"Oh, Hanton, your plan..." Kolev looked at the projection screen filled with Imperial Language by Yang Ming, his brows gently furrowed, then slowly relaxed.
"It seems very feasible," the old man said.
Yang Ming squinted and smiled.
Kolev quickly frowned and said, "But I will need to pay a bill of at least several million for this."
"Are you short on money?" Yang Ming hooked his arm around Kolev's neck.
"Not short."
"Then can you live forever?" Yang Ming asked again.
Kolev hummed, "How could I! I could live maybe another ten or twenty years at most, no way I could reach those noblemen's feverishly pursued average lifespan of 120 years. I've too many hidden injuries, had to let cells divide faster a few times for healing, the telomere erosion is too severe."
"What use is keeping the money then? Can you feel happiness after death?" Pity filled Yang Ming's eyes.
Kolev, still conflicted, was taken aback by the question.
