After all the heavy conversation, the mood finally lightened as their noodles arrived. The group shifted into a more casual rhythm, chatting about their daily lives and hobbies like old friends catching up.
Mr. Wu, ever the gracious host, insisted on paying for everyone's meal.
"Ahh, Madam Wen's noodles are as delicious as ever!" Han Queying commented cheerfully, raising her bowl to her lips and downing the scalding red broth like it was her favorite tea. Not even a flinch.
Zhao Yiming, meanwhile, grimaced. His noodles were the mildest on the menu, and yet his lips were already red and swollen, his throat felt like it had been hit repeatedly by a boxing glove dipped in chili oil.
His spice tolerance hadn't improved one bit—even in Zhao Yiming's new, stronger body.
"Damn, Detective Han! That's incredible," Luo Yanyu said in awe.
Han set the empty bowl down with a sigh. "Spicy food is the best cure for stress. So today, I'm indulging."
