Fu Shihan pulled her back, completely serious. "I'll do it myself, no need for Wan God to lift a finger."
Every aspect of Wan God was perfect, except for one thing—her ability to assess her own cooking skills was not quite accurate.
He hadn't had any counterfeit liquor today, but drinking the hangover soup she made would essentially have the same effect as counterfeit liquor.
Fu Shihan still remembered the incident on her eighteenth birthday when her hangover soup landed him directly in the hospital.
He couldn't understand how all the normal ingredients in the kitchen could become so abnormal in her hands.
So, a while ago when Fu Yu'an was boasting to him about Su Wanxin cooking for him, Fu Shihan had only one thought: his son's luck was incredible.
Su Wanxin: "..."
The rejection on his face was too obvious, mixed with a hint of survival desire in his disdainful eyes.
"What do you mean by that?" She asked unhappily. "Is there a dog hiding in the kitchen?"
