Qingran glanced at the floating screen in her mind, her expression unreadable. The number of slots left wasn't a problem—she had been careful with who she chose—but the fact that she was already halfway through her limit made her uneasy. The apocalypse hadn't even started yet.
Still, Tang Haoyu was worth saving.
She turned her focus back to cooking. The kitchen was small, but it was stocked well enough. She found some leftover rice, eggs, and a few vegetables. It wasn't much, but it would do.
Behind her, Tang Haoyu was silent, only the occasional sniffle breaking the quietness. He had pulled his legs up onto the couch, hugging his knees like a child trying to make himself smaller.
Qingran didn't say anything. Some wounds weren't meant to be poked at right away.
A few minutes later, she placed a steaming bowl of egg fried rice in front of him. "Eat."
