In no time, a tiger leg weighing dozens of pounds had vanished into the old man's stomach. The old man wiped his greasy hands messily on his clothes a few times, then raised his Wine Gourd, took several big gulps—GULP GULP—and let out a satisfied sound.
Immediately after, he once again cradled the remaining roasted meat and began tearing into it as if no one else was there. The way he ate, it was as if he hadn't had a meal in centuries.
Song Changsheng and the others, holding their cups, were caught in a bind—to drink or not to drink.
Soon, the old man had devoured most of the Tiger Demon. He casually plucked a blade of grass to pick his teeth and looked at the three with a chuckle. "What, afraid I've poisoned it?"
"Relax. If I really wanted to deal with you, I wouldn't need to resort to such a low-handed method as poison."
"Go on and drink. It'll be good for you where you're headed next."
