Zhang Suohao didn't disappoint; before he could even speak, Bateman already smashed a fist toward him.
Oh, the familiar fist.
Oh, the familiar pain.
Oh, the familiar Dragon Tiger Qi.
Ahhh ahhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
A strange whip!!!
"You actually brought props."
Curled up on the bed, Zhang Suohao looked at Bateman, who was flaunting his rope, with a face full of terror, and hoarsely yelled, "Don't, please don't! Spare me, spare me!"
"Talk."
Pulling the rope to make a crackling sound, Bateman grabbed Zhang Suohao's throat to keep him from making too much noise which might attract attention from outside, and asked in a deep voice, "Where did you hide Hou Jue?!"
"Hou Jue?!"
A shiver went through Zhang Suohao's heart, and the next second, he saw a familiar shadow in those dark and profound eyes.
He's Qianhu?!
Deadman's Blade, I fucking curse your mother!
