and came in, closed the window, lit the lights in the room, and began to prepare to feed the dragon.
Her voice is not too small or too small, and it is messy, but it is very clear in the ears of Mr. Long, who has just regained consciousness, making him feel that he has been alone since he was born, and someone still cares. of.
Mr. Long restrained himself and didn't want to think wildly, but he couldn't control the transfer of all the spiritual power that could be mobilized to the half of the dragon's tail, which was already showing signs of rotting again.
Even if the warmth of these few days is only short-lived, he still wants to extend it a little longer.
In the late autumn evening, the cold air gradually rises, which is not bone-piercing, but it is like a needle that is constantly fine and unpleasant. This coldness is nothing to Mr. Long, the top powerhouse of the continent in the past. But he was seriously injured now, and even though he was covered with a quilt, he still felt the chill creep up his skin, a little cold.
I don't know if it was the man who had the same mind with him, but he got up and closed the door in the next second, blocking the wind that kept blowing in.
Mr. Long endured the pain from the curse and the wound, the tip of his nose was filled with the fragrance of Lingmi, and the tip of his heart trembled. But soon, he fell into another trouble—
Ambiguous lights, lonely dragons and widowers.
"It's time to eat." Mu Wanwan didn't know that Mr. Long was awake. Thinking that he couldn't get the quilt dirty while feeding the dragon later, he went to the bed and opened some quilts slightly.
She held her own pillow again, said 'offensive' softly, then supported Mr. Long's head in one hand, and put another pillow under his head.
Mr. Long's eyelashes trembled, and when his neck was touched by her cool fingertips, the blood would flow back.
Even if it is a powerful dragon, the neck is their Achilles heel. When he was weak, everyone who touched his neck died. After he was strong, no one dared to touch his weakness.
But when she touched him, he didn't feel disgusted, he just had an indescribable feeling that stimulated and shuddered.
The porridge that Mu Wanwan cooks for Mr. Long is not much, it is only a bowl of porridge, but it is very fragrant. A bowl of spiritual rice porridge can have about one-third of the spiritual power of a low-grade spiritual stone. She moves neither fast nor slow. , every time the porridge is cooled before feeding it into Mr. Long's mouth.
Fortunately, Mr. Long still has the instinct to swallow, and it is not difficult for her to feed.
After feeding this time, Mu Wanwan thought of his mouth with some lip gloss effect. She took a handkerchief and helped Mr. Long to wipe her mouth. She moved very lightly, but through the handkerchief, her fingers The warmth still clearly reached Mr. Long's lips.
Her touch was very clear, Mr. Long pursed his lips, and the fingertips hidden under the quilt trembled.
"Huh, it's finally healed." Mu Wanwan rubbed his waist, which was even more sore from bending for a long time, and started to eat his own dinner, because the porridge was already warm after a long time.
She didn't eat very fast. After all, she could only temporarily forget her troubles when she was eating and sleeping. After she ate for a while, Mr. Long gradually recovered from the touch she had just touched.
His sense of smell is very sensitive, but the tip of his nose can't smell the aroma of silk rice except for the spiritual energy around his mouth.
A thought that he didn't want to believe and was very selfish slowly rose in his heart, Mr. Long slowly released a trace of spiritual consciousness, and floated to Mu Wanwan—
He saw that she was drinking happily with a bowl of plain rice porridge, and there was no spiritual energy in the porridge. The satisfaction in Mr. Long's heart that was confirmed did not make Long as happy as he thought.
On the contrary, the sense of helplessness, mixed with self-blame, was like a tide, and it was about to overwhelm him.
Lingmi, which is warm in the stomach, is like a sharp bayonet.
It's just spiritual rice, just spiritual rice that doesn't count for anything.
But now he depends on her mercy and alms;
He didn't have the ability to make her not need to save so much.
She married him such a waste dragon, and he gave her nothing.
If he knew that she had saved Lingmi for him, then he would rather not eat it. Although it was uncomfortable to be hungry, he had been hungry for so many years when he was a child, and he should have gotten used to it.
The trace of consciousness that Mr. Long floated in the room seemed to have touched something that caused him pain, and it slowly dissipated.
Only the warm stomach and those spiritual rice that were not very impurity turned into strands of pure spiritual energy. Although it was a drop in the bucket, it was like a warm candle, nourishing his broken meridians little by little.
The author has something to say: When it comes to Wanwan eating ordinary rice, should you feel more distressed about Wanwan, or should you feel more distressed about Mr. Long, after all, Mr. Long is so obscene QAQ