After delivering the last order, I was stopped by the security guard at the gate of the wealthy area.
"Mute, your takeout box is dirtying the road in our community. You will be fined 500."
The owners watched and laughed. Someone deliberately knocked over my box and two cold steamed buns rolled out.
I lowered my head to pick it up, and on the back of the crumpled "Takeaway Platform Complaint Form", half of the rusty bronze pattern was exposed.
The phone vibrated. It was the boss: "Li Mo, the tracking line of 'Taotie Wenzun' has been disconnected again. You can no longer hide your undercover identity."
I squeezed the bun tightly and looked towards the blind spot of the surveillance camera - there, a pair of eyes had been staring at me for three years.
