Ning An listened to his complaints and suddenly said, "If it's not your restaurant's food that's the problem, then whose problem is it?"
Lin Yanke chimed in, "Yeah, people fell into a coma right after having breakfast at your place. You claim it has nothing to do with your restaurant, but that leaves us in a difficult position."
Xiaohu fell into a mental storm and then, uncertainly, said, "The painting."
"Painting? What painting!" Ning An and Zhang Xingmin exchanged a glance, and Zhang Xingmin immediately stepped forward and asked viciously.
"Yes, the painting, it's the painting..."
As Xiaohu's memory became increasingly clear, his voice grew much louder.
"Though the two little girls fell into a coma, their breathing was smooth. Their parents thought they ate something bad. To be honest, I wasn't sure if they had eaten something they were allergic to at my place, so I paid for the kids' medical expenses upfront, and we talked for a bit.
