On the first day He Qianhui left, Zhang Hao didn't step out of the house all day, although he had grown accustomed to going out and basking in the sun during this period.
But today he couldn't be bothered to go out. What for? To see groups of people happily together?
Then, his next seven or eight days would be even more difficult. He certainly didn't want to add to the difficulty of his own "hell week."
"Auntie, make dinner a bit lighter tonight. Lunch was a bit greasy. If dinner is too oily as well, it won't be good for resting."
The auntie cheerfully agreed; dinner should indeed be lighter. The menu for these seven days had been meticulously planned—there would be no mistakes.
At seven thirty, the auntie brought two dishes and a soup to the table.
One dish was cucumber salad, another was bamboo shoots with minced meat, and there was also a bowl of seaweed egg drop soup, served as usual with rice.
