Discussing serious business over the dinner table was practically a China specialty. Old Zheng had been quite generous today, laying out Confucian Cuisine at its highest standard—a full 196 dishes.
Of course, aside from Deathstroke and Loki being the guests, Zheng Xian had also brought several teams of his people, and naturally, he had not forgotten the cat-faced professor.
After three rounds of wine and five flavors of food, Old Zheng, having finished talking with Deathstroke, went off to drink merrily with his subordinates, leaving Professor Xu by Su Ming's side to keep him company.
It was supposedly a dinner invitation, but Su Ming only felt as if he had walked into someone else's company annual meeting—noisy and bustling, yet he had no idea what achievement they were celebrating.
But who cared? As long as there was wine and food, that was enough. It was like attending someone else's wedding; there was no need to actually know the bride and groom.
"Are they happy because the world survived?" Loki hugged a wine bottle and let out a strange little laugh. "Or because they survived?"
"They don't know anything. It's just a simple group dinner." Su Ming calmly raised his glass and drank, leaning back in his chair as he smoked. "The deal is done, so there's no need for us to join the celebration afterward. They're a bunch of energetic young people. Once they drink too much, they'll probably go to KTV and howl like ghosts."
"The director invited you to dinner, meow. How can the guest of honor leave halfway through?" Cat-Headed Professor spoke up, his clothes still white as clouds. "He might even arrange a one-stop service for you later. It's morning in the United States, but evening in China. The nightlife is just getting started, you know."