Zheng Qing had heard a saying before: if you don't know the traditions of a certain holiday, then choosing to eat dumplings is always right. Dumplings to holidays are like snake oil to potions—allegedly the 'cure-all', but actually just 'jack of all trades'.
Yet, who knows if smearing snake oil all over oneself can cure one's troubles.
Thinking of this, the young scholarship student couldn't help but sigh deeply, picked up a dumpling, stuffed it in his mouth, chewed a bit, then squinted: "What's the filling of today's dumplings?"
"Is it tasty?" The fat man gave him a glance.
Zheng Qing hesitated with a slight nod: "Tasty, it's tasty..."
"As long as it's tasty, why so much nonsense!" The fat wizard impatiently waved his hand, continued to draft his article, muttering: "If you don't go buy it yourself, so much fuss!"
This stood on the moral high ground, Zheng Qing had no way to refute, only silently bit through a dumpling skin, carefully examining the filling inside.
