Turning round the corner, Di Tou couldn't help but let out a puff of air. There was definitely something wrong with that Fatty Liao. Why in the world had he gotten so angry over a single d*mn recipe? H*ll, he hadn't even asked for the recipe and had only generally asked what he was making. That wasn't an extreme question, was it?
…
Was it?
Suddenly realizing something, Di Tou wanted to smack himself in the head. This wasn't the twentieth century, this was, for the closest equivalent, the kingdom's period. In other words, recipes were really, really, really f*cking valuable and could be considered the single core element to a family's success and failures for hundreds of years to come, so maybe it was a bit of an extreme question.
