"Came to see if you're dead or not." Huo Mutian rolled his eyes in irritation, making a fist and pressing it to his temple, "If you're dead, then this breakfast is an offering for you; if not, it's just charity."
"You've given your charity to the wrong place." Wen Qiao glanced at the paper bag on the nightstand, eyes full of desire, clutching her flat stomach, "I've had my stomach washed; I can't eat anything for 24 hours."
"Well, that's really miserable for you." Huo Mutian immediately put on a schadenfreude expression, "That shredded chicken porridge was specially cooked by the hotel's executive chef, fragrant and delicious, melts in your mouth—hey? What's that sound, why is there a gurgle?"
Wen Qiao: "..."
Would it kill Huo Mutian to act like a decent person?
