Afterwards, communication was completely cut off, and this time it was truly silent.
Yet Xiaojiu still maintained his highest level of kowtowing, his forehead pressed tightly against the cold, clammy ground, like a petrified thin-skinned skeleton.
One second, two seconds, five seconds, ten seconds...
All his strength had been drained away with this final call.
He slowly lifted his head, the abnormal flush on his face rapidly fading at a speed visible to the naked eye, replaced by a deeper, more silent pallor than before.
He used the last ounce of his strength to tightly clutch the communicator.
Crunch!
The precision instrument was forcibly crushed by his withered hand, tiny metal and crystal fragments slipping silently between his powerless fingers, blending into the sewage and sludge beneath, leaving no trace.
Having done all this, he again choked out his final blessings into the empty air ahead:
"Xiaojiu thanks Young Master, wishes Young Master good fortune... peace….."
