"If you'd been a little more careful when you were searching that factory," Sui Zhou says, spooning soup into a bowl, "this wouldn't have happened."

Tang Fan waves his burnt and bandaged hands—and he's lucky, he knows, that it's just his hands and that Pei Huai had been nearby and able to tend to his injury so quickly—at the table at large and lets out a piteous whine that's not as play-acted as Sui Zhou thinks Tang Fan would prefer. "I know! I know! Just feed me already!"

Sui Zhou's busy serving everyone else, so Wuyun is the first to laugh and hold out a pair of chopstick Tang Fan can't use; while Dong'er rolls her eyes and opens her mouth in preparation for refusing to serve Tang Fan out of teenage rebellion; so it's Wang Zhi who picks up his bowl and holds it in front of Tang Fan's lips, with a glint in his eye that says it's just far enough away to be both possible and awkward for Tang Fan.

[that last paragraph is so tortured to follow the letter of the three-sentence constraint but it works, okay, it is indeed one sentence...]