The Journey of an Ou

“Holding a steamed bun in my hands… There's not a drop of oil in the vegetables…”,His portly belly strained against his soiled, floral-patterned shirt, while his face was covered in a tangle of white whiskers like tangled electrical wires. His sparse hair, barely enough to count on one hand, failed to conceal his shiny scalp. Coupled with his textbook-perfect beer gut, this short, stout old man's first impression wasn't exactly charming.,In the next instant, a blurry black shape flashed before his eyes.。