"Let's go."
In the small clinic of the refugee camp, Wu Xiaohui had waited all day without news of her son, and her husband had lost his voice completely, his hands immobile, and she could no longer bear the hunger.
Without work, no one would give out bread; she asked around and found Momo Restaurant.
Nowadays, who didn't know Su Mo? She was her daughter's teammate.
Su Mo was humming a tune while cooking when Lu Chen returned, dusty from the road, with a tail following him.
Hearing the commotion, Su Mo said without turning around, "You're back? Dinner will be ready soon."
The man approached her as usual, wrapped his arms around her waist for a moment, then said, "Someone's here."
Su Mo turned off the stove and, together with him, carried the dishes out, where they saw Wu Xiaohui sitting on a chair.
She was much more cautious and careful than Zhao Dazhi, sitting up straight with her knees together.
At the sight of the food in Su Mo's hands, her stomach growled loudly.
