Zhou Chen pinched his chin in thought for a moment. An idea gradually formed, and he lit the fire to heat his crucible. While it warmed up, he began processing his ingredients with masterful technique and incredible speed.
Seeing this speed, Goblin Ah Bin's eye twitched. 'This kid's way too experienced!'
'This won't do. I have to slow him down!'
A sly look flashed in Goblin Ah Bin's eyes. He took a tightly sealed dropper from his toolbox and squeezed a single drop into his own crucible.
In an instant, a powerful, acrid stench spread out. It was as if a hundred thousand burly men had finished a soccer match, then used their stinky feet to stomp all over pickled mustard greens that had been fermenting for eighty-one days. It was the smell of rotten durian and sewer sludge, an eye-watering, stomach-turning miasma.
