Wang Zhiyuan trailed behind Lin Moran as they headed downstairs, and sure enough, the dining table was decked out with an array of takeout boxes.
Lin Moran pulled out a chair with flair and casually handed Wang Zhiyuan some chopsticks.
Wang Zhiyuan gave the spread a once-over; there was a smorgasbord of dishes - veggies, meats, fish, poultry - the works. "Hold that thought, I'm grabbing some soy sauce." He plonked the chopsticks on the table and darted into the kitchen. The kitchen resembled a war zone post-battle, an absolute train wreck.
He shot a glance at the trash can, the keeper of kitchen secrets – and this time was no different. The top layer was home to some ribs that were so charred they could pass for coal. Underneath was a fish that looked like it had seen better days, with flesh that was poked and torn as if it had been through a shredder. He didn't dare look any further, fearing it might put him off his dinner.
