Tu Anliang's tone mixed playfulness with a hint of threat.
Uncle Zhong the Ninth's right arm was in a cast, and despite his pale face, his tone was very calm, "Don't even think about it, I won't tell you."
The dialogue between father and son lacked the warmth of paternal love and filial piety.
Tu Anliang flicked the cigarette with his thumb and index finger, snickered with disgust, and the next instant, he smashed the cigarette butt onto Uncle Zhong the Ninth's shoulder.
With sparks flying, several small holes were burned into the sick gown on Jiugong's shoulder and the sofa's seat cover.
At that moment, looking at the sofa's seat cover, Uncle Zhong the Ninth reached out with his left hand somewhat strenuously and brushed off the ash, speaking earnestly, "It's no use getting so mad.
I'm not telling you her identity for your own good. Don't think that just because you have some ability, you can call the shots in the South Sea.
