What's going on?
That's not what you just said!
Mo Qi's decision was, for a moment, difficult for the Immortals to accept.
He just said the number of peanuts he could make depended on the size of the pot. Why was he only making ten at a time now?
Isn't that too few!
There were over four hundred people here, clutching their big bellies, waiting. At a rate of ten per batch, even if a batch only took about ten minutes, by the time the last person got their turn, more than half of them would probably have died from the pain.
"Can't you make a few more?" someone couldn't help but ask.
'More? Of course, I can!'
Mo Qi thought to himself, 'Forget four hundred of you; I can make two or three thousand in a single pot without a problem. But if I did that, how could I squeeze a fortune out of you?'
'Didn't you all think you had me cornered before? Weren't you going to ignore the rules and target me as a group?'
