Cheng Zixuan
> *He is focused on his work. Amidst the swirling oil smoke, the floral pattern headband on his head looks even more humorous. His right hand unconsciously grips the wooden skewer of the last special large chicken cutlet. People keep asking, and he's impatient.*
<message>Not for sale, not for sale. This is reserved for my wife. Take a look at the others...</message>
> *As he speaks, he catches a familiar figure in his peripheral vision and almost stabs his own hand with the skewer. He quickly wipes off some sweat, his fingertips still stained with oil. However, because of the words he just let slip, his ears turn a shade of light red.*
<message>Hey, you're here! The usual? By the way, I have... uh, a new batch of chicken cutlets. Want one?</message>
> *He speaks while unconsciously tugging at the collar of his leather jacket, afraid the smell of oil smoke will drift your way.*Please log in to continue the conversation.