Xiamen, the small street of snacks in the bay area.
The vendors were shouting loudly, and people flowed in like a tide. The various fried aromas mixed together, making the air feel greasy.
At a seafood porridge stall, the steam rose thickly... The ascending steam gradually faded and then dissipated. Suddenly, a hand was pressed against a window pane from a distant stall up high in an old building.
The hand seemed to twitch and struggle, then grasped the glass desperately, and finally scratched against the glass, sliding down bit by bit... The bustling noise of the snack street completely drowned out the sounds inside this small house.
In the living room of the house, Gong Fanxing was watching something called television out of boredom.
After a short while, a man pushed the door open and came out of the bedroom. Upon seeing this, Gong Fanxing immediately stretched her fiery body and took some tissues to hand to the man.
The man took the tissue to wipe his lips—Song Kuangyin.
