"All set!" After a careful check, Luo Xiaoqian zipped up the suitcase with a smile, suddenly remembering something, "Ah, I forgot the umbrella!"
Behind her, there was no sound.
"The umbrella!" she repeated.
Still no response.
Luo Xiaoqian turned around to find that Leng Zimo had left sometime earlier.
Recalling she had seen one in the cloakroom just before, Luo Xiaoqian stood up and went inside, found an umbrella on the rack, and immediately put it into his suitcase.
Gurgle!
Her empty stomach shamelessly growled.
"Three million, finding a maid-cum-chef-cum-sounding board like me, Leng Zimo, you’ve made a bargain!"
Clutching her stomach, she stepped out of the room and made her way downstairs.
But there he was, coming from the direction of the door, holding a puffed-up bag in his hand.
In the air, there was a faint scent—that of food.
Stimulated by the aroma, Luo Xiaoqian’s stomach protested once more.
Leng Zimo glanced at her.
"Let’s eat!"
He even knew to buy her food, huh, that was somewhat considerate.
Following him, Luo Xiaoqian washed her hands and helped him take out the breakfast from the bag, set it up, and then unceremoniously sat down to tuck in heartily.
During special times, she could always eat a lot, and she was always hungry!
"There are two theories about the origin of dance: one believes dance is a means of courtship, suggesting dance originated from the affairs of men and women..."
The porridge in Luo Xiaoqian’s mouth almost sprayed out.
Please, could he not think about that sort of thing while eating?
Leng Zimo ignored her expression and continued, "The other theory says that dance comes from labor, but I am more inclined to agree with the former. When you dance, you look more like you’re laboring, tiring and clumsy, and that’s wrong!"
Luo Xiaoqian rolled her eyes.
According to him, should dancing be like making love?


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