Dead of night. Piggy carried in a huge sea-bowl of braised pig trotters, grease so thick a chopstick could stand upright, the smell rich enough to wake the dead.
He squatted, bowl clinked against the cangue—ding!
"Your Highness, dig in. I stewed it six whole hours and even used three qian of salt. Extravagant as fuck."
Liu Rong's eyes locked on the bowl, then forcibly turned away, screaming inside:
If I eat this jail slop, I'll be reincarnated as a pig next life! Hold it! Hold!
Piggy poked the grease with a chopstick, grinning like a cheap bastard:
"Not eating? Then I'll feed it to Old Black. It's been shitting water—needs the oil."
He really stood up and walked off. The meat fragrance did eight hundred laps around the cell.
Liu Rong's Adam's apple bobbed like a drum, tears nearly falling:
Empress Dowager Dou, you haven't fucked me over as hard as this fat bastard!