"Disgusting?"
The boy reached out and touched his own face, innocently asking:
"Brother, are you disgusted with yourself?"
Li Zhiyuan's body was trembling slightly.
The feeling of hatred in his heart was boiling wildly.
The boy spoke again: "Brother, look, I've already helped you kill her, I helped you, didn't I?"
Li Zhiyuan tried to block out the boy's voice but found he couldn't. The boy's voice seemed to penetrate deep into his heart, fueling that dark, cold fire.
"Brother, take me with you. I'll be good, I'll be your little follower, your shadow. When you're tired and want to rest, I can even take your place."
At that moment, Li Zhiyuan's trembling body gradually calmed down.
The coldness in his eyes was slowly fading, leaving a trace of softness.
The illness that should have flared up was now being suppressed again.
Li Zhiyuan slightly tilted his head, looking at the boy on the altar, a mocking smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
The boy's expression changed.
