The waiter slightly bowed his head and waist to him, then took the order and left.
Throughout the process, neither of them spoke a word.
Duan Rong watched the departing back of the waiter, sighing slightly. Although he had traversed here, for some unknown reason, at that moment, he suddenly felt like a country bumpkin entering the city.
Soon after, a pot of clear tea and a few small dishes were served. The waiter placed the dishes, bowed, and retreated.
Duan Rong sipped a few mouthfuls of clear tea, finding it indeed pure and fragrant.
He tried a few plates of small dishes but frowned slightly.
Honestly, the taste was quite ordinary, not even as good as that of the secluded teahouse in the East District.
Only then did Duan Rong notice that the guests at the nearby tables were sitting there chatting idly and rarely touched their chopsticks.
