The food was served.
Eighteen dishes were laid out, and they all looked quite appealing.
Miss Fang picked up the serving chopsticks, planning to eat slowly and elegantly to leave a good impression.
But Little Mao was a wild one; he just rolled up his sleeves and dug in.
He ate this and that, clearing the table like it was a battlefield. Though he wasn't messy, his whirlwind-like pace left Miss Fang stunned.
"You... you?"
"Aren't you going to eat, Miss Fang? Go on, the dishes you like are right in front of you."
"..."
The atmosphere plummeted.
Little Mao felt his behavior wasn't ideal. 'But what's the point of being a gentleman? I'm not looking for a partner, and I have no intention of settling down.'
'Giving her a false good impression would only be more trouble later.'
With these conflicted and frustrated feelings, Little Mao ate his fill.
Miss Fang just kept staring at him.
This made even the thick-skinned Little Mao a bit embarrassed. Just then, his terminal beeped.
