Fifty-eight,
Fifty-nine,
"Not busy at work today?" the old master asked.
"I'll get busy after having lunch with you," Muwan answered with a warm smile.
"What did you say?" Just as Jiang Muwan's words landed, a roar erupted from the kitchen, and then, Ya Ying, with a phone in hand, stepped quickly out of the dining room: "Who blew up the kitchen?"
On that side, the security guard in the courtyard, shivering with a phone in hand, looked at the thick black smoke coming from the kitchen and said cautiously, "It was Miss Song, ma'am."
"Give the phone to her," Ya Ying barely restrained herself, managing not to burst into a roar.
Seeing this, the old master and Muwan both stood up and asked in unison, "What happened?"
"Song Sizhi blew up the family kitchen," Ya Ying gritted her teeth, obviously furious.
"Ask how the people are," the old master urged.
That day, around half-past ten in the morning, Song Sizhi precisely blew up the kitchen at the Capital's Song Family house.
