"You're out." Mianmian lifted her little hands, politely greeting the small boy zombie, "What happened to your hands? Why is one missing?"
The pallid boy zombie was missing his left arm. The blood oozing from the wounds on the zombie's body was black, and the flesh had also turned dark.
While burning incense at the doorway, Mianmian had sensed the presence of the little zombie. At that time, it had been clinging to the ceiling, absorbing the scent of the incense they lit, but it had not shown itself.
"Ah ah ah..." The little zombie released a hoarse sound from its throat, pointing at Hua Zhaodi, then upwards towards the sky.
Mianmian suddenly realized, "Oh, you mean she used Heavenly Thunder to blast off your hand, huh? Ah, you're so pitiful."
Hearing the conversation between the two children, Hua Zhaodi almost coughed up blood.
How could anyone feel pity for a zombie? If it's not of my kind, its heart must be different.
