Li Zhiyuan looked like he'd fallen asleep.
Lin Shuyou took the meal from the flight attendant and handed it to Zhao Yi.
Zhao Yi took it, cupped his hands to Lin Shuyou and said solemnly:
"Many thanks, Brother Lin!"
Lin Shuyou froze for a moment, then said, "This is eight-treasure congee. You grab this pull ring and yank it outwards, and it'll open."
Zhao Yi did as told, successfully opened the congee, and exclaimed:
"To think that something this hard could have such a simple method of opening."
"Uh, the spoon's under this lid. You have to pry it out first, then open it up."
"So that's how it is. This spoon can be folded—quite ingenious."
"Hehe."
"May I ask, Brother Lin, are we now truly in Heaven? That white expanse below the window—would that be the white clouds?"
"Yeah, that's right. We're in an airplane right now."
"A flying chicken? There truly exists something like the kunpeng in this world?"
"It's a kind of machine..."
