Inside the dugout.
The two old men glared at each other.
Xu Changlin had just picked up his chopsticks, ready to grab a dumpling from Zhao Jun's helmet bowl. But when he heard what Xing San said, he slammed his chopsticks down on the table.
"Xing the Third!" Xu Changlin said angrily. "I come here once a year, and you won't even give me a meal?"
Xing San didn't say anything. He just ladled the dumplings out of the pot, put them on a plate, and set it on a nearby wooden shelf.
Then, he ladled a bowl of the dumpling broth for both Zhao Jun and Li Baoyu before picking up the flour sack and pouring cornmeal into the pot.
He was using the boiling dumpling broth to cook some cornmeal for the dogs.
"Xing San'er!" Xu Changlin gritted his teeth, swinging his crossed legs off the kang. "I come all this way and don't even get a bite to eat. I'd rather go home with an empty stomach than eat your food."
