During the meal, Zhao Gang introduced the dishes on the table to them.
After being plied with so much alcohol yesterday, Balin and the others really hadn't tasted the food.
This time, a plate of fried peanuts won unanimous praise from them.
As for business?
What business?
At the drinking table, the most important business was enjoying the drinks!
After all, how strong could rice wine be?
It only took a breeze to knock them over, that was all.
By the end of the meal, two figures lay sprawled on the table again.
Not a single word of business had been discussed.
Lin Mo and Zhao Gang were thoroughly plastered too. A mixture of baijiu, rice wine, and cooking wine was genuinely more than they could handle.
Long Zhan helped the swaying Lin Mo up.
Zhao Gang slumped against the table, grinning foolishly at the unconscious Balin and mumbling indistinctly.
"Brother... tomorrow... let's keep going..."
Done! Another day bought!
After another stretch of oblivion, their eyes closed and opened again, and it was already the morning of the third day.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the tent, sending stabbing pulses of pain through Balin Copperhammer's head.
He struggled upright and shook his head, hungover for the third day running.
He vaguely remembered a remark: this rice wine was just sweet water, barely alcoholic.
Then how had he ended up flat on his back?
"Water... water..."
His throat was parched.
The tent flap lifted, and Thorin Ironbeard walked in, carrying a water jug.
"You're awake? Here." Thorin's voice was feeble.
Balin took the bowl of water and gulped it down in one go. Only when the cold liquid slid down his throat did he feel alive again.
He looked at Thorin and said, still shaken,
"Thorin, I swear I'll never