"I may be immature, but it's a mature immaturity," Jinghen said. "You're just plain immature."
Qiao choked on her drink, looking at Fu Jinghen in disbelief, unable to imagine that these words had come from his mouth.
Lin Luang felt dizzy from the circular logic: "Immature is immature, what's this about being 'mature' or 'pure'?"
Seeing a battle about to commence, Wen Qiao quickly intervened, "Eat the meat, eat the meat; it won't taste good once it goes cold."
"I'm not talking to you, I'm listening to sister."
Lin Luang huffed and lowered his head to pick up the meat in his bowl.
He stuffed a piece of the boiled fatty beef roll into his mouth, and the numbness and spiciness spread instantly.
His face turned red at once.
He instinctively wanted to spit it out, but remembering how just moments ago he had been bragging, he forcibly suppressed the urge.
"Is it too spicy? If you can't eat it, spit it out."
