Custard Buns at Half Past Six

About This Novel

I was clutching my third rejection letter, and when my bank card balance was only thirty-seven yuan and two cents, I met the little clerk in the convenience store downstairs who always fed bread to stray cats. The hot custard buns she handed over were as sweet as the sweet-scented osmanthus nectar my grandma made. There are no earth-shattering stories, just a convenience store with the lights always on at half past six, and a little soft warmth from two ordinary people.

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