When Chen Mo and Peter Parker sat down in the hot pot restaurant, less than half an hour had passed since they entered the mall.
To be precise, twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds.
In those twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds, they had bought two hot dogs on the first floor, polished off a box of fried chicken along the way, and ducked into a dessert shop because Peter Parker said, "This place seems pretty famous for its doughnuts." Finally, standing by the escalator, Chen Mo spotted the hot pot restaurant on the third floor from a distance and went completely quiet for a second.
Peter Parker had yet to realize the gravity of the situation.
He only heard Chen Mo mutter something in Chinese.
Peter: "What?"
Chen Mo: "I said I just saw a hot pot restaurant on the third floor, and everything from its name to its aroma is incredibly authentic."
Peter looked up at that. "Oh, okay, I think I see it too."
And then they were in the hot pot restaurant.
Tony had told them to buy fewer snacks.
But Tony had never told them to eat less hot pot.
Those were two completely different concepts.
With a grand wave of his hand, Chen Mo booked a private room with maximum privacy.
When the server asked what dishes he wanted, Chen Mo brazenly opted for the entire menu.
And so, before long, the table in front of Chen Mo was covered in beef, lamb, shrimp paste, imitation crab sticks, sliced potatoes, luncheon meat, and a large bowl of dipping sauce.
Peter Parker sat across from him with chopsticks in hand, his expression gradually shifting from his initial shock to a strange sort of admiration.
"You can really eat."
Chen Mo dropped a slice of fatty beef into