A bowl of wild greens boiled in plain water, a pot of rice-bran porridge, and a dish of pickles.
Rice bran was the outer husk of grain, extremely sharp and coarse, with little nutritional value.
It was also difficult for the human stomach to digest. Most households used the stuff to feed pigs.
Yet even so, Li Ping'an and Zhao Mu ate it with relish.
Ever since eating a Thousand-Legged Centipede, Li Ping'an felt there was nothing in this world that tasted worse than that thing.
Zhao Mu had not seen Deng Qiankun and assumed he was sulking over what had happened earlier and had refused to come eat.
So he asked, "Where is Company Commander Deng?"
Li Ping'an did not answer. He extended a finger and tapped the table.
A bead of blood clung to his fingertip.
Zhao Mu froze, and the look in his eyes changed as he gazed at Li Ping'an.
He had killed a company commander just like that?
Zhao Mu dared not make another sound and buried his head in his meal.
Soon, the pot of rice-bran porridge and the greens boiled in plain water had been polished off.
Not even the pickles were left.
Li Ping'an wiped his mouth. There had not been a trace of fat in the meal.
His stomach barely felt a thing.
Zhao Mu's stomach did not feel any different either, and his thoughts instinctively turned to the ox Li Ping'an had brought along.
But judging by Li Ping'an's manner, he had no intention of eating that ox.
So Zhao Mu merely thought about it.
Li Ping'an went out carrying his bamboo stick, presumably intending to find some other food.
But finding anything in this world of ice and snow was no easy task.
Never mind a glimpse of small