Qin Fen hated the feeling of being surrounded by a tidal wave of people. It was damn awkward. He was a hot-blooded man too, but he simply couldn't withstand the enthusiasm of foreign girls.
It took half an hour before Qin Fen was escorted into the passageway by the people Chairman Zhou had sent. When Chef Qin thought back on that first experience, he still felt lingering fear.
"You sure had it good!" Fu Qiang said irritably. They were brothers, yet before they had even started having fun, had he brought his own drinks?
Song Shaoqing was equally depressed. "Since when did you have fans in Europe? And female fans at that?"
Qin Fen scratched his head. How the hell was he supposed to know? What was so great about it? He had nearly gone mad. Women might not be casual, but once they got casual, they stopped being human. Qin Fen spoke from experience.
"I thought you were going to stay another half hour," the female punk said unhappily. "Look at all that lipstick on your face."
Qin Fen was even more annoyed. His face felt sticky, covered in saliva. "Enough. The people here to pick us up have arrived. Let's get going!" He was completely unaccustomed to this kind of life. It wasn't fit for humans. Big Chef's creed had always been to slip quietly into the village and never fire a gun—throwing his weight around in public like this was not his style.
Following Chairman Zhou's assistant, they quickly left the passageway and arrived at the waiting hall. Someone had already been waiting for a long time: Wei Tianlong. He was irritated to death. So they were all Qin Fen's fans; he had been flattering himself. It hurt badly. Seeing Qin Fen made it hurt even more.