Shen Zhou pointed at Dusty Yang, who was rolling on the ground, scrubbing the floor furiously, and said indifferently, "He could never cure your soul-binding sore; he just knows some suppression techniques."
"But this suppression is like casting a Death Sentence on you, and what does that matter to him? As long as you think he's cured you, he's in the clear and can take off with ten million yuan."
"After all, your illness won't relapse for at least half a month. By then, he will have long cashed in the ten million and fled far away, making it very difficult for you to catch him."
"Daoist Dusty Yang, am I right?"
Dusty Yang yelled hoarsely, "Kid, who exactly are you? How could you see through my methods? Impossible! There are definitely no more than ten people in this world who can see through my methods."
"And they are all over fifty years old!"
"There can't possibly be a young brat like you!"
Shen Zhou chuckled wryly to himself.
