The refugees observed Xu Yang and whispered among themselves, extremely shocked and mentally anxious.
"…"
"Ah…"
"This guy…"
"Earlier at the megastore…"
Some people remembered Xu Yang, while others had never seen him before.
Goodness, so many more had come. Xu Yang counted in his mind—the new arrivals totaled eight, and the shuttle machine could probably fit 15 people. Now, the space had become unbearably cramped.
"Xu Yang!" Farosa approached, her expression dazed, "You finally came."
"Why do you look out of it?" Xu Yang pinched Farosa's hand.
Farosa was on the verge of tears. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "My power hasn't recovered, I didn't meet God."
"It doesn't matter," said Xu Yang, "How much can you still use?"
"Just one last time. And I'm so tired."
"That's enough, I'll take care of the rest. You don't have to rely on your magic power every time."
"Why are you so confident? Where does this assurance come from?" Farosa looked doubtful.
