The scorching sun baked the wasteland into a burnt smell.
You Miaolong squatted under the broken wall, with a piece of rag in front of him and the words "Iron mouth cut straight" crookedly written on it. It's been three days and not a single copper has been received.
"My lord, this hexagram of yours is... Incorrect."
The butcher with a sinister face thrust his machete into the ground and stirred up a cloud of dust. You Miaolong shrank his neck - last time he made nonsense about a bloody disaster, but the butcher actually scratched his hand when he was cutting the meat the next day.
"Give me another chance..." His voice was weak.
"Opportunity?" The butcher sneered, "The money from the last hexagram hasn't been settled yet!"
You Miaolong grabbed the rag and ran away.
The footsteps behind him are getting closer and closer. He turned into a dead end, his chest heaving violently. It's over, I'm really going to get beaten this time.
In despair, he stared at the half piece of moldy steamed bun in the corner - the food he had fantasized about all night yesterday. If only it were true.
As soon as the thought came to my mind, my palms suddenly felt hot.
The next second, half of the moldy steamed bun disappeared. Instead, there was a fat, white, hot... New steamed bun?
You Miaolong was stunned.
He took a hard bite.
