Oliver Jian fell asleep on the table, and when he woke up he was lying on the bed. The sketchbook on the table had been repaired, with a few places being particularly delicate, and it was obvious at first glance that it was not Oliver Jian's work.
He didn't realize what was wrong. He took a shower and changed his clothes in a daze. He was stunned only when he opened the door and went downstairs.
There's someone in the kitchen.
There was a man.
The man was wearing black trousers and a white shirt, with thin-rimmed gold-rimmed glasses and his sleeves rolled up, cutting vegetables in his kitchen.
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