"Braised chicken wings, I love eating..."
Below Mount Longhu, Yang Ge, who looked like a wild man with disheveled hair and a dirty face, crouched in front of a fire pit skewering a sizzling, oily pheasant with his Cold Moon Blade, happily flipping it and sprinkling salt.
Suddenly, he paused in his salting, looked up with a smile, and said, "Arrived? Have you eaten?"
An old man in black Taoist robes, just as disheveled, walked slowly to the fire pit and replied, "Not yet!"
Yang Ge reached out and tore off a greasy chicken leg, handing it over, "Here, have a drumstick!"
The old man looked at the drumstick and declared confidently, "I want the wing!"
Yang Ge casually stuffed the leg into his own mouth, mumbling as he tore off a wing and passed it over, "Alright, alright, who lets you be older..."
The old man didn't mind his greasy fingers and grabbed the wing to nibble on.
The elder and the younger crouched by the fire pit, thoroughly enjoying gnawing on the chicken bones.
