"You said you didn't have an asshole!"
Hearing Fang Mo's explanation, Deadpool couldn't help roaring at him.
"Not having an asshole doesn't mean I don't have a backpack." Fang Mo ignored Deadpool's question and casually waved the weapon in his hand twice. "You're not Eastern, so you wouldn't understand the value of our hook literature..."
"What the fuck does this have to do with hooks?"
Deadpool cursed as he asked, "But wait... what exactly does this hook refer to?"
"The chrysanthemum."
Fang Mo briefly educated him. "Of course, in prison, if you use it too much, it occasionally evolves into another kind of plant—a sunflower."
"Holy shit."
Deadpool immediately launched into a shrill critique. "Can you Easterners stop being so fucking subtle? You have to make so many weird metaphors. You can come up with eight hundred different words for one asshole!"
"Our Great Eastern Ancient Country has its own relevant policies!"
Fang Mo raised his head righteously. "We possess the finest text censorship system in the world. It ensures you can't warmly greet your teammates' entire families in games, and you can't precisely express your thoughts while creating. The whole point is to wear a condom and a lock at the same time, leaving you and me in a haze. After all, literary inquisitions have been our tradition since ancient times..."
"That's called CULTURAL DREGS!!!"
Even Deadpool, a Westerner, could no longer stand listening to him.
"What's going on? What's going on?"
While they were arguing, the chubby Russell hurried out of the restroom, still clutching a sticky plastic pen. "What happened... holy shit! What's with that weapon?!"
Russell had noticed the curved knife in Fang Mo's hand too, and he froze on the spot.
"Oh, it's like this."
Fang Mo spread his hands as if nothing were wrong.