In the foggy haze, the sound of a soup spoon hitting the ground, Yan Wuxu accidentally let it slip from her hands, the spoon breaking into two, the handle skidding on the greasy floor for more than a meter before coming to a halt.
"I bought it," Su Ziceng stared at the diluted soup like porridge, feeling suffocated as she ate and furious as she watched, replying in a muffled voice.
From Hang Yishao's perspective, the first thing he noticed wasn't the pale-faced Yan Wuxu, nor the trembling back of Su Ziceng in anger, but the belly of Qiu Zhi that stood out like a landmark within a radius of twenty meters.
