The Liu family's restaurant is so quiet that you can hear the crisp and cold sound of silver knives and forks hitting bone china dinner plates.
The air was filled with the mixed aroma of truffles and steak. It was expensive, but had a subtle sense of depression.
Gu Chen lowered his head and silently put the last piece of broccoli on his plate onto Liu Ruyan's plate. He has been doing this movement for three years, and he is as skilled as muscle memory.
"That's enough."
Liu Ruyan's voice was like tempered ice, without any warmth. She didn't even look at him, but just wiped the corners of her mouth gently with a napkin, as if the piece of food he picked up was something dirty.
Gu Chen's hand froze in mid-air, then he took it back as if nothing had happened, and continued to eat the cold food on his plate. It tastes like chewing wax.
Liu's mother, Chen Shufen, who was sitting in the main seat, let out a contemptuous snort. She put down her knife and fork and spoke with a sharp voice that cut through the dead silence: "Gu Chen, look at you, what's the difference between you and a dog wagging its tail and begging for mercy? Our Liu family has suffered eight lifetimes of bad luck before we recruited a loser like you into the house!"
Gu Chen's shoulders shrank slightly. He didn't raise his head, but just held the fork in his hand, his knuckles turning slightly white from the exertion.
Waste.
