The Extravagant Alpha And The Cold Movie Queen’s Fake Act Became Real - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Waterfall Eyes, So Delicious It Makes You Cry

“Little Ruan Puppy’s” red-rimmed eyes suddenly reminded Fu Ru’an of her old puppy plush toy—the one she’d smeared with lipstick to create absurdly exaggerated eyeshadow. That pale yellow face with fiery red streaks looked exactly like Ruan Siyi did now.

But this puppy didn’t seem to be doing well.

Ruan Siyi visibly froze on the spot, her face flushing as red as her eyes, so embarrassed she wished she could vanish into the ground. Her gaze darted away nervously, fingers clutching the hem of her shirt. Yet her slightly damp eyes betrayed her—she clearly hadn’t recovered from her earlier emotions.

Taking a deep breath, Ruan Siyi quickly schooled her expression, pressing her lips into a tight, straight line as if none of the earlier distress had happened. The girl in her school uniform tried to mimic their teacher’s sternness, forcing her voice to sound firm and resolute.

“W-what are you looking at?!”

She glared fiercely at Fu Ru’an, though her voice still carried a hint of tears, stubbornly refusing to back down.

“It’s nothing! I’m not crying!”

Fu Ru’an stood still, her delicate eyebrows arching slightly, as if surprised by the reaction. Her gaze swept over Ruan Siyi’s reddened eyes and pale face with an almost tangible weight, the corner of her mouth quirking imperceptibly.

“Mm, you’re not crying,” Fu Ru’an said flatly, her tone laced with faint dismissal. “I didn’t see anything.”

The words sounded earnest at first glance, yet carried a teasing undercurrent, like a trick played on a child.

Ruan Siyi’s chest tightened even more at that. She bit her lip and turned away. “Good! Then just leave me alone!”

She spun around, roughly wiping her face, not daring to look back—afraid her emotions might spiral further out of control.

After a while, Ruan Siyi realized she really couldn’t hear any more sounds behind her.

Her shoulders trembled slightly as she turned back in disbelief.

Fu Ru’an was no longer by the door.

She’d left, even thoughtfully closing the door behind her without making a sound.

Ruan Siyi: “…!”

She froze for a moment, a complicated feeling surging in her chest—something between disappointment and an inexplicable sense of grievance.

Pursing her lips, she felt her nose sting again but clenched her jaw, refusing to shed another tear. She felt pitiful and pathetic, as if the whole world was pitying her.

But that was the last thing she wanted.

She didn’t need anyone’s comfort. She wasn’t this weak.

Just as she was lost in her chaotic thoughts, the door creaked open again.

Ruan Siyi’s heart lurched, her fingers instinctively gripping the pillow beside her.

The familiar figure reappeared in the doorway.

Fu Ru’an didn’t speak, only walked in silently, holding a bowl of steaming congee.

The congee looked plain, unadorned, almost bland.

“It’s leftovers from dinner. I reheated it,” she said, her tone still indifferent. “It might not taste like your mom’s, but it’ll at least warm your stomach.”

Ruan Siyi glanced down at the bowl, the sting in her nose intensifying.

She stubbornly turned her head away. “I’m not hungry.”

Fu Ru’an paused, as if she’d expected this response. She set the congee down on the table and turned to leave.

Her task here was done. Anything more would be pointless.

But after a few steps, she halted, as if something had tugged her back.

The image of the girl with red, tearful eyes flashed in her mind.

She wasn’t particularly empathetic.

She shouldn’t have meddled in the first place.

Her fingers tightened slightly before she suddenly made a decision.

“Wait.”

Fu Ru’an turned and headed back to the kitchen, moving briskly as she began cooking a fresh batch of congee.

This was the first time Young Miss Fu had ever cooked for someone else, and her skills were admittedly crude. After several failed attempts, the congee burned, and she had to start over.

Yet she refused to give up, her brow slightly furrowed as she quietly and patiently repeated each step.

Time passed, the sound of boiling rice and water like a soothing lullaby.

Ruan Siyi didn’t speak, only curled up in the corner, hugging her knees like a wounded little animal.

Before long, a faint aroma drifted from the kitchen.

Ruan Siyi had assumed Fu Ru’an had given up, so she was stunned when the girl reappeared in the dead of night, holding a steaming bowl of freshly made congee.

Fu Ru’an handed it over, her voice still cool, as if afraid that saying more would reveal too much care.

“This time, I made it.”

Ruan Siyi stared at the bowl, stunned. She could feel Fu Ru’an’s stubbornness intertwining with her own loneliness and fear.

Her nose stung again. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“It’ll get cold if you don’t eat.”

Fu Ru’an looked out the window as if it didn’t matter to her whether Ruan Siyi drank it or not.

In the silence, Ruan Siyi finally reached out and took the bowl, cautiously taking a sip.

The next second, she felt the tears she’d barely held back threatening to spill again.

“How is it?”

Fu Ru’an asked lightly, still feigning nonchalance.

Ruan Siyi froze the moment she swallowed.

She’d thought Fu Ru’an might have some cooking talent, but this congee was unmistakably made with salt instead of sugar.

The intense saltiness on her tongue made her feel like she was drinking seawater.

She should’ve spat it out immediately, but Fu Ru’an, oblivious, had even asked for her opinion.

Ruan Siyi was silent for a long moment before an uncontrollable emotion surged in her chest—whether it was grievance, absurdity, or…

That indescribable flicker of warmth.

Her mother had taught her to cherish others’ kindness.

Even if that “kindness” was… nearly inedible.

She stared down at the bowl and swallowed hard.

“It’s… pretty good.”

Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Fu Ru’an finally turned to look at her, scanning her face before realizing. “You’re crying again?”

“Why?”

Ruan Siyi hesitated.

“Maybe because my mom doesn’t make congee like this.”

She doubted anyone made congee like this.

So salty. So hard.

So bad it made her want to cry.

“You need 70 grams of rice, 30 grams of glutinous rice, plus oats, soy milk, and yam… That kind of congee tastes better,” Ruan Siyi explained, gesturing slightly. “Most importantly, you’re supposed to add sugar.”

Fu Ru’an’s delicate brows furrowed slightly.

That sounded complicated.

But she’d remember. Next time, she’d know.

With her learning ability, recreating a pot of congee that tasted like Ruan Siyi’s mother’s shouldn’t be too hard—just a matter of time.

A cool night breeze drifted through the window, carrying a faint herbal scent. By the windowsill, the two sat quietly, steam rising from the bowl between them.

Fu Ru’an watched as Ruan Siyi tearfully devoured the congee and sighed helplessly:

“Do you like it that much? Is it so delicious it’s making you cry? If I make it Auntie Ruan’s way next time, are you going to bawl so hard your eyes turn into waterfalls?”

Ruan Siyi: “…………”

Later, Fu Ru’an did learn how to make proper congee.

And she also learned how to make Ruan Siyi cry her eyes out.