Sound!
Why is there no sound!
After frying the eight or nine dough balls stuffed with filling on the countertop, Xia Yu rubbed his hair, his face filled with distress.
It seemed that the problem was not the degree of filling in the stuffing, but rather that there was a serious problem elsewhere.
Aunt Zhu Qing had already tried several failed attempts and was half full.
"What are you worrying about?"
She rested her elbows on the dining table nearby, her hands propping up her rosy cheeks, watching Xia Yu pace back and forth in thought. She seemed to find it very interesting.
Xia Yu shook his head and cut open a freshly-fried pastry with a knife.
A rich fragrance escaped, but Xia Yu's attention was fixed on the structure inside the pastry, ignoring the aroma.
