"Holy crap, Long Aotian, you're going too far. The elixir is still brewing; it needs at least twenty minutes before it's done. Am I supposed to just stare at the furnace like a Muggle for those twenty minutes?" Zhang Fan ran off, holding a bowl.
Hearing this, Long Aotian froze suddenly.
"Are you sure? I'm telling you, if you're lying, I'll beat you into a Muggle."
Zhang Fan was so angry he nearly dropped his bowl: "Long Aotian, aren't you my senior brother? Even if you don't treat me as your junior brother, can I refuse to acknowledge you as my senior brother? Have I ever tricked you before?"
These words sparked endless jealousy in the eyes around them.
Damn it, Long Aotian is your senior brother, we all know, do you have to emphasize it?
Do you think we have hearing problems, you jerk?
After all, calling Long Aotian by his name and eating hot pot with the Lion King—damn, that's enviable.
If it were them, they'd boast about it for a lifetime.
