It really does fit the old saying: big plate, tiny portion, stick a blade of grass in the empty spot. Dab on some sauce, sprinkle on the scraps, and sell it to some poor sucker for 8,800.
Only the old grandpas in Shanghai could afford something like this.
"Forget it, I'm not hungry." Zhang Fan shook his head.
Even though he had a bit of money now, he wasn't about to blow it this way.
"I'll treat." Lin Jianyue spoke up.
"Waiter, can I get three of these?"
Lin Jianyue paused slightly, knife and fork in hand, her bright eyes lifting to look at Zhang Fan: "Alright, spill it. What's up? Why ask me out?"
"Mr. Nian escaped his tribulation?" Zhang Fan cut to the chase.
Last night, he'd had a bad feeling. If this was true, it was probably the biggest thing happening in Yujing City—or even the whole Daoist Sect right now.
"That's right. There's no hiding this, and there's no need to," Lin Jianyue didn't deny it.
