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Night had fallen, and Tail Lane was almost empty of passersby. Whether Chubby Qin would get his first bite of food for the day depended entirely on the man in the mandarin jacket.
The man in the mandarin jacket was eating a bowl of mutton noodles. Half of the soup was meat broth, and the other half was rendered mutton fat that floated with bright red chillies. He was sweating from the heat as he ate.
The aroma of the mutton and chillies drifted into Chubby Qin's nostrils, slowly eroding the last of his dignity bit by bit.
"Kowtow to me. If you kowtow to me, I'll give you a sip of soup," said the man in the mandarin jacket as he carried the bowl over to Chubby Qin.
Nevertheless, there was no way Chubby Qin would kowtow to him.
The man in the mandarin jacket slurped a mouthful of scalding soup. "You've been kneeling here all day, yet you're not willing to kowtow to me?"
Chubby Qin was kneeling because he had been hit by a spell. His lower body was immobilized, and only some joints in his upper body could move. Otherwise, he would have fought the man in the mandarin jacket to the death, even if he only had one breath left in him.
The man sighed. "I know about you Gourmandism Cultivators. Go a day without eating, and your stomach catches fire. The flames burn all the way up to your throat, spreading inch by inch through your heart, liver, and spleen. Sounds awful just thinking about it."
He slurped another mouthful of soup. "I really do pity you. Give me a sincere kowtow, and I'll give you a sip of broth right away. I guarantee it will keep you alive another...
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