Ouyang Bing reached out and touched his forehead. "You don't have a fever. Why are you talking nonsense?"
He then picked up the teacup in front of Guo Yurong and sniffed it, finding no trace of alcohol. "You haven't been drinking, either."
"Since when did my words lose all their credibility?" Guo Yurong knew the story sounded bizarre. Thinking back to how he must have looked at the time—like a country bumpkin who hadn't seen the world—he figured he had probably made a complete fool of himself in their eyes.
"Is there really such delicious food? Why didn't you ask them for the recipe? With Master Zeng's decades of culinary experience, he definitely could have recreated whatever delicacy you wanted." Ouyang Bing sighed, wringing his wrists in frustration. What a missed opportunity!
