"Wow, kid, your words are getting more offensive!"
After everyone left, in the break room next to the office, Lu Feng, who was watching the fun in front of the TV, just finished a skewer, wiped the mutton oil off his mouth, and clicked his tongue:
"If I were that jerk General, I'd probably bring my goons over right away to start a fight with you."
"Wouldn't that be perfect?"
Ji Jue pulled up a chair and sat down, picked up two skewers of lamb to grill, and after taking a beer, downed it in two gulps—just goes to show, being close to the Northern Mountain District, even someone like him who never touched alcohol got used to it after being influenced by the dining culture there.
Upon hearing this, he couldn't help but tease: "Scared?"
"Scared? Scared they won't bring enough people, okay?"
Lu Feng, shirtless and eating and drinking in front of the grill, was sweating all over, scratching the messy tattoos on his arm without a care.
What a joke.
