Stars hung low over the vast, flat wilds; the moon surged with the flowing river.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
The cook aboard the boat made truly dreadful food, and everyone in the cabins complained about it.
Once, someone had even tried to pick up a crab he had cooked with their chopsticks.
Only for the crab to clamp its claws around the chopsticks instead.
Scarface looked at that evening's dinner, which still tasted like dog shit, and overturned his bowl onto the floor in a fit of anger.
"Damn it, even a dog wouldn't eat this!"
"Exactly, this stuff is only fit for dogs."
"Only a dog would eat it."
Others immediately chimed in.
"Damn it, even the dog shit I ate before tasted better than this."
Everyone turned to look at the man who had spoken.
He seemed to have... given something away.
Old Ox silently stopped eating, feeling offended.
Li Ping'an paid no attention and continued eating with relish.
But Old Ox stopped him, his eyes seeming to say:
Could you have a little backbone?
You might have no shame, but I still do.
Li Ping'an: ...
The boat captain was helpless too. The cook who was supposed to come aboard had been unable to make the trip because something had come up just before departure.
How would these rough men know how to cook? They simply put the ingredients in a pot, then poured in the seasonings.
They stirred everything together and served it.
It would have been a miracle if that tasted good.
If this bunch started making trouble, there would be hell to pay.
Helpless, the captain could only say, "If any of you can cook, I'll pay you wages for every day you do it."
No one stepped forward.