Zheng Qing had never heard the saying, "Fresh fish are fried; dead fish are salted."
He had only heard, "Living fish know sorrow; dead fish know peace"—a proverb from the Merfolk Tribe of Linzhong Lake. It meant that living merfolk worried all day, always believing wizards meant to harm them; dead merfolk no longer had such feelings, because they had become members of another race, the Ghost Clan. As a major race with a Senior Councilor's seat in the Under the Moon Council, ghosts naturally enjoyed lives at First University incomparable to those of the long-declined merfolk.
But at the moment, the several witches surrounding him did not seem to be discussing "living fish" or "dead fish" with him.
Zheng Qing could sense the subtle emotions hanging in the air.
Yet when he looked at the clear, innocent gazes of the witches before him, he became uncertain of his own guess, wondering whether he was being overly sentimental.
Just as he hesitated over how to continue the topic of "fried fish,"
Xiao Xiao's somewhat apologetic voice sounded beside him.
"Excuse me."
The Youzui Hunting Team's diviner wiped the corner of his mouth, rose to his feet, and politely nodded to the witches. "Sorry, but I need to borrow your senior... We're about to begin Hunting Team Training. Could you discuss whatever it is later? Um, if you urgently need a thesis advisor for Transformation Spell, you can submit an application to the Student Union..."
The witches visibly showed their disappointment.
Zheng Qing, meanwhile, cast the Doctor a grateful glance, feeling like stuffing a handful of Gold Beans into his hands.
"Ah, I'm terribly sorry."
After withdrawing his gaze, he hurriedly abandoned his half-finished dinner and got up to follow the Doctor, who was heading out of the dining hall. At