'Right, I can also make some more mung bean soup and iced sweet dumplings.'
The ingredients in her space were abundant, almost untouched. Evelyn Ford decided to prepare enough cooked food to last for a year or two.
That evening, just as Evelyn Ford finished cleaning the kitchen, there was a knock on her door. It was a good thing she had moved the air conditioner into her bedroom. The living room remained hot, so when she opened the door, a blast of cold air wouldn't escape—something she'd have a hard time explaining.
Quincy stood in the hallway. His face was crudely bandaged, making him look utterly ridiculous.
"You actually look like this?" Quincy said, his face a mask of disbelief upon seeing Evelyn Ford's.
