Breakfast.
Three people sat around the table.
Luo Bisheng took a bite of his bun, chewed twice, and looked up at Wang Xiaoliang. He had felt something was off with Wang Xiaoliang ever since coming downstairs.
Wang Xiaoliang's eyes were badly swollen, as if he had taken two punches.
"Bro, are you okay?" He finally couldn't help asking.
Wang Xiaoliang picked up some pickled vegetables with his chopsticks, put them in his mouth, and swallowed.
He shook his head by way of an answer.
Fan Qishan drank his congee without even lifting his eyes.
Half a minute passed in silence.
Wang Xiaoliang spoke. "Bisheng."
"Yeah?"
"Let's shoot a video after breakfast."
Luo Bisheng put down his bun and wiped his mouth. "Okay."
Much of his worry eased. Since Wang Xiaoliang wanted to work, things probably weren't too bad. Then he heard Wang Xiaoliang speak again.
"Qishan."
Fan Qishan set down his bowl. "Yeah."
"I want to put a table and a chair in your room and livestream myself writing calligraphy for seven days. Is that okay?"
Fan Qishan looked at him.
Three seconds.
"Sure. I'll stay with you."
The bun in Luo Bisheng's hand stopped in midair.
"Bro?"
Wang Xiaoliang didn't look at him.
"Seven days?" Luo Bisheng slapped his bun onto the table, his voice cracking a little. "Bro, can anyone go seven days without sleeping? What's wrong with you?"
Wang Xiaoliang ignored him and continued talking to Qishan. "Qishan, what do you think I should write?"
"Classics passed down through the ages. They carry great energy."
"Number 32! Is number 32 here?"
Yang Qingyu was busy behind the counter, her fingers flying over the cash register.
Business at Grandpa Liu's Beef Offal Shop had always been like this. She was long used to it.
Yi Jiahui rushed