"Yo, got any more? Throw in another one for me."
Li Zhiyuan's ears twitched as he heard, for the first time, the broadcast-style Nantong dialect.
"There are two left." Run Sheng picked them up and handed one to him.
"Great, that's enough."
The man, holding a bowl of noodles or wontons, took a seat at the same table, then unscrewed a lid. Soon the air was filled with the smell of fermented tofu, with a hint of spiciness.
Tan Wenbin sniffed and asked, "Why is your fermented tofu this color?"
"This is Sichuan-flavored fermented tofu, it's got chili in it."
Another bout of broadcast-style Sichuanese.
"Eh, you're the storyteller from yesterday's performance." Run Sheng smacked his forehead, "Without that robe, I didn't recognize you."
"Hehe, are you here to listen to stories today?"
"Of course, we came specifically for that."
