Qiao Wenbin's gentlemanly dining actions did not last long before they ended in failure.
To be precise, Qiao Wenbin had already failed the moment he swallowed that bite of chili-stirred meat.
The waiter's description of "lightly spiced" was complete nonsense.
Just one bite, and Qiao Wenbin's face turned a visible red at an alarming rate, a shade that matched the color of braised prawns.
Without a moment's hesitation, he hurriedly spat out the piece of meat in his mouth and then grabbed a bottle of mineral water to frantically gargle.
"What a piece of tenderfoot, can't even handle this bit of spice."
Liu Hu, who was relishing his meal, couldn't help but make a dig at Qiao Wenbin's wretched state of gulping down water.
At that moment, Qiao Wenbin was too busy dealing with the spice to hear the other's comment, and even if he had heard it, he would have pretended not to.