Chen Jianguo, covered in the smoke of stove fire and cooking oil, held an open stainless steel bowl, steaming past the last few wandering diners, and went straight to the stall.
In the bowl is a pile of soy sauce-colored fried rice, dotted with scattered diced ham and wilted vegetable leaves.
"Xiao Lin! Don't take it, don't take it!" Lao Chen's voice was loud and hoarse from the oil smoke all year round. He placed the bowl on the small greasy table without any explanation.
"Well, as usual, use this to pay for the last hexagram! It's hot, with two eggs added!"
