The expired Laotan pickled cabbage noodle soup was turbid in color and exuded a sour and rotten smell that made people hesitate.
Lin Bufan used the tip of his chopsticks to push aside the vegetable leaves that were floating on top, then poured half a bowl of cold rice into it, stirred it twice, and the soup was sucked up instantly, turning it into a sticky mess.
Not bad, at least it fills my stomach.
He picked up the cracked blue and white porcelain bowl and was about to take the first bite when the two weather-beaten wooden doors of the Taoist temple that were about to fall apart were kicked open.
"Bang!"
The loud noise was accompanied by flying wood chips, and the sunlight and the shadows of the three sturdy men poured in, covering him.
The leader was a bald man, with a gold chain around his neck that could tie a dog, and a black tight T-shirt that looked like it was about to burst.
Lin Bufan's chopsticks stopped in mid-air, and he forgot to chew the rice at the corner of his mouth.
He knew these people well.
