The car slowly stopped at the intersection ahead.
Mu Qingli opened the door, and Fu Lanshen leaned to exit the vehicle with her.
"Uncle Seven, are you hungry too?" Mu Qingli looked up at him.
Fu Lanshen nodded.
Mu Qingli smiled faintly, "Then let's go. I'll treat you. I want to eat cold skin noodles. What would you like?"
"The same as you," replied Fu Lanshen in a low voice.
The roadside food stalls were bustling at night, with many people grabbing a late-night snack. The queue at the small stall selling cold skin noodles was already not short. "Then I'll go line up for the cold skin noodles first, and you can find us a seat," she said.
"Alright." Fu Lanshen casually picked an empty spot that was unoccupied, but couldn't help frowning slightly, as the conditions here were truly simple. The tables and chairs were foldable, the utensils disposable, and the napkin paper was the kind that came in large rolls, hanging from racks for patrons to take as needed.