A week later, at Jinghai Beverage's headquarters, in the large conference room.
Song He and Xiang Xiaotong pushed open the door, then froze stiffly at the entrance.
"Teacher, I've suddenly come down with a serious illness." Song He's face was pale. "I can't move my legs."
"It's contagious." Xiang Xiaotong looked frightened and stammered, "I can't walk either."
The master and disciple stared at the conference table, trembling like mice that had spotted a giant cat.
The conference table was once again covered with drink samples: hundreds of silver aluminum cans without outer packaging, each marked only with a simple number. They looked less like beverages than small cans of chemical raw materials.
The two of them had developed beverage PTSD. Seeing such a huge table in particular made their scalps prickle instinctively, bringing back the painful experience of dry heaving after drinking beverages a week earlier.
After hesitating for a while, the two still sat at the end of the conference table with the mindset of prisoners heading to the execution ground.
The executive waiting nearby immediately got to work. With a pop, he opened the first can and poured the liquid into a glass.
The colorless, transparent beverage fizzed slightly with tiny bubbles. It looked harmless to both humans and animals.
Song He didn't dare lower his guard. He mentally prepared himself to gulp down enough sickeningly sweet syrup to kill him, then picked up the glass and took a light sip.
Hmm? It wasn't very sweet?
He took a big gulp and held it in his mouth. A look of surprise flickered across his face. A moment later, he tilted his head and spat it into the trash can by his feet.
"How is it?" Xiang Xiaotong held her glass without drinking. "If it's awful, I won't