Seeing the pilot hesitate, Zhan Moxiao, who was already seated in the pilot's chair, snapped fiercely, "What?!"
Startled, the pilot immediately ran down from the plane.
No sooner had he jumped down the airstairs than the plane started up; the hatch hadn't even been closed properly when the fuselage took off.
Master Xiao is versatile—he had even flown fighter jets before—so piloting a small private helicopter was practically child's play for him.
The pilot, with his hair and clothes in disarray from the wind whipped up by the airplane's propellers, hurriedly took shelter on the other side of Zhan Moxiao's car, looking up at the helicopter getting farther and farther away, with ten thousand "grass mud horses" stampeding through his mind.
What kind of situation was this?
Eventually, the pilot opened the car door with a sense of grievance, sat in the driver's seat, and drove Zhan Moxiao's car back.
