When Li Wei woke up the next day, Don Quixote was already ironing his shirt.
"Morning," Li Wei said. "Never seen you this diligent before. Ironing a shirt right before work?"
"Because I didn't have an iron before, you silly kid," Don Quixote said. "Besides, the construction site and the back kitchen didn't require me to wear a dress shirt."
Li Wei casually opened the refrigerator and took a quick look. He saw that the food he'd bought from the supermarket was almost gone. He'd have to make another grocery run today.
Li Wei reluctantly opened the box of macarons on the table, only to find it completely empty.
"I thought you could dress however you want," he said, looking at Don Quixote ironing the shirt. "Why are you being so obsessive? It's like you can't stand a single wrinkle."
A blast of hot steam shot out of the iron in Don Quixote's hand with a sharp SIZZLE. He didn't look up, just skillfully pressed the shirt's collar.
