Los Angeles, Chinatown, Rongfu Hall, a Chinese restaurant claiming to be an "old brand."
Orange chicken, sweet and sour pork, sesame chicken, General Tso's chicken.
Four dishes of chicken—no, three dishes of chicken plus one of pork—all are sweet, yet each sweet in its own unique way, which is quite fascinating.
Of course, the important thing is, they definitely don't suit the taste of the women, even Liu Qingyan, who's usually not picky, put down her chopsticks after just a couple of bites.
Facing a table full of dishes, they looked at each other, surprised and puzzled, and then all their eyes focused on Lu Zheng.
Lu Zheng grinned helplessly, "So I really have to make a move?"
"You said it yourself." Shen Ying chuckled, her eyes curved, "Besides, you really want us to eat this stuff?"
After laughing, Shen Ying pointed to a dish of sweet mapo tofu in front of her, putting on a pitiful look that made even Zhang Weili feel a surge of protective instinct.
