Dogwa, wearing a silk robe and a melon cap, squatted under the tree at the entrance of the village, holding a bowl and slurping the noodle soup.
The meat sauce in the noodles had chili, making him sweat profusely.
Zhao Wu, beside him, took a bite of a white mantou and nudged him with his shoulder, "Hey, did Brother Li say where those grains are being sent? Are they sold or something? Did he say they would come back?"
As the accountant of Niuxin Village, seeing the numbers on the ledger disappear one by one, he couldn't help but feel suspicious.
"He didn't say," Dogwa replied with a hint of dissatisfaction. "He's an Immortal now, always flying here and there."
Seeing the family's grain constantly hauled away without any money in return was even more painful than being killed; he'd never seen such wastefulness.
