If this set of fried sticks in front of me is really Tianyangmu, I will do everything I can to take it.

This thing has been fried in the oil pan for so many years, and it has long been burned through by the scorching yang qi, and holding it in the hand will not only not gather yin, but will multiply the yang energy.

This stick is made of wood, wood can make fire, and Xu Mo happens to be the life of the earth.

The most important thing is that Xu Mo is a boy and has his own yang fire!

This is a rare four-way chain of transport!

It is no exaggeration to say that this fried stick seems to be waiting for Xu Mo to appear!

The boss lit a cigarette, sat down next to me, and smiled, "You like it so much?"

"I like to send you."

"Huh?"

For a moment, I almost dropped my jaw.

I was worried about how to talk to my boss, but I didn't expect him to take the initiative!

The boss took a puff of smoke and chuckled, "What's so surprising about that? Isn't there such a thing?"

His words made me completely confused.

He didn't seem to care about something so hard to see.

However, his next sentence made me feel like I was in an ice cave: "It just happens that I like to do carpenter's work, and this thing can be made in an afternoon."

In just a few minutes, my heart felt like I had done a roller coaster.

"You mean, you did it yourself?"

The boss's face was full of smugness, "yes, I did it last week!" It's not me blowing, it's fine black walnut! Corrosion resistance, that's top-notch!"

"How? It's not worse than what the processing plant does, is it?"

I coughed vigorously to hide the embarrassment in my heart, because I was too affectionate.

"I'm giving you something, I'm going to close the stall."

The boss smiled and stepped on the cigarette butt and got busy with himself.

Xu Mo leaned into my ear and asked tentatively, "Master, isn't it just a piece of wood?" Why can't you give up?"

My mind was full of this log, and I was in no mood to deal with him.

Suddenly, an idea crossed my mind, and I looked up and asked, "He just said, what is this wood made of?"

"Black, black walnut?"

"What color is this thing?"

Xu Mo scratched his head: "Listen to this name, it should be black, right?"

I quickly took out my phone and looked for a few pictures on the Internet.

Black walnut is not black, but a dark brown color.

Look at the fried stick in my hand, it's a very pure amber color, which is very counterintuitive!

"Go back!"

I shouted at Xu Mo, only to realize that I had walked out dozens of meters.

Back at the stall, the boss was visibly confused.

"Why is this coming back?"

"Uncle, when this wood was first made, it wasn't this color, was it?"

The boss smiled with a pout: "Indeed, it was just made black and not slippery, and it will be smooth in a few days."

"It's strange to say, I use this wood to beat furniture, and the furniture never changes color, only this fried stick, which changes in a few days."

As he tended to the pots and pans, he added, "To tell you the truth, a lot of people think I'm some kind of antique treasure."

The same wood, no problems with other furniture, only the fried sticks that roll in the oil pan will change color?

The problem is not wood, but oil?

I looked down and saw that the oil in the big iron pan was crystal clear, and it didn't look like oil at all.

I cleared my throat and asked, "How often do you change this oil?"

The boss snorted and laughed, "Young man, you want to learn a trade, right?"

"I can teach, but you can't."

The boss took the fence and pointed around: "Look at this street, I am the only one who sells fritters."

"The same noodles, the same oil, no one makes them as delicious as mine."

The boss is very good, and he really doesn't seem to be afraid of me stealing teachers here, but he generously teaches a small book.

According to him, three generations of his family have made fritters, not only got rid of poverty, but even joined the well-off team.

As for the formula, it's not so mysterious.

Soybean oil is changed once every five days, and in order to ensure the texture and taste, a little lack of oil will be left in the pot, and the rest will be filled with new oil.

Three generations of grandparents have done this, and everyone knows it.

The boss said it like a bamboo tube pouring beans.