Who Knows?

Yang Wudi's wrist was held down by White Crane. With Niu Gao, that "mountain of flesh," between them, he couldn't lash out even if he wanted to.

He copied a certain Hanunu and gave a cold snort, then slowly loosened his grip.

"Happy? What's there to be happy about?" Yang Wudi's tone was still stiff.

Zhou Qiubai saw everything clearly from the side, and he understood it perfectly.

All that disappointment was, in the end, nothing more than not having seen this one and only grandson for so many years. Faced with him, Yang Wudi had no idea what expression he should wear.

Scolding him felt wrong. Praising him felt wrong. In the end, all he could do was put on a stern face and lecture him.

The men of the Breaking Clan expressed their feelings the same way as their spears—straight in, straight out, never taking any detours.

The table before them was already filled with food and wine. Several jars of Longxing City's local aged wine sat there with their clay seals still unbroken, yet the fragrance had already quietly seeped out through the cracks.

Seeing the atmosphere ease, Niu Gao pressed Zhou Qiubai into the guest seat, then pulled Yang Guyun down beside him, while he himself sat boldly in the main seat. After that, he slapped open the clay seal, waved a hand, and pushed one of the bowls in front of Yang Guyun. "Come on, we're happy today. Have a cup first!"

Good heavens!

Old man, do you not have any smaller bowls at home?

Niu Gao tipped his head back and downed a bowl in one go, then, as if that was nowhere near satisfying enough, simply tossed the bowl aside and switched to a vat.

Damn. Truly, damn.

So the bowls were specially