```
"Not like it?" Zhao Yang turned to look at the Drunkard, whose face was covered in stubble, making him appear very profound.
"You'd smell of blood if you killed someone. If you had killed someone, I'd be able to tell," the Drunkard said lightly.
"So, you're saying you've killed?" Zhao Yang inquired.
At this, the Drunkard laughed, a laugh that seemed profoundly enigmatic.
Zhao Yang couldn't help but take an interest in this man. Meeting someone intriguing in such a dreary and boring place was definitely a pleasure.
The Drunkard's eyes, though swollen, were sparkling with intensity. Such a person was surely someone who could hold their own on the outside.
Only, it was unknown why he had fallen into such a sorry state now.
The Drunkard didn't answer whether he had killed people or not but simply said, "In the past ten years, I've realized only one thing, that harmony is the most precious in human relations."
