Huai River.
The great river flows eastward.
"From May to June, from east to west, there's no heat but rather cold—a curious phenomenon," Fan Zixuan leaped from the mast and took over the chopsticks.
"The further west we go, the more it's like this. Yesterday, we looked for an inn to eat, and couldn't understand anything they served; no one spoke Mandarin, and even those who did were not clear," Cha Qing devoured the mixed noodles voraciously.
"I wonder when Lord Liang will arrive."
Silence.
"Listening to the accents of the three of you, could it be you are from South Zhili? Looking at how you speak and act, could you be officials?"
A nauseating stench spread from the side.
Kou Zhuang wanted the person to leave but was stopped by a look from Cha Qing. He then ignored the person and remained silent. Along the journey, there were always opportunists trying to strike up conversations; no need to respond, no need to be polite—just shut your mouth and protect your wallet.
