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Brother Xiaozhang hasn't come by for several days, but this time when he did, he first took a habitual stroll through the kitchen and contentedly slurped down the remains of the noontime silver ear mushroom soup before happily making his way to the yard.
Then he gestured grandly, "Come on, Song Tan, have all the delivery slips been printed out?"
Song Tan glanced at the machine that was spitting out tickets, "Not yet, there's still dozens of them."
It's not like mats are edible or drinkable, but there's no shortage of buyers, and hardly any inventory gets left over.
In the past few days, dozens of orders had piled up.
Next up was the sorghum wine, whether for Secretary Xiaozu or Professor Song and others, they all needed to be shipped out.
Everyone had their little calculations—
With Song Tan being such an agreeable person, as long as they had thick enough skins, they could keep freeloading indefinitely.
