Mingming and another woman shared the small place that consisted of two rooms and a living room. The woman was called Min. She didn’t know what kind of job Min had, but she often worked nights. Thus, when Mingming got off work, she would’ve already gone out. They’d been living together for several months now, but the times they’d ever met could be counted on one’s hand. However, they lived very harmoniously. Min could cook, so she often made an extra serving of dinner and left it for Mingming. In Mingming’s memories, that delicate handwriting on the table had suffused her with a sense of warmth more than once. Hence, despite rarely meeting her, she’d always liked this co-tenant of hers.
“You live here?” Mo Bai got out of the car as well.
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