At the Ning Bingcai's villa, it was a constant revelry day and night.
But the father-son duo returned with faces smeared with dirt and shame, dejected and downcast.
They hung their heads, not speaking to anyone.
Seeing this scene, Yamamoto Ichiro approached.
"What's the matter? You look like you've lost a father after just one outing. Weren't you very happy when you left?"
"It's exactly because my old man didn't kick the bucket."
Ning Bingcai sighed and flopped onto the sofa.
"You're so down because your old man didn't die? That really is incomprehensible."
Yamamoto Ichiro rubbed the small mustache under his nose.
He looked at the father and son with confusion.
"It's because he didn't die that we can't get the treasure, and this time, my dad really spouted a lot of nonsense and completely infuriated him. I'm afraid from now on, we won't even get a hair of it!"
Ning Changfeng grabbed a bottle of beer and began to chug it, feeling helpless.
