"Where do we even start asking?"
"No rush," Chen Xing replied.
Zhao Guangming wanted to say something else, but as Chen Xing's figure moved ahead, he quickly followed.
They arrived at a small stall by the roadside, where a three-meter-long red Flame Sand Pig was blowing on a bundle of fire.
The fire bundle passed through a hole on the side of the stall, perfectly roasting the meat-filled bread on top.
The old man behind the stall skillfully wrapped the cooked bread in freshly cleaned leaves, tied it with vine, and handed it to another customer in front of the stall.
"Old man, how much?" Chen Xing communicated with him in the Exotic Region's common language.
"Six Spirit Iron," the elder paused for a moment on Chen Xing's pitch-black pupils, then stretched out his hand and made a gesture.
Chen Xing said, "I'll take two."
The elder bent down, took out a cold meat bun from the bamboo basket next to him, and held the bun in one hand.