Early the next morning, A Ming arrived in front of the military tent where Zheng Fan was staying.
Siniang was already up, making hand-pulled noodles.
Seeing A Ming, Siniang asked:
"Want some?"
"I'll eat it if you add some blood sausage."
"Sure, I can add it."
"Really add it?"
"Add it, yeah."
"Will that be okay? My lord will eat it later too, right?"
"Of course."
"Then maybe not add it."
If it was added, and my lord ate it, well, this time, not only would I be at the bottom of the class, but I might actually have to repeat a grade.
These are unusual times, no room for jokes.
After a short while,
Zheng Fan came out,
as Lord Zheng walked out of the tent, his knees were trembling and he was holding his waist.
A Ming saw this, shifted his gaze, sat down, and then looked at Siniang.
Siniang shook her head slightly.
A Ming sighed helplessly.
Everything,
was understood without words.
