The soup condensed on the bottom of the plate, like a gray oil film. Chen Yan held it with both hands, his knuckles turned white from pressure and his palms were all sweaty. He was not wearing the anti-stain apron outside his delivery uniform, and oil stains crawled from the cuffs to the back of his hands, and the soles of his shoes were still stained with the mud and water he stepped on while delivering food last night.
"Put it there." The assistant didn't look at anyone, just raised his chin and pointed to the empty space on the left side of the main table.
That location should have been Zhou Shichang's VIP seat. It was now occupied by a bone china plate with a gold rim, on which were placed three chilled abalones, next to a cross made of silver forks.
Chen Yan didn't say anything and moved half a step forward.
The sole of my foot slipped and a corner of the edge of the carpet lifted up. He steadied himself and kept the plate from shaking. But the assistant suddenly reached out and slapped the edge of the tray with his palm.
The plates flew.
The lobster rolled away, its shell cracking open to reveal the whitish flesh inside. The soup splashed on Zhou Shichang's Italian leather shoes and also on the Chanel skirt of a female guest next to him. Some screamed, some backed away, some took out tissues, and their movements were as neat as they had been rehearsed.
Liu Yuan raised her cell phone higher than anyone else, pointed the camera at Chen Yan's lowered head, and said in a clear voice: "Look, this is the price of working hard to change your destiny."
