He seemed to have a natural adaptability, and his movements grew more efficient as he learned to eliminate unnecessary steps.
The mistakes disappeared entirely and he began to recognize the regular customer.
Morning customers, those who came for lunch, and patrons who always ordered the same dish—all became familiar faces.
Just as Shen Xinghui remembered them, they, too, grew accustomed to him.
"Xinghui!" some of the regular customer started him calling out affectionately, welcoming him as part of their daily lives.
A month had passed since Shen Xinghui had fled Ignatius's mansion.
By now, he had fully adjusted to life at the inn and was enjoying his days.
It felt so comfortable that the inn almost seemed like home.
Yet, the ache in his chest hadn't gone away.
In that month, he assumed Ignatius had completely forgotten about him.
It was what he had wanted, but some part of him still mourned that loss.
