Nothing stays the same

Chapter eight

"How come I've never met your family?" Ling Sung Jiao inquired, "You've met mine."
How can one tell a soul like his, that the family was killed because they were previously royalty of the previous dynasty, and existed only because your family choose to neglect your existence? This is how...
"Mother died from poison wine, mother's family demanded, a life for a life—swimming the fishes is a mercy at this point." Zheng Peng remarked, "Don't ask any questions from now on, about this matter."
"My family likes you, they've sort of adopted you." Ling Sung Jiao remarked, "I find it rather cute."
Cute, Ah, this would be an understatement, it's ironic that such a bumbling bloke could from a Family of killers, crazy people, and people who are addicted to cheesecake, and that's just talking about the parents. Let alone his four brothers and three sisters, bloody hell.
"Much to the oblige, I'm severely worried about the day when I have a proper doctor's examination coming upon myself." Zheng Peng grumbled, "Especially after the last time, when I nearly ended up seeing a dead body being buried, just a for a slight cold causing incessant."
Ah, that's a gentle understatement, digging up a body isn't considered strange for medical and police work, but burying a dead body—which is not a funeral or for legal reasons, can become an interesting outing, especially with the Ling family.
"Actually." Ling Sung Jiao replied, "I don't think they're that bad, if anything, I'm glad they like you, I was really worried that you were going to end up on a long-term 'vacation' as my last roommate did."
Vacation? More like a never-ending lonesome suffocating nightmare while trapped in a coffin, with no string to ring the bell, making aware of he's still breaking any air left in him—the proper way to explain that matter, All be dammed.
"How cherry thru, I can't imagine how they wouldn't like me." Zheng Peng remarked, "Pity, they are far barking mad than I would've thought at first glance."
Sipping coffee, while reading the morning paper, as the blasting smoke of cigars popping through the window, gives a joyous delight indeed.
"I forgot to ask, what do you do for a living?" Ling Sung Jiao inquired.
Eyes darted, a light snide remark would've been blasted perfectly but heading off a little.
"A writer." Zheng Peng spoke, "Despite how crummy and confusing it might be, some people still intend to read it all."
"I quite like your writing style." Ling Sung Jiao commented, "Makes you even more sarcastic than usual."
Had it been anyone else, telling them to fuck off would've been a great General responsive moment, or proper communication of a posed-off messaging system, but no—dolts brains are harder than rock to those sorts of signals.
"Oh, and your just a bloody sunshine in the meat grinder before it's smells like rotten meat over a burning fire—in Hell." Zheng Peng replied.