Los Angeles, Chinatown, Rongfu Hall, a Chinese restaurant that called itself a "time-honored establishment."
Orange peel chicken, sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin, sesame chicken, General Tso's chicken.
Four chicken dishes—no, three chicken dishes and one pork dish. They were all sweet, and each was sweet in a completely different way. It was downright miraculous.
Of course, the important thing was that it truly did not suit the women's tastes. Even Liu Qingyan, the least picky eater among them, put down her chopsticks after taking two bites.
Facing the table full of dishes, they looked at one another in mutual dismay, then all turned their gazes toward Lu Zheng.
Lu Zheng bared his teeth and said helplessly, "So I really do have to step in?"
"You said it yourself." Shen Ying's eyes curved as she covered her mouth and giggled. "And can you really bear to let us eat this stuff?"
After laughing, Shen Ying pointed at the sweet mapo tofu in front of her and put on a pitiful, tearful expression. Even Zhang Weili, another woman, could not help feeling a surge of protectiveness.
"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!"
Lu Zheng shook his head helplessly and could only wave over a waiter. "Call your manager over."
A Latina waitress came over. After understanding Lu Zheng's words, she hurried to the front counter and brought over a middle-aged Chinese man.
"Hello, sir. What can I do for you?" The middle-aged man came over and greeted him in Mandarin tinged with a Minnan accent.
Lu Zheng said, "Hello. We're tourists from China, and we really aren't used to the Chinese food here with its Lighthouse Country flavor."
"So you're compatriots from back home." The middle-aged man greeted them politely, then said somewhat embarrassedly, "It's just that the chefs in our kitchen