"Boss, hurry up, will you. My stomach's already glued to my back."
"Boss, add some broth over here."
"Boss, that tripe I ordered, is it still coming? If not, then just bring the bill…"
The alley was definitely in Han City, but Lu Cheng could hear familiar accents from Xiangxi, Guizhou Province, Yu City, and Sichuan Province.
This was a skewered hotpot place; the broth in the pot was bubbling away, red oil rolling, steam billowing.
Hu Cong's lips were already burning red from the spice; he had no choice but to retreat to a plate of fried rice with egg and bury his head in it.
Seeing this, Lu Cheng teased, "Your spice tolerance is really not up to par. The chili paste in Han City is pretty brutal too. How do you usually eat?"
"It's got that sauce fragrance." Hu Cong looked up and answered as if it were nothing.
"You've practiced, but never really been tempered—then there's nothing to be done."
