Just as a palm strike was about to hit Ye Xiong, who seemed to be at his last breath, he suddenly drew his sword across his chest.
Thud!
The palm strike did not hit Ye Xiong's chest; instead, Thirteen's hand was slashed.
If it weren't for his quick reflex to withdraw his hand, the blade would have gone right through his palm.
Retreating several meters away, Thirteen stared at Ye Xiong with wide eyes.
"You're not injured?"
"What do you think?" Ye Xiong stood up.
It was only then that He Mengji reacted, angrily rebuking, "Thirteen, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Don't you understand by now? He's not Thirteen at all." Ye Xiong stared at the man in front of him and said coldly, "I'm right, aren't I, Mister Ghost?"
Suddenly, Thirteen burst into boisterous laughter, a strange voice sounding that was not Ghost's.
"If I were the master, do you think you could have hurt me?"
