Zheng Jian hated Mo Huasong intensely. If not for him, his Little Black Knife, which was worth 150 million, would not have been broken, and he would not have been humiliated in front of Pang Xiaopei.
Therefore, even if they extracted all they could from Mo Huasong, he was still destined to die.
"Disgraceful, what are you planning?" Mo Huasong sneered.
"Kid, you're really cocky," Zheng Jian laughed. "If you still had that Little Black Knife, we would be a bit careful. But you sold your own Little Black Knife. You've brought this onto yourself."
An elder nearby inquired, "Kid, where is Master Batian?"
"What do you want with Master Batian?" Mo Huasong asked, puzzled.
Zheng Jian laughed smugly, "Of course, we're going to capture him and force him to work for us, making us weapons. One every two years. In twenty years, our Red City Sect will have ten Peerless Artifacts."
