While Hawkeye was retrieving the images, Zhang Ming draped a piece of clothing over his body. "Mr. Kuang Shihan, do you think I'm really useless?" Zhang Ming asked in a weak voice, his eyes seemed to be covered with a layer of fog, thick to the point of indissoluble.
"What is your definition of 'useless'?" Hawkeye didn't answer directly.
"Just say it, I don't care anyway." Zhang Ming gave an awkward laugh, then picked up a half bottle of cola from the ground and started drinking it.
"I don't like to talk recklessly. Different definitions lead to different outcomes. You asking me to just say it is like suddenly asking me to choose between A and B when I don't even know what the question is," Hawkeye paused here, "unless you just want me to give you an answer that you want to hear. If that's the case, I won't answer your question."
"You really are… cold, calm?" Zhang Ming didn't know how to describe it for a moment, "If it were you, you certainly wouldn't be like me."
