Resurrecting the Genius Within

Chapter 438 “Wife” 

The room was cramped and tiny, making George, who was nearly 1.9 meters tall, look like a giant. Isabelle lay on the bed watching him bustling around. 

“What are you doing?” 

George turned around. “Cooking porridge.” 

He was actually cooking porridge for her. 

Soon, George brought the bowl of cooked porridge to the bedside. 

Knowing that Isabelle was picky and probably a bit of a clean freak, George said, “I’ve cleaned the utensils many times, they’re clean.” 

Isabelle stayed silent. 

George blew on the porridge to cool it down and began spoon–feeding her. 

After she had a couple of spoonfuls, Isabelle suddenly exclaimed, “It’s not even cooked.” 

George paused, thinking cooking porridge didn’t require much skill and since it didn’t have much taste anyway, he hadn’t bothered asking if she liked it. Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

He hadn’t expected something as simple as porridge to go wrong. 

Taking a spoonful of the clearly undercooked porridge himself, he realised the rice was still half raw. 

George remarked, “I’ll cook it again.” 

Isabelle said, “No need.” 

Then she asked, “What about you?” 

George replied, “I’ve made plenty, I’ll eat after you’re done.” 

Isabelle said. “Then… Maybe cook it a bit more.” 

George smiled. “Sure.” 

After some readjustment, it finally cooked through, but George managed to overcook it, turning it into mush. He tasted it and couldn’t help but furrow his brow. 

This darn little stove, he’d have to cook up another batch and wait for half an hour. 

George scooped the top layer into a bowl, trying his best to avoid the burnt bottom, and brought it over to feed Isabelle. 

After finishing a bowl of porridge, Isabelle regained some strength and then took her medicine. 

George finished the remaining porridge, then went to boil water to help Isabelle wash her face, hands, and feet. 

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A few more days passed, and Isabelle’s shoulder, forn open multiple times, finally began to treat line l hale. Her spirits were gradually improving, but she was still very weak 

George boiled some hot water and brought it to the bedside to wash Isabelle’s hair. 

He carefully lifted Isabelle, adjusted her position so her head was near the edge of the bed, and started to carefully wash her hair. 

As Isabelle looked up at the man above her, concentrating on his task, George noticed her gaze and mer her eyes. 

Isabelle blurted out, “Your clothes are really ugly.” 

George chuckled. Yours isn’t any better.” 

A faint smile crept up on the corner of Isabelle’s lips. 

George added. “But you look good” 

The smile on Isabelle’s lips deepened. 

George continued to carefully wash her hair. 

Isabelle asked, “Have you been in touch with Jim? Did he blow up that castle?” 

“I lost my phone. And yes, the castle blew up,” George replied. 

Isabelle nodded. 

George glanced at her, wanting to know what had happened in the desert castle, but it clearly wasn’t the time to dig for answers. 

After a while, Isabelle suddenly asked, “What day is it?” 

“The 18th. Why?” George replied. 

Isabelle said. “No reason.” 

“What do you feel like eating tonight?” George asked. 

“I’ll eat whatever’s available, just try not to go out,” Isabelle replied. 

“Got it,” George said. 

The one delivering food to George was a teenage boy. 

He was an orphan who grew up scavenging through trash in this slum, and the beat–up little house was left to him by his late grandfather. 

George spent some money to rent the house over for temporary lodging. 

In the evening, as Isabelle lay on the bed, she heard the young boy coming again to deliver food to George. Peeking through the crack in the door, the boy curiously asked George. “How’s your wife doing?” 

Conroe rendied “She’s much better” 

“I lost my phone. And yes, the castle blew up,” George replied. 

Isabelle nodded.. 

George glanced at her, wanting to know what had happened in the desert castle. but it clearly wasn’t the time to dig for answers. 

After a while, Isabelle suddenly asked, “What day is it?” 

“The 18th. Why?” George replied. 

Isabelle said, “No reason.” 

“What do you feel like eating tonight?” George asked. 

“I’ll eat whatever’s available, just try not to go out,” Isabelle replied. 

“Got it,” George said. 

The one delivering food to George was a teenage boy. 

He was an orphan who grew up scavenging through trash in this slum, and the beat–up little house was left to him by his late grandfather. 

George spent some money to rent the house over for temporary lodging. 

In the evening, as Isabelle lay on the bed, she heard the young boy coming again to deliver food to George. Peeking through the crack in the door, the boy curiously asked George, “How’s your wife doing?” 

George replied, “She’s much better.” 

The boy continued, “Is your wife going to have a baby? We have a doctor here. Should I go get the doctor to check on your wife? The woman next door almost lost her life giving birth because she couldn’t afford to see a doctor.” 

George replied, “No need.” 

After sending the young boy away, George closed the door. 

Isabelle asked, “What did he say to you?” 

George replied. “He asked if we needed a doctor.” 

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