In a long-abandoned small brickyard, Gu Shi stood in front of a fist-sized hole in the wall, looking out at the empty, deserted fields, his expression contorted with rage.
At this moment, he appeared to be in his forties, with jet-black hair and no sign of sagging skin.
However, ever since he was unearthed, he hadn't tasted even a drop of any "enemy's" blood, which made his patience increasingly thin and his mood more and more irritable.
Before long, Pang Tong walked in from the brickyard entrance, holding a porcelain bowl in his hand, the liquid inside red and thick.
He walked up behind Gu Shi and handed the bowl over, saying, "Make do with this."
"Still chicken blood?" Gu Shi asked without turning around.
Pang Tong frowned, "Losing a chicken or losing a person, which do you think is safer?"
"Bang!"
Gu Shi suddenly turned around and slapped Pang Tong's wrist.
In pain, Pang Tong dropped the bowl of chicken blood.
