Zhou Wen hurriedly found an empty spot and took out a mirror from his chaos space to take a look at his face.
Zhou Wen was immediately stunned.
There was a pitch-black word, "slave," on his originally smooth forehead. It looked as if it had been written in ink, and was written beautifully.
"Ol' Ante, what's going on? Are you up to no good?" Zhou Wen hurriedly rubbed it with his hand, but no matter how he rubbed it, the word "slave" seemed to be embedded into his flesh. Despite abrading his skin, the word "slave" was still clearly visible.
The antelope wore an innocent expression like a human. Then, it wrote a line on the ground with its hooves. "I told you to carry it, but you didn't. You can't blame me."
"You mean that piece of wood?" Zhou Wen was slightly taken aback.
The antelope nodded with a faint smile as it looked at the word "slave" on Zhou Wen's head with an admiring gaze.
