Chapter 163
Chapter 163: The Old Golden Dragon Is on Fire—Showing Off His Love Without Shame
Jiang Tea Tea stopped dead. She turned to face Chong Ming, the words bursting out with obvious excitement. “So you mean… the Lang family broke the law?”
Chong Ming met her bright, glittering eyes and corrected her calmly. “They’re suspected of breaking the law. There isn’t proof yet.”
Jiang Tea Tea looked genuinely surprised. “You’re the empire’s top leader. Every top-level resource is in your hands. You already know they’re suspected, but you’re telling me you can’t get evidence?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Chong Ming studied her face—the eager, gleeful look of someone waiting for the next act of a show—and flicked her forehead with two fingers.
“Jiang Tea Tea, classmate,” he said, exasperated and amused at the same time, “do you really want me to say it out loud? That I found evidence, but I’m not revealing it yet because I want you eight to go on a mission and pad your experience?”
Jiang Tea Tea made a sound somewhere between shock and outrage. “So, Chong—your fans worship you like you’re perfectly fair and just, and it turns out you abuse your power too. You’re pulling strings for your big nephew and opening backdoors to help him rack up credentials?”
Flicking her forehead. Like having long arms made him impressive.
One day she was going to chop those arms off and use them as fertilizer.
Chong Ming was so annoyed he actually laughed. The severe, icy lines of his face softened instantly, as if winter had cracked and warmth had flashed through.
Jiang Tea Tea stared at that smile and blanked for a heartbeat.
Then her hunger surged so hard it dried out her throat.
To cover it, she snapped, voice sharp and grumpy. “What are you laughing at? Was I wrong?”
Chong Ming’s smile faded slowly. His voice dropped, low and controlled. “I do have some evidence that the Lang family is suspected of breaking the law.”
“But it isn’t complete. It isn’t enough to take them down. So I’m sending you eight to make the case solid.”
“If you insist on calling it me pulling strings for Sui Xuan Chu,” he continued smoothly, “then you could also say I’m pulling strings for you.”
He paused, then added, with a hint of something in his voice, “Opening a backdoor for you…”
“No need.” Jiang Tea Tea raised her palm between them, cutting him off. “Don’t open a backdoor for me. Don’t pad my resume. I know exactly what I can do, and I’ll walk my own road. I don’t need anyone to lift me up.”
She was a great demon. Even pregnant, she wasn’t so weak she couldn’t carry, couldn’t fight, couldn’t walk.
Besides, in her demon clan, great demons, little demons, old monsters—pregnant or not—still leapt from mountain to mountain, fought from peak to peak, and roared loud enough to shake a thousand miles.
Chong Ming sighed softly. “Fine. I admit it. My subordinates are incompetent. I’m incompetent. We didn’t find enough evidence to convict them.”
“It’s just a report. Just suspicion. So I’m sending you eight to go.”
His gaze stayed on her. “And I’m also letting you see your biological parents for yourself. So you can understand exactly what kind of people they are. It’ll make it easier for you to cut off any possibility of recognizing them in the future.”
Jiang Tea Tea stroked her chin and walked a slow circle around him under the warm edge of sunset, studying him from every angle like a suspicious merchant inspecting goods.
When she returned to stand in front of him, Chong Ming asked, “So? What did you figure out from looking at me?”
Jiang Tea Tea lifted one finger and wagged it at him. “Nothing. I just think your bloodline might not be very pure. There’s a good chance you’ve got chameleon blood.”
She nodded firmly, as if she’d solved a grand mystery. “Yeah. You definitely have chameleon blood. Otherwise you wouldn’t send us on a mission and flip through eight different scripts in one conversation.”
She tilted her chin. “Right, Commander-in-Chief Official Chong Ming?”
She was insulting him—calling him slippery, contradictory, eight meanings in one sentence, like a color-changing lizard.
Chong Ming raised his brows and praised her like she’d done something impressive. “Jiang Tea Tea, classmate, you have excellent judgment. You even skipped reproduction and went straight to installing the chameleon’s invisibility gene in me.”
His tone turned lightly amused. “Thank you.”
So much for being a stern, upright commander-in-chief. He sure knew how to be sarcastic and shameless when it suited him.
Jiang Tea Tea forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Chong Ming changed topics so smoothly it was almost unfair. “What do you want for dinner?”
Jiang Tea Tea didn’t hesitate. “What, you’ll cook whatever I want?”
Normally, she ate whatever his chef made. Asking her what she wanted felt like pointless ceremony.
Chong Ming blinked. “You want me to cook for you?”
Jiang Tea Tea didn’t believe him for a second. “Yeah. I want you to cook for me.”
Chong Ming reached out, took her hand, and tugged her along. “Come on. To the kitchen. I’ll cook.”
Jiang Tea Tea’s eyes went wide. He was actually serious?
And why was he holding her hand?
Only after the shock faded did she try to yank away. She couldn’t pull free.
He walked at exactly her pace—no rushing, no slowing—just dragging her with steady, maddening confidence toward the Imperial Palace kitchen.
After trying several more times, Jiang Tea Tea snapped, “Let go!”
Chong Ming didn’t let go. He threatened her instead, voice dangerously calm. “No. Struggle again and I’ll carry you.”
Jiang Tea Tea glared up at him. “Chong, you look like a bandit. Do your subordinates know you’re like this?”
Chong Ming raised his brows, turning the question back on her. “Do you want them to know?”
Jiang Tea Tea looked at him like he’d turned into a hideous ancient monster. “Are you insane? Where’s your dignity?”
“Gone,” Chong Ming said easily. “Find it for me?”
Jiang Tea Tea’s mouth twitched. “You’re this funny—does Sui Xuan Chu know?”
“He doesn’t,” Chong Ming said. “Do you want to tell him later?”
“You tell him yourself,” Jiang Tea Tea said flatly. “I’m afraid you’ll scare him to death.”
Chong Ming sounded almost pleased. “It’s fine. He won’t die that easily. You can tell him.”
Jiang Tea Tea rolled her eyes. She gave up on arguing, and he kept holding her hand.
A faint, nearly invisible smile tugged at Chong Ming’s mouth as he led her through the Imperial Palace.
He wore a military uniform. She wore a school combat uniform. He was tall and broad. She was small and slim.
Side by side: one composed and powerful, the corner of his mouth lifted. The other bristling and reluctant, like she had thorns all over her.
Palace staff and guards tried hard not to stare, but their eyes followed them anyway.
Commander-in-Chief Chong Ming had fallen in love.
And it was with a pretty, petite human.
With her at his side, even he seemed more grounded. More real.
Only, the pretty petite human looked like she couldn’t stand him. Her gaze was fierce, and she clearly didn’t want him holding her hand.
The palace kitchen staff had already prepared everything. The moment Chong Ming arrived, they retreated into the rest area, leaving the enormous kitchen empty for him.
Utensils, ingredients, prepped foods—everything was ready and waiting on a huge counter.
Chong Ming shrugged off his uniform jacket. “What do you want to eat? You pick. I’ll cook.”
Jiang Tea Tea eyed him skeptically. “You really can cook? I’m picky.”
Her mouth wasn’t picky at all, but if he was going to cook for her, she was going to be picky out of spite.
She didn’t like him. Everything he did irritated her. Even if he cooked well, she’d still try to find bones in eggs.
Chong Ming set his jacket aside and rolled up his sleeves. “Be as picky as you want.”
So she didn’t hold back.
She ordered everything—things that flew, things that ran, things that swam. Fried, roasted, boiled, braised, grilled. She listed method after method, like she wanted to ruin him.
Chong Ming listened, glanced at her once, tied on a clean white apron, and got to work.
Jiang Tea Tea sat at the long table and watched him.
The longer she watched, the more stunned she became.
His movements were practiced—fast, efficient, precise.
He was the empire’s top leader, managing multiple star systems and countless planets, ruling over billions upon billions of citizens.
And he still had time to learn how to cook?
Was he really going to pull this off?
Chong Ming seemed to know she was staring. He glanced back and said, “You ordered sixteen dishes. With frying, braising, boiling, and stewing all at once, it’ll take about an hour and a half.”
He gestured toward her. “Do homework. If you don’t understand something, ask me.”
Jiang Tea Tea pulled a face. “If I don’t understand something and ask you, you’ll have time to answer?”
Chong Ming nodded. “Probably.”
The confidence on this man.
Jiang Tea Tea huffed, pulled her assignments out of her storage button, set up her lightbrain tablet, and started working.
With a demon’s photographic memory, even the things she didn’t understand could be learned by watching the hands-on operation videos and her teacher’s explanations two or three times.
What took other people two or three hours, she finished in one.
When she finished, she discovered something even more absurd.
While cooking, Chong Ming issued orders about urgent matters, handled time-sensitive affairs, and occasionally took video calls.
One mind, two uses. Three uses. For him, it was nothing.
His hands cooked with calm efficiency, while his voice cut through meetings like a blade, pinpointing problems in a few sentences.
And then there was the sight of him—broad shoulders, narrow waist, apron tied around him. The aura of a powerful husband hit her head-on.
Jiang Tea Tea couldn’t help herself. She opened her lightbrain, snapped a photo of Chong Ming’s back, and sent it to Sui Xuan Chu with one line.
“Roommate, I get your pressure now.”
Sui Xuan Chu was currently being beaten by ten of the Imperial Palace’s top land-animal and avian beastfolk. They fought from the air to the ground, from the ground to the air, from human form to beast form and back again.
He had no time to check his messages.
He lost scales in sheets. Wounds opened again and again. One against ten—he couldn’t win.
He couldn’t call for heaven. He couldn’t call for earth.
He could only grit his teeth and fight, desperately trying to save face.
Chong Ming said dinner would be ready in an hour and a half, and exactly an hour and a half later, the table was filled.
Roasted dishes. Braised dishes. Boiled dishes. Stir-fries.
She’d asked for sixteen, but there were more—desserts, fruit plates, fruit juice. Instead of sixteen items, the table held over twenty.
Jiang Tea Tea picked up the chopsticks Chong Ming had placed neatly by her hand and asked, “Should we call your good big nephew—my roommate—to come eat with us?”
Chong Ming untied his apron, set it aside, and sat across from her, calm as ever. “No. If we call him, he’ll eat, then get beaten, then throw up. Wasteful.”
Jiang Tea Tea nodded, deadpan. “You really are his uncle.”
Chong Ming lifted his brows. “Of course. Try it. How’s my cooking?”
Jiang Tea Tea took a piece of stir-fried meat and chewed. Salty, spicy, perfect over rice—far better than she expected.
She swallowed and said with stubborn pride, “It’s fine. Barely edible.”
Chong Ming caught every micro-expression she tried to hide. His mouth twitched as he picked up his chopsticks and served her another bite. “Try the others. Give me detailed feedback. I’ll improve.”
He was so earnest it made her feel… oddly guilty.
Then she reminded herself: she had to nitpick. She couldn’t let him get smug.
So she did.
Every dish she tasted came with a critique. The color. The doneness. The salt. The oil. The seasoning. She picked at every detail like she was conducting a professional inspection.
Chong Ming listened intently.
Then he opened his lightbrain and filmed the table for six seconds—just long enough to capture her crisp, picky voice in full.
He logged into his StarNet account, posted the clip, and added a caption.
“My cooking was bad. I got nitpicked, disliked, and criticized.”