Feng Yin had questioned several times before his resurgence: how could Feng Ying, who gulped down over seventy pounds of centipede meat in one go, still weigh only a little over a pound? Where had all that meat gone?
"Could it be possible that as soon as he eats it, it immediately gets digested and transformed into spiritual energy?"
Feng Yin poked the little guy's squishy belly, asking, "Have you pooped yet?"
At these words, the little guy immediately showed an embarrassingly indignant expression, glaring with its big beautiful eyes, a tremble in its whiskers as it glared at him. Feng Yin could clearly see his own reflection in his eyes, with every facial feature clearly visible, even clearer than a mirror.
Facing the little guy's gaze, full of embarrassment and accusation, Feng Yin immediately raised his hands in surrender: "I misspoke. My Feng Ying is a fairy, she doesn't poop."
