The meal my mother woke up at five in the morning to cook became a "nutritional snack" for my colleague's son. From spareribs to sauced pork, from chocolate to USB flash drives, her invasion escalated step by step. It wasn't until I personally made a "specially spicy care meal" that it hurt her enough to remember that other people's things are not yours no matter how fragrant they are. This is a workplace boundary war without smoke, and only the winner can earn a decent living.
