I Married a Disabled Tyrant After Transmigrating

Part 14

With the kitchen in the side hall, Mu Wanwan carried a small handful of Lingmi, after thinking about it, he cut a small ginseng whisker.

She thought about it, starting today, she and Mr. Long will eat separately.

They have very little money and very few spiritual rice. If she eats this small bag of spiritual rice with Mr. Long, she can eat it in less than a month, but if she only eats Mr. Long alone, save a little. Can last for two months.

She also wants to eat Lingmi, but there is no way, poverty makes people powerless and desperate.

Mu Wanwan sighed and walked to the kitchen.

I don't know what material the stove is made of in the kitchen. The surface is very smooth. The fuel used is not modern natural gas or rural rice, but a very special kind of plant called burning grass.

After igniting this light green long strip of plant with flint, it will not only burn for a long time, and there will be no smoke. A single burning grass can make a meal, and it will taste better than those made with smoked coal. Much better.

The price of this kind of burning grass is not cheap, and it can only be cultivated with the spiritual power of the wood element. A burning grass costs a silver coin, and basically only some people above the well-off society can afford it.

Mu Wanwan lit a burning grass, first put Mr. Long's rice in it, and found another stove next to it, and put his own supper in it. She stared at the dozens of burning grass piled in the corner of the kitchen. After looking at it for a while, her eyes suddenly brightened...

She is really stupid, her original body is also a Tier 1 wood monk. It may be difficult to cultivate other spiritual plants, but it is more than enough to cultivate a semi-spiritual plant like Burning Grass, which has no rank. She can buy some Burning Grass. The seeds of the grass came back to plant, and then they were sold for money to raise the dragon!

In the afternoon, she was still pressing Mu Wanwan's burden of life like a mountain, and in front of this glimmer of hope, it seemed that it had become less heavy.

Mu Wanwan picked up a burning grass and put it in his hand, tentatively channeling a trace of wood aura from the dantian, slowly dipping into the a little dry burning grass, and pinching it with the memory of the past. A burning grass, like a smooth hair, guides the aura 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 than other burning grass...

Greener!

The porridge in the pot was about to open, and Mu Wanwan did not continue to smash the burning grass, cut the thin ginseng mustache, threw it into the pot, stirred it again, and put two portions after cooking. The different porridges were put in the food box and carried back to the room.

It was getting late, and Mu Wanwan put the food box away, checked whether the door was locked again, and then took the clothes and came in, closed the windows, lit the light in the house, and started to feed the dragon.

Her voice is not loud or small, and it is messy, but it is very clear in the ears of Mr. Long who has just recovered his mind. It makes him feel that he has been alone since he was born, and some people still care about him. of.

Mr. Long restrained himself and didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't control all the spiritual power that could be transferred to the half of the dragon's tail that had already shown signs of decay again.

Even if the warmth of these few days is only a flash in the pan, he still wants to extend it a bit, and then extend it a bit.

The late autumn evening is a gradual cold air, which is not bitter, but like a dense needle, which makes people uncomfortable. This coldness is nothing to the top mainland strong Mr. Long. But now he is seriously injured, even though he is covered with a quilt, he still feels that the chill is climbing up the skin, a bit cold.

I don't know if that person has the same mind with him, but in the next second he got up and closed the door, blocking the wind that kept blowing in.

Mr. Long endured the curse and the pain caused by the wound, his nose was filled with the scent of spiritual rice, and his heart trembled a little. But soon, he fell into another distress...

The lights are ambiguous, lonely and widowed.

"It's eating." Mu Wanwan didn't know that Mr. Long was awake, thinking that he could not get the quilt dirty while feeding the dragon, so he went to the bedside and slightly lifted some quilts.

She took her pillow again and said lightly, 'offended,' she put Mr. Long's head in one hand, and put another pillow under his head.

Mr. Long's eyelashes trembled, and when her neck was touched by her cool fingertips, the blood flowed backwards.

Even if it is a powerful dragon, the neck is their fatal weakness. When he was weak, everyone who touched his neck died. After he was strong, no one dared to touch his weakness.

But when she met him, he didn't feel very disgusted, but he had an indescribable feeling, thrilling and trembling.

Mu Wanwan did not cook much porridge for Mr. Long, it was only a bowl of weight, but it was very fragrant. A bowl of spiritual rice porridge could have about one-third of the spiritual power of a lower-grade spiritual stone. She was not fast or slow. Every time, the porridge is blown and cooled before being fed to Mr. Long's mouth.

Fortunately, Mr. Long still has an instinctive response to swallowing, and it is not difficult for her to feed it.

After Mu Wanwan finished feeding this time, he thought of his mouth with some lip gloss effect. She took a veil very intimately and wiped his mouth for Mr. Long. She moved very lightly, but she was touching the kerchief with her fingers on her belly. The warmth still clearly passed to Mr. Long's lips.

Her touch was very clear, Mr. Long pursed his lips, his fingertips trembling under the quilt.

"Huh, it's finally all right." Mu Wanwan rubbed his waist, which was more sore from being bent for a long time, and began to eat his own dinner, because the porridge was warm because it took a little longer.

She didn't eat quickly. After all, she could only temporarily forget many of her worries when she was eating and sleeping. After she ate for a while, Mr. Long gradually recovered from the touch she had just touched.

He has a keen sense of smell, but apart from the aura around his mouth, the tip of his nose can't smell the scent of lingering rice.

A thought that he didn't want to believe but selfishly wanted to believe slowly rose in his heart. Mr. Long slowly exuded a trace of divine consciousness and floated to Mu Wanwan...

He saw that she was drinking happily while holding a bowl of Fanmi porridge. There was no aura in the porridge. The satisfaction that was confirmed in Mr. Long's heart was not as happy as he thought.

On the contrary, that kind of helpless frustration, mixed with self-blame, was like a tide, and it was almost overwhelming him.

The Lingmi, which was warm in the stomach, looked like a sharp bayonet.

It's just a spiritual rice, just a spiritual rice that doesn't count as anything.

He now depends on her mercy and charity!

He has no ability to make her not need to be so economical.

She married him such a waste dragon, and he could not give her anything.

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 should have gotten used to it after he was hungry for so many years when he was young.

The trace of Mr. Long floating in the room seemed to have touched something that made him painful and slowly dissipated.

Only the warm stomach, and the spiritual rice with little impurities, turned into strands of pure aura. Although it was a drop in the bucket, it was like a warm candle, nourishing his broken meridians a little bit.