Eating hot pot in a sea of flowers felt pretty nice. The key to the flavor was the red oil; whether a spicy hot pot tasted good depended on how well the broth base had been fried.
Su Ming would not boast too much about anything else, but seventy years ago, the people under him researching hot pot broth recipes had all started out with doctorates at the very least.
"Would you like lamb rolls or five-spice beef?" Deathstroke stirred the ingredients in the pot with his chopsticks. Seeing Magik sipping vermicelli in small mouthfuls, he had Strangle take out more ingredients from his waist pouch and arrange them beside the pot.
The roses in the Dark Tower Multiverse seemed to have no fragrance whatsoever, regardless of which dimension they were in.
They were simply there, visible to the naked eye. Vast swathes of red flowers bloomed across the black earth. Most of them had few leaves, while their stems were covered in dense, sharp thorns.
"Okay, thank you, Teacher. You should eat too." Magik wiped her mouth and stole another glance toward the doors of the Dark Tower, waiting to see whether someone would appear.
Other than the black-and-white sky, the surroundings really were much like a garden. There was even a slight breeze, though unfortunately, it carried no warmth at all—just a dry gust of air.
"No need to keep looking. Gan is the Dark Tower. If he has made a decision, you will see it." Deathstroke added the new ingredients to the pot and watched tiny bubbles rise through the red oil. With Strangle keeping watch, he could rest however he wanted.
Yes, the loudspeaker Strangle had transformed into was still continuously broadcasting the invitation to negotiate. Its pair of crescent-shaped eyes looked rather amusing on the