Ouyang Bing reached out and touched his forehead. "You don't have a fever. Why are you talking nonsense?"
He then picked up the teacup in front of him and sniffed it. Not a hint of alcohol. "And you haven't been drinking, either."
"Since when do I have so little credibility?" Guo Yurong knew the story sounded strange. Thinking back on it, he really had acted like some country bumpkin who had never seen the world. 'I must have made a complete fool of myself in their eyes,' he thought.
"Was the food really that delicious? Why didn't you think to ask them for the recipe? With Master Zeng's decades of culinary experience, I'm sure he could recreate whatever delicacy you wanted." Ouyang Bing sounded regretful as he said this. What a rare opportunity.
