The Journey of an Ou

“Holding a steamed bun in my hands… There's not a drop of oil in the vegetables…”,The ceiling fan whirred feebly, emitting a grating groan as it struggled to turn. Pushing open the door, Heather's gaze fell upon the figure behind the counter.,On both moral and practical grounds, he wouldn't stand idly by while Old Jack and this groundskeeper named Haze died before his eyes.。