139. Got a Great Chef and Crybaby_1

The car glided smoothly along the road.

In the passenger seat, Qiaoqiao sat squeezing his new multicolor modeling clay—it was a toy he had just bought that morning.

In the back seat, Seventh Uncle cradled a handbag in his arms, occasionally burying his nose in it for a deep whiff, a sleazy look that was so hard on Seventh Grandma's eyes that she simply turned her head to look out the window.

Whereas in the bed of the pickup, jars and pots crowded together, interspersed here and there by various boxes and plastic buckets. In addition, a set of knives wrapped in foam was stacked in a box—and even a huge, ancestral chopping block of Seventh Uncle's was there!

It was said to be sawn from the stump of an old tree and had, over the years, withstood his relentless chopping and slicing, remaining as sturdy and lustrous as ever.

If it weren't for the lack of bedding and covers, it would really look like they were moving house right now.