Gongxi Chou stared at the County Marquis, who was at his mercy, and said in a sinister tone, "Heh. I figured you wouldn't dare give me the old one."
The County Marquis's gaze wavered slightly.
Gongxi Chou didn't know that, on the day he'd nearly had his pants pulled down by the young man who'd accompanied his visitor, the two had seriously and earnestly discussed whether to demand an old Fundoshi or a new one: [Since it's proof that you beat him, it has to be something he wore close to his body. Otherwise, people will accuse us of faking it.]
The visitor didn't look too willing: [It's too dirty.]
As far as he knew, plenty of people didn't like bathing.
And a Fundoshi was worn right against the body. How filthy would it be?
As the central figure in their discussion, the County Marquis had wanted to die on the spot, but he still clung tightly to his waistband with both hands.
The young man accompanying him pondered: [That's true. If Sixth Brother finds out we brought back some stinky man's Fundoshi...]
He shuddered at whatever he imagined.
The visitor said: [How about taking his hair instead of his head?]
The young man accompanying him waved both hands up and down.
[No, no. What would we want his hair for?]
The County Marquis had also really wanted to ask them—what did they want his Fundoshi for? It had no purpose except to humiliate him even more. Surely they weren't collecting every kind of Fundoshi in the world, in every style and pattern? They were so young; they shouldn't be getting into anything this perverted!
[Young Bai, hair is important too!]
[Sigh. If that's the case, what do you suggest?]
The young man accompanying him said: [How about we make