Two days blinked by, and the Scoundrel Cat stood atop a mountain, occasionally looking into the distance, and, pouting, said, "Kid, where's this big fat sheep you talked about? I don't even see a scrawny chicken! Are you sure you didn't get it wrong?"
Yang Zhen didn't seem bothered at all. Laying on a big tree, he said, "You can't rush to eat hot tofu. Why are you worried when I'm not?"
"Hot tofu?" The Scoundrel Cat's eyes sparkled. It asked impatiently, "What's that? Is it tasty?"
Yang Zhen was taken aback, he glared at Scoundrel Cat and paused. Suddenly, he remembered a love-hate delicacy from a blue planet. He chuckled and said, "I'll make you some delicious food when I get the chance. I guarantee you'll love it and consider all other foods to be garbage from that point forward."
"You said it…" Scoundrel Cat's joyous face flashed with a hint of confusion. He looked at Yang Zhen with uncertainty, "Why do I get the feeling you can't be trusted by the way you look?"