He awoke to the sound of someone beating down his door.
"Hold on, hold on a moment," he exclaimed as he adjusted his shirt and made his way to the door. Opening it, he snarled, "What are you doing, trying to break down the f*cking door? Haven't you ever heard of polite knocking? For goodness' sake. . ."
He opened the door and saw no one. Then someone pinched his pants and he looked down, realizing it was a short, old woman carrying a walking stick, which she had viciously poised in the air.
Xiajun frowned, wondering where he had seen her before. Just having woken up, his mind was still a little hazy and he didn't quite remember, frankly, anything.
"Well, a very good morning to you, too," the old woman said icily. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Breakfast. . .?"
"Yes, you twit, breakfast!" the woman exclaimed. "Hurry on, then. I haven't got all day to spare."
