"Good morning, Miss. Song!" the middle-aged bus driver, who knew Jia all too well now, beamed at her.
"Morning, Mr. Fu," Jia smiled. "Has your back recovered?"
He waved his hand in dismissal. "A little sprain cannot even put a dent on me. Back in the days, I easily used to put twenty good-for-nothing hooligans in the hospital's ICU~ A meager sprain cannot kill me!"
A young college going girl scoffed as she was scrolling her phone's screen. "There the mighty Fu Zedong goes, exaggerating his imaginary glory days again."
He turned and glared. "Hey! Those are not imaginary days, okay? You will hurt this fragile heart!"
She snorted. Suddenly, the phone fell from her hands as she saw a man climb up behind Jia.
Mingshen's tall and huge figure entered, who displayed equal enthusiasm for riding the bus with Jia and even more enthusiasm to show his flexibility and reliability.
