Losing His Ticket Again, the Gears Began to Turn!

Sing Sing zipped his suitcase all the way up, calculating which bus to take to town and how much taxi fare he could save on getting to the train station.

If you can hitch a ride on a tractor transporting tree seedlings, you can save eight yuan on bus fares.

"Director Zhou! You absolutely cannot leave today!"

Lao Zhao, carrying a half-eaten, dripping lamb leg, crawled into the shed.

"What are you doing?" Sing Sing clutched his suitcase. This guy barged in carrying a bloodstained weapon; was he trying to forcibly detain him and force him to dig and plant trees in the Northwest?

"I've already bought the ticket, a hard seat for tomorrow morning. I need to report back to the bureau!"

"The wind and sand in Northwest China are too harsh; my skin can't handle it. I need to go back to Beijing for some skincare."

Lao Zhao grabbed Sing Sing's wrist.

"What's the big deal! Thank you so much, 749 Bureau, for introducing Sister Martha here! This is an immense favor!"

"Sister Martha saved these hundreds of acres of land for us, and you're practically family to her! Tonight we'll have a whole roasted lamb at the campsite, and all you can eat with Da Wusu beer! Let's go!"

Upon hearing that roasted whole lamb was all-you-can-eat, Sing Sing's eyes darted around, and he stopped in his tracks.

A whole roasted lamb costs at least two thousand yuan, and with drinks, the meal would cost at least three thousand yuan.

Stay for a meal, and you'll not only break even, but you might even make a profit.

He coughed twice and brushed the yellow sand off his suit.

"Since the people's demands are so strong, as a cadre, if I were to become detached from the masses, I would be committing a line error!"

"Inspecting grassroots communities and gaining a deeper understanding of the people's food situation is also one of the important tasks of this trip."

"Hey! That's more like it!" Lao Zhao picked up the lamb leg and turned to leave, shouting as he went, "I'm going to tell Lao Li to brush on the sauce; we're going to have a good drink tonight!"

Martha nodded. "Xiao Zhou, we're having mutton soup tonight! Eat plenty. The boss will complain when we get back that we didn't treat you well."

"Your accent is so good that even the Statue of Liberty in New York would question her existence. It's a blend of Texas country accent and Hexi Corridor dialect—a truly effective combination."

Martha wiped the flour off her hands on her apron. "Wow, this place is nice. The sand is golden yellow, and everyone is a good kid."

"No one treats me like an outsider, and no one takes my blood. I turn it into water for them, and they make me butter tea."

The busy pace did not stop because of the feast; the desertification control workers were still rushing to plant the last batch of saplings.

Sing Sing took off his white suit and hung it on a wooden pillar.

He rolled up his sleeves, walked to the pile of tools, picked up a wooden-handled shovel, and went to the ground.

Free meals and drinks are not Ling Ling Qi's style; working in exchange for food is the only way to be rightful.

Fill with sand, stabilize the soil, and move dead tree roots.

This job looks simple, but it's incredibly difficult to do.

The sand was soft; when you shoveled it, you'd often lose half a shovelful. The scorching sun baked the ground so hot that the soles of your shoes would practically smoke when you stepped on it.

The men worked tirelessly, while Martha was responsible for providing water and keeping the plants moist; they worked together seamlessly.

I was busy until dark.

The desert sun sets late, its afterglow turning the sand dunes a dark red.

Iron rafts were erected on the open ground of the desertification control camp.

The whole roasted lamb sizzles, releasing its oil and filling the air with a wonderful aroma.

Lao Zhao, shirtless, held a brush and smeared seasoning on the sheep.

Oil dripped onto the charcoal, sending up plumes of white smoke, and the aroma of charred meat wafted for miles on the night breeze.

Da Wusu in green glass containers were scattered all over the ground.

Sing Sing sat in the main seat, clutching a lamb leg and gnawing on it, his chin covered in grease.

"Come on, Director Zhou! I, Lao Zhao, will toast you with this bottle!" Lao Zhao approached, carrying a freshly opened bottle of Da Wusu.

Sing Sing sneered.

The incident in Henan was due to Harry, that Mutants an aquatic physique, physically cheating.

Can these ordinary folks really cause a stir by drinking beer today?

"Dry!"

Lao Zhao held the bottle neck up to the sky. "Director Zhou! We don't do small sips here, you have to blow it out! You have to blow it out in one go to be considered respectful!"

The men around them banged on the table and started jeering.

"Blow a whistle!"

"Director Zhou, show off a little!"

"Yes! Let's show off a door!"

Under the watchful eyes of the public, how could he, a dignified cadre of the 749 Bureau stationed abroad, possibly show weakness in front of the masses?

He tilted his head back and poured the Da Wusu into his mouth.

The Adam's apple moves as one swallows.

The beer, with its malty flavor, hit my throat, and the foam almost popped out of my nostrils.

Sing Sing made a sword gesture with his left hand behind his back.

The Alcohol-Expelling Divine Skill!

Start up!

The foamy liquor dripped from my fingertips into the sand, but this Urumqi liquor is different from baijiu.

Baijiu is strong, Wusu is plentiful.

Even if he forced out half of the 600-plus milliliters from the bottle, the remaining half would still make a commotion in his stomach.

"Director Zhou has a huge capacity for medicine!" Lao Zhao exclaimed, his eyes widening as he turned and shouted.

"Brothers! Director Zhou can blow bottles without breaking a sweat! Line up!"

Sing Sing doesn't laugh.

Queue?

Are you coming again?

A tall, burly man squeezed to the front, clutching an open Da Wusu: "Brother Zhou! I'm toasting you! Help yourself, I'll go first!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back and gulped down the liquor, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly up and down.

"Director Zhou, show off a little!"

Show off! Show off!

"The cadres from Beijing can't afford to lose!"

"Let's go!" Down the second bottle.

The third bottle, the fourth bottle, the fifth bottle...

Two hours later, Sing Sing's fingers, which were behind his back, started to cramp.

The sand on the ground was soaked with beer, turning it a dark color, and white foam rose to the surface.

He stretched out his foot and rubbed it across the dry sand to cover the water stains.

An hour later, Sing Sing discovered the problem.

These people aren't drinking it by the alcohol content! They're drinking it by the volume and frequency!

Bottle after bottle, lined up one after another, not even giving me a chance to catch my breath. The worst part is that Wusu makes my stomach bloated!

Just as Sing Sing was about to give up, Martha approached with an earthenware bowl in her hand.

The bowl contained a thick soup made with licorice and cistanche.

"Little Zhou, this is a licorice and cistanche tonic soup that I personally prepared. You're weak, so don't be reckless."

Lao Zhao was egging them on wildly from the sidelines.

"Director Zhou! This is a token of Sister Martha's appreciation!"

That's really awesome!

Show off! Show off!

Sing Sing stared at the dark brown liquid and swallowed.

Forget it, a short, sharp pain is worse than a long, drawn-out one.

He closed his eyes, picked up the earthenware bowl, and gulped it down in one go.

As soon as he swallowed the "nutritious soup," Sing Sing realized something was wrong.

The violent medicinal power surged directly into his meridians and ran rampant.

Licorice is strong, and Cistanche is drying.

In addition, the counterforce from the Da Wusu beer actually disrupted Sing Sing's smoothly flowing True Qi!

"Belch!"

Sing Sing let out a burp that smelled of Chinese medicine, and his fair face turned purplish-red.

Top-heavy.

The world spun around.

He straightened up and pointed at Lao Zhao: "You... you have no martial ethics..."

"Thump!"

The drinking table warrior, fallen for the second time.

"Oh dear! Director Zhou is drunk! Quick, quick, carry him inside!"

The surrounding area was in complete chaos.

The next day at noon.

Sing Sing groaned in pain.

The familiar time I wake up, the familiar feeling of discomfort.

Now the ticket is useless again.