The waiter, who had worked in the tavern for twenty years, thought to himself that the young master clearly didn't like fish.
It was rare to see someone in the fish-abundant Chentang Pass who wrinkled their brow just at the mention of fish.
The waiter raised his voice toward the kitchen and shouted, "A pound of yellow wine, a plate of edamame, a plate of stewed peanuts, a plate of pickles, a bowl of hot soup! Guest, please wait—"
After a while, when the yellow wine arrived and the side dishes were placed, the young man in the blue robe picked up the chopsticks, took a couple of sips of wine, and his brows furrowed even more.
He occasionally drank half a sip of wine and ate a bite or two of the dishes; he occupied a table in this bustling small tavern for an entire afternoon. If he didn't have a Seven-star Treasure Sword hanging from his waist, the shopkeeper would have long thrown him out in anger.
