Half an hour later, while the crowd held their bowls and sipped the savory meat congee, Cheng Zongyang was also seated nearby.
He had warned them not to overeat, lest their long-starved stomachs fail and they fall ill.
Because of Cheng Zongyang's intimidating presence, everyone, though eager, could only obediently and quietly drink their congee, their eyes drifting to the large iron pot from time to time.
If Cheng Zongyang hadn't been keeping them in check, they probably would have gulped down the congee in their bowls in just a few bites, no matter how hot it was.
A quarter of an hour passed. Seeing that everyone had finished eating and was still staring longingly at the meat congee in the large pot, Cheng Zongyang sighed and said:
"Don't worry, the rest of this congee will still be yours tomorrow morning. Now, listen to what I have to say."
Seeing everyone fall silent, too afraid to speak, their faces timid, Cheng Zongyang's tone softened, and he continued:
