Chef Lin squatted at the door of the thatched house, sharpening a kitchen knife. The sound of the blade scraping against the bluestone and the sound of grandma coughing came one after another.
She glanced at the wild vegetable soup tumbling in the pot. There were three oil stars floating on the surface of the soup, reflecting her face stained with pot ashes. Three days ago, she was a food blogger with millions of fans on a certain website, but now she has to worry about half a cent of styptic grass.
"Ahem... Girl, don't bother..." The old man on the straw mat curled up and dug into the cracks in the wall where the air leaked. "My old bones..."
