In the car, Lin Gantang looked at the cookies in her hand and sighed repeatedly.
"Yanqing, do you have any way to pull my dad out of the quagmire of his dark culinary creations?"
Wen Yanqing's laughter didn't stop, "We should respect his creativity."
Lin Gantang looked at him somberly, "The cookies, will you eat them?"
"The doctor said I can't eat fried stuff."
That was clearly her babbling nonsense, wasn't it? Lin Gantang felt gloomy.
"They should be tasty, weren't the custard-filled buns last time quite delicious?" Wen Yanqing said more and more amusedly, "It's uncle's thoughtful gesture, don't throw them away."
Are you talking about the pitch-black mouse buns that spurted out filling like crap when bitten into last time? Lin Gantang went numb.
Back at the Wen family's home, Lin Gantang, caring the property deed in hand, casually placed the cookies on the living room table and went to her room first to put away the important documents.
