“It's over, I've run into a pervert! Oh heavens, what kind of grudge do you have against me?!” Even though there was still a layer of jeans between the other person's fingers and himself, more goosebumps broke out on Peter Bolton's body in waves.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered the last bit of strength left in his body and focused it in his left leg, quietly aiming his knee at the tip of the “perverted doctor's” nose.

Chapter 4: Traveling Back and Forth, Still in the Same Place

“Mm, mm, ahem!” Just as Peter Bolton was about to give the blue round hat a hard hit with his knee, the black round hat suddenly started coughing forcefully.

A series of coughs immediately saved the blue round hat doctor's nose. The latter quickly realized his impropriety, hurriedly moved his hand away from near Peter Bolton's thigh wound, and awkwardly clasped his fists, “#&％％￥#（I saw that the master's garment was of fine quality and lost my composure for a moment, please forgive me, master）!”

“Forget it!” Peter Bolton could tell the other party was trying to apologize and shook his head in annoyance. Then, he gave his body a hard shake, pulling his arm free from the four “cloth headscarf” men's grip. He bent down and picked up his backpack.

Whether the blue round hat's behavior was intentional or not, he didn't want to have anything more to do with this person. He was new here, a stranger in a strange place. If the other party really did have some special fetish as he had suspected earlier, he wouldn't even have time to cry!

It wasn't Peter Bolton's fault for being sensitive. As a child who grew up in an orphanage, the malice he had encountered in his life far exceeded what his peers could imagine. If not for this sensitivity, which had allowed him to avoid the predatory gazes of those with the hearts of beasts time and again, he might have already fallen into the clutches of some creepy old man.

“Sorry ￥％#@！（Please forgive me, master）” Sensing his embarrassment, the blue round hat doctor's expression became even more awkward. He clasped his fists again and added another embarrassed apology.

Peter Bolton frowned at the man, put down his backpack, and cupped his hands to everyone around him. “Thank you all for your righteous help. I have some urgent business, so I'll be leaving first! Goodbye, everyone!”

With that, he picked up his backpack full of stone fragments and staggered away, afraid that if he walked too slowly, the blue round hat would come up with some new trick.

“Sorry #％￥#￥#￥！（Master, please wait）” Seeing this, the blue round hat panicked, quickly reached out to stop him, and explained loudly.

“What do you want?” Peter Bolton was so startled by this move that his hair stood on end. He suddenly steadied himself, glared fiercely, and the muscles in his arms and back tensed up again.

He still hadn't recovered from his exhaustion, but he couldn't just sit and wait for death! If the other party kept pestering him, even if it meant being beaten to death by the “cloth headscarves,” he would smash the blue round hat's head with his backpack full of stones and books, just like he had done to the evil wolf before.

“Sorry #％￥#￥#￥！（Master, please don't misunderstand）” The blue round hat was startled by Peter Bolton's reaction, waved his hands and quickly backed away, his face red as he explained loudly. “#％￥#￥#￥！#％￥#￥#￥！（I truly have no ill intentions, absolutely none）”

Peter Bolton couldn't understand what he was saying, nor did he care to. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. The blue round hat tried to stop him again, but was afraid of causing an even bigger misunderstanding, so he flailed his hands anxiously and shouted, “Sorry #￥#￥！#％￥#！！（Master, please wait. I swear to the heavens. We really have no ill intentions.）”

“Sorry #￥#￥！#％￥#！（Master, please moisten your throat）” The black round hat, seeing the situation clearly, knew that if this continued, the misunderstanding would only deepen. He jumped off his mount, took a round, bulging leather pouch from under the saddle, and handed it to Peter Bolton with both hands.

“For me? What is it?” Peter Bolton instinctively reached out to take it, asking loudly at the same time.

“Shuijiao, shuijiao! (water wine)” the black round hat explained loudly, then raised his hand to his mouth and mimed drinking.

“Shuijiao? Why don't you go let your father sleep!” Peter Bolton frowned, his eyes wide with anger. Then he realized he had misunderstood the black round hat's good intentions. The pouch contained water, or some kind of drink—anyway, he'd know once he opened it.

He put his backpack by his feet, hesitated as he untied the string at the mouth of the pouch, glanced at the damp medicinal powder on his thigh, hesitated again, and finally raised the pouch to his mouth and took a small sip.

The liquid in the pouch touched his tongue and throat, silently rolling down into his esophagus and stomach.

It was a bit sour, with a faint hint of sweetness. Peter Bolton was stunned for a moment, then took another small sip. A grain-fermented aroma quickly filled his nose. At the same time, a gentle warmth slowly rose from his stomach.

Not “shuijiao,” but water wine! Damn this local pronunciation!

No, it couldn't even be called water wine—at best, it was rice wine!

Any rice wine Peter Bolton had ever drunk before was much stronger than this pouch.

But at this moment, he felt as if he was drinking nectar from the heavens!

Rice wine made from millet had a sugar content far higher than alcohol.

And having just been exhausted, what he needed most right now was sugar!

Gratefully glancing at the black round hat, Peter Bolton decisively opened his mouth wide and gulped down the contents of the pouch!