The young man was about twenty-five or twenty-six, and had just been eating at the same table, where he was quite lively.
Nora Scott had a bit of an impression of him.
He seemed to draw horror comics.
"Do you remember me? I was just two seats away from you. I'm called Zhurong." The young man greeted her with a familiar attitude.
"What's up?"
"I just wanted to apologize," Zhurong, understanding the principle of 'never hit a smiling face,' beamed with a bright smile, "I didn't greet you properly earlier, really sorry about that."
Nora looked at him in surprise.
This evasive tactic was a bit too practiced.
With a simple "didn't greet you properly," was he going to brush off all the previous neglect, isolation, and mockery as if nothing had happened?
Zhurong continued to chatter, "But I really didn't expect that 'Miss Scott' wasn't Sophie Scott, but you. Why didn't you say so directly back then? I get it now, you're the kind who hides your skills—"
