Watching Qiao Jingfeng tear into the chicken leg with huge bites, Old Guo fell silent for a moment, apparently finding it rather novel too.
Young people these days...
Were far too bold.
A Manifest Strength practitioner daring to snatch his chicken leg—he could brag about that for the rest of his life.
"Your man?"
Old Guo looked at Huo Yuanhong.
Huo Yuanhong smiled.
Next, the convoy's cook brought over a plate of stir-fried broad beans, steaming hot and gleaming with oil. Old Guo gave it a push, placing the plate squarely between the three of them.
"Please."
Holding his chopsticks, Old Guo chuckled.
Huo Yuanhong picked up a broad bean first. Just as he was about to eat it, the air beneath the table gave a faint ripple.
Guo Yunsheng, seated opposite him, still wore the same smile. His upper body did not move in the slightest; even the fingers gripping his chopsticks remained utterly steady.
Yet one of his legs had silently slid beneath the table, kicking with precision at the leg of Huo Yuanhong's stool. If it landed, one stool leg would snap, and staying seated would not be so easy.
Huo Yuanhong was no stranger to this move. When he had first met the Three Elders of Fengyi, his senior brother had sparred with them like this. Now, it was his turn.
It counted as the customary greeting of old-generation masters: those with skill sat and ate, while those whose kung fu was lacking stood.
Huo Yuanhong's upper body remained loose and natural, steady as Mount Tai without so much as a sway, as though he were wholly unaware of the undercurrents raging beneath the table.
Yet beneath the table, his legs displayed astonishing agility and control.
The muscles in his right leg contracted and stretched. His