The smile on the man with glasses was a little awkward. Xia Liang moved a nearby stool over for him.
"It's no big deal. I don't smoke myself, but I have some. Here, let me light one for you."
"Thank you, thank you," the man with glasses said, expressing his gratitude repeatedly.
"My dad's a smoker too, so I get it. Besides, it's just one cigarette, not like it costs a fortune."
Xia Liang just wanted the man to feel at ease, but when he said this, the man's expression turned resentful and twisted.
"I always thought this society was cold, blood-sucking, and utterly devoid of humanity. I walked all the way here from my house, asking smokers along the way, but no one was like you. Heh, it's just a cigarette, sure, not a fortune, but most people these days can't even be bothered to spare one."
What does that even mean? How can a small gesture like this get blown so out of proportion? Xia Liang was a bit confused.
