"Alright, tell me, what's your name?"
"My surname's Zhao, I forgot my full name, everyone just calls me Old Zhao."
"Who sent you here?"
"No one sent me."
"Then why are you here?"
"Here to stir up trouble."
"Hmm?" Wen Yan was taken aback—what a blunt, brazen answer.
Old Zhao was startled, feeling an intense yang energy far beyond that of ordinary people. One careless move could absolutely burn him to death, so he scrambled to shift the blame.
"No, no, it's not me who wants to cause trouble, it's those five brothers who want to stir up trouble.
Usually, our weekend offerings include white-cut chicken, but there isn't any today. They're upset and insisted on making a scene.
It's not me who wants to... ah..."
Old Zhao didn't finish his sentence before feeling like his head was being roasted under the noonday sun, and couldn't help but yelp in pain.
Wen Yan's face darkened, his teeth grinding in irritation.
"You think I'm stupid?"
