Dressed in silks and wearing a melon-rind cap, Dogwa squatted under the tree at the village entrance, slurping a bowl of braised noodles. The spicy meat sauce made him sweat profusely.
Beside him, Zhao Wu took a bite of a white mantou and nudged him with his shoulder. "Hey, did Brother Li say where all that grain is going? Is it being sold, or what? Did he say if it's ever coming back?" As Niuxin Village's accountant, seeing the figures in the ledger vanish one after another made him deeply concerned.
"He didn't say," Dogwa replied with a hint of dissatisfaction. "He's an Immortal now, always flying here and there." Watching the village's grain get hauled away day after day with no money in return was more painful to him than death. He'd never seen such wastefulness.
