"Just make do with it."
Grabbing the clay pot and throwing a piece of honeycomb briquettes full of holes into it, Nathaniel Ying glanced at his master with dissatisfaction, pointing at the clay pot and saying:
"Do you believe that I am the reincarnation of Zhu Rong? My palms can spit fire?"
The master didn't say anything. How could a commoner like him dare to question the master? But the meaning in his eyes was very clear - Master, don't joke with me.
"You don't believe it, huh? That's normal. I don't believe it myself." Nathaniel Ying laughed twice, but his face was not smiling. He roared, "Then why don't you go get some firewood and a fire starter for Naigong! You want Naigong to make fire by drilling wood?"
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