"The table is small, you two squeeze together and make room for them!"
The old woman complained to the Black man and Hoffman.
One was a big guy, the other very self-important, taking up a lot of space.
"OK!"
The Black man immediately shrank back, as if freezing in ice and snow.
Hoffman was unwilling, but the pollution had just begun, and he didn't dare to lose his temper directly, so he could only endure.
After a minute of fussing, everyone finally squeezed onto the dining table.
The old woman lifted the lid of the earthen pot, and a fragrant aroma immediately wafted out, but everyone had no time to savor this fragrance.
Because as the old woman uncovered the pot, a piercing baby's cry emitted from the earthen pot, sounding creepy.
"Oh my, this claypot rice isn't really made with a baby, is it?"
Liao Hongming was startled.
The cry sounded as if a baby's spirit was attached to the earthen pot.
