Liu Chang'an stayed at the hotel for over an hour. After his clothes had dried in the dryer, he returned to the lakeside and retrieved the remaining centipedes.
The violent did not spare others' labor, and the wasteful did not cherish material resources—this was not merely the common saying about treasuring one's blessings. If extravagance benefited one's food and drink, it might still be acceptable; but if it only burdened one's food and drink instead, why bother? Things existed for people to use. It was fine to make them die, but not to make them unable to live or die.
The centipedes had been perfectly alive. Since he had killed them, yet did not eat them, how could his conscience bear it? So Liu Chang'an insisted on taking every centipede he had brought home to eat.
He set up a small brazier outside his door, burned the charcoal red-hot, laid a wire rack over it, drizzled on a thin layer of oil, then skewered the centipedes and turned them over the fire. As he carefully fanned the flames with a palm-leaf fan, the pale, tender flesh soon began to sizzle, glistening with oil and releasing a fragrant aroma.
Zhou Dongdong came scampering down the stairs with a little shovel. She had just found where the toy chick was buried, but slowly turned around, tossed aside her shovel, and ran to stand beside the brazier with a finger in her mouth.
"Brother Chang'an, what delicious thing are you making?" Zhou Dongdong kept smacking her lips as she stared at it eagerly.
Liu Chang'an had always been generous, so he handed Zhou Dongdong a skewer.
Zhou Dongdong blew on it hard. As soon as she opened her mouth, her drool was practically falling. She hurriedly took a bite, and it was both