Qin Miaomiao looked at him, then at the plate of beef and spaghetti, and decisively decided to tell a lie.
"I'd say, compared to you, Little Seventh is still a tiny bit behind."
Lu Qing scoffed: "Oh? How come I heard the opposite?"
"You must've misheard! I swear!"
Saying that, she took a big bite of beef.
"Seems like you're quite satisfied with Little Seventh."
Tsk tsk tsk, that tone had a bit of sourness in it. Qin Miaomiao braced herself, full alert mode activated—danger, danger!
If she slipped up, poor Little Seventh might get banished to Africa again. So, for the sake of the adorable little kitten, she had to fight back!
She quickly shook her head: "Not satisfied. Let me tell you, Little Seventh, well, sometimes he's just silly, not too sharp. Sure, his cooking is delicious, but eat too much, and it's easy to gain weight."
Lu Qing wasn't fooled one bit—wasn't it clear she was just being contrarian?
