Eight pieces, the young master wants eight pieces.
Yan Huaishi would not be around during the meal time. He was not a student, and he could not use his connections while in class. Thus, he had to fully utilize the time he had during meals. This man really was talented at making connections. Feng Zhiwei had overheard him yesterday bragging about how their dorm head had bought him dinner, and how they had become sworn brothers.
And this was the dorm head of the Politics and History Hall who had the nickname "Iron Faced God of Death."
Gu Nanyi was not at all moved by Feng Zhiwei's obsequious and considerate actions. He faced everything with the same attitude — eyes always locked in an exactly foot and three inches stare.
But regardless, his eating posture was still rather elegant, though he looked a little unnatural, as if he was not used to this mannerism. Feng Zhiwei resentfully wondered whether this brat had been hand fed all his life.
