Zhao Lixia and Su Jianjun were startled to see their son walking out of the room.
He wore a retro short motorcycle leather jacket, punk-style studded hip-hop bell-bottoms, and two metal chains hung from his butt, with mousse-styled, high Mohawk hair in the middle.
It left the two elders dumbfounded.
"Son, what are you doing?"
Zhao Lixia's heart was a little overwhelmed.
Wasn't this the same punk she used to feel an inexplicable urge to whack with a broom just by looking at?
"Zelin, what's with the sudden Renaissance vibe today?"
Su Jianjun remained calm and half-jokingly asked.
"I haven't dressed like this in a long time, just reminiscing a bit."
Su Zelin chuckled.
"What's there to reminisce about? Son, you're now an executive at a big company, you've even shaken hands and talked with the deputy governor, you need to maintain an image!"
