Pot Black, puffed up his chest like a merchant 'trying to sell sand in a desert', clasped his hands behind his back and paced with deliberate calm.
""Now, listen here, young man," Pot Black said in a tone reserved for explaining fire to cavemen. "One thousand taels of gold. Generous. Extremely generous."
Shan Yifeng narrowed his eyes. "Generous? Generous? We bet 50,000 gold coins! What you're giving me isn't even two percent! That's not generosity—that's robbery with extra wordings!"
Pot Black raised a finger, as if about to give a sermon. "Now, now. Let's not get emotional. Let's try and understand values here."
He stopped in front of Shan Yifeng and leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with confidence.
"Tell me, Shan Yifeng… What's your favorite dish?"
Shan blinked. "What?"
"Your favorite dish, boy."
"…Spirit chicken?"
"Ah! Excellent choice." Pot Black clapped once, like he'd just proven a theorem. "Spirit chickens, very tender. Tastes just like regular chicken, doesn't it?"
