@xianle — oh my god, gege !
The pot filled with an unpleasantly-colored viscosity bubbled industriously beneath a robust blanket of steam. Through it, San Lang watched as Xie Lian had decided with a carefully-considered judiciousness to add salt and spices as he felt appropriate. Though what his theoretical processes and intentions were, San Lang could not know. He only trusted his gege in all things. Even cooking.
It happened that Xie Lian had added another whopping dash of a bright red spice that smelled curiously of aniseed and pepper, which was a precarious enough situation, without him chattering on about something amusing that has happened in the temple that morning and forgetting to pull his sleeve aside. The too-high flames licked at the sides of the pot and had nearly kissed his white sleeve.
“Gege, watch out—!” San Lang warned, reaching out to pull his sleeve out of danger, and brushed his fingers against the scalding fire. He drew his hand back, holding it with his other so tightly that his fingers went pale. Only a soft, muffled sound of displeasure escaped him, followed by a silence of contemplation of what had happened. “Is—is your sleeve alright?” he asked, frowning in the direction of it. “Be careful, gege. You’re going to give me a fright.”